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Ghost Story Quotes

Browse 42 quotes about Ghost Story.

Ghost Story Quotes

“Oh, she was a great beauty," Maggie replied, and Hetty nodded in agreement. "The clearest blue-green eyes, and skin like peaches, with a splendid dusting of freckles," she said. "And her hair -- 'twas flaming red, and fell in marvellous profusion," Maggie added. "We used to call her Queen Elizabeth -- in jest, you understand, for the real Queen was quite fearsome I do believe. Mrs Bramstone almost hated Bessie I think, for how lovely she was".”

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Book:The Lost Children of Gloam's End
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“With her left hand, Herself clumsily tucked the shells into her nightgown and straightened them, each cuntshell wrapped in its cradle of braided lavender or gray or black cotton thread now touching her skin. Herself had told Donkey that each shell was a woman's life saved at great cost, and she needed to keep the shells warm and safe while she lived, giving these souls their time in the world. Baba Rose had had over a hundred shells on her necklace when she'd finally been unable to get out of bed under the burden. Every time Herself told the story of how Baba Rose died, there was another cause, and Donkey had to assume that the ghost whose fire had warmed their cottage for so many years had died of all of it, of everything.”

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Book:The Waters
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“Do you think she’s crossed over? I mean, I’ve always wanted her to figure things out, but I never expected her to cross over the very instant she remembered. What if she’s gone?” “We’ll celebrate.” Still, she kept quiet. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but something is going on. Sara is not like this. She would never do anything to hurt me. I didn’t even say good-bye.”

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Book:Crossover
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“Very soon you will find yourself at the end of a dirt road, only inches from a threshold . . . a threshold into another world—a glorious world, one of infinite possibility. You’ll be standing there contemplating your next move when a gust of wind whispers, “Have faith.” When you hear those magic words, it’ll be time for you to cross the threshold and begin your journey . . .”

Time TravelLiterary FictionMagical RealismDreams And RealityComing Of Age NovelJourney Of Self DiscoveryGhost StoryVisionary FictionTransformation Of ConsciousnessVisionary Inspirational
Book:A Hero Dreams
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“Been practicing ever since I managed to tackle you. I figured there must be something to your idea about strong feelings." "Yeah. They can be hard to manufacture on demand, though." "So far I've managed okay." "Thinking about my dad usually gets it done for me. What about you? What do you think about?" He looked at me for a long moment before he said, "You." I didn't expect that answer. "Me? Really? Do I frustrate you that much?" "Kissing you," he clarified. "I think about kissing you." Oh. "Oh. Really?" I stood up and bumped into the table. It moved. Joe looked at it and smiled. "You thinking about kissing me?" "Well I am now." He got up and came toward me. "Good.”

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Book:Restless Spirits
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“It seemed for a moment as if something was there, loitering between the knurled and towering cherry trees, a flash of a presence as stark as the sight of the snow against their bare branches and cracked, piceous bark. Unblinking, I watched the edge of the lake, waiting for it to reappear, but whatever it had been was gone, vanished under cover of a willow tree, lofty and dense, rearing over the lake, its branches dripping all the way to the ground. The tree’s lament had been transformed into a thing of such beauty I was tempted to go and hide within it.”

GhostsUrban FantasyGothicParanormal ThrillerSupernatural ThrillersUrban Fantasy SeriesContemporary FantasyParanormal MysteryParanormal FictionGhost StoryGothic FictionSupernatural MysteryGothic HorrorGothic LiteratureGothic Fantasy
Book:Chasing Azrael
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“The past had already been dealt with, to one end or another, it was certain, fixed, the horror of it was already over. For the living at least. They grieved, yes, but they were not trapped in the terror of the moment. Not so for my poor, elegant wraiths. They were like the old-fashioned zoetropes you find at the seaside: a tiny slice of a world in a box, brief yet somehow also eternal.”

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Book:Chasing Azrael
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“A shade flickered to my left, an eerie shadow balanced even more precariously on the railing than I. Her plimsolls struggled to grip the same rail my fingers now held. I knew her face, just as I knew her death; I’d watched it often enough, those times I’d been unable to avoid crossing here. Nerys was always here, tied to the moment of her death, an echo, forever hurtling down into those waters, only to reappear an instant later, once more wavering on the rails.”

DeathDeath And DyingGhostsUrban FantasyParanormal ThrillerSupernatural ThrillersUrban Fantasy SeriesContemporary FantasyParanormal MysteryParanormal FictionGhost StorySupernatural Mystery
Book:Chasing Azrael
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“The world of shadows and superstition that was Victorian England, so well depicted in this 1871 tale, was unique. While the foundations of so much of our present knowledge of subjects like medicine, public health, electricity, chemistry and agriculture, were being, if not laid, at least mapped out, people could still believe in the existence of devils and demons. And why not? A good ghost story is pure entertainment. It was not until well into the twentieth century that ghost stories began to have a deeper significance and to become allegorical; in fact, to lose their charm. No mental effort is required to read 'The Weird Woman', no seeking for hidden meanings; there are no complexities of plot, no allegory on the state of the world. And so it should be. At what other point in literary history could a man, standing over the body of his fiancee, say such a line as this: 'Speak, hound! Or, by heaven, this night shall witness two murders instead of one!' Those were the days. (introduction to "The Weird Woman")”

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Book:Terror by Gaslight: More Victorian Tales of Terror
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“Even if I had convict ancestry, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. As far as I’m concerned, the real criminals back in those days weren’t twelve-year-old boys nicking a loaf of bread or a pair of socks to ward off hunger and blisters. No, it was those who exploited them; keeping the battler in the gutter while they sat around in their manors, sipping tea and admiring portraits of their toffee-nosed great grandfathers.”

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Book:Hoffman's Creeper and Other Disturbing Tales
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“Gentlemen,” he said, and the word cut neat and cool through the lingering noise. “We are gathered to bind the fates of our states together, not with mere treaties, but with the iron certainty of a road.” A breath. A rustle of shirt cuffs. “Not a rut through the mud, not a track for cattle,” he continued, “but a grand artery. A marvel worthy of the Republic. From Baltimore to the west, to the frontier and the territories beyond—where commerce may flow, and with it, the lifeblood of our nation.”

LegacyHistorical FictionRemembranceWomen S FictionEmotional HealingPoetic ProseGhost StorySpiritual FictionPennsylvania HistoryAppalachian Folklore
Book:Mountain Laurel
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“He does love prophesying a misfortune, does the average British ghost. Send him out to prognosticate trouble to somebody, and he is happy. Let him force his way into a peaceful home, and turn the whole house upside down by foretelling a funeral, or predicting a bankruptcy, or hinting at a coming disgrace, or some other terrible disaster, about which nobody in their senses would want to know sooner than they could possible help, and the prior knowledge of which can serve no useful purpose whatsoever, and he feels that he is combining duty with pleasure. He would never forgive himself if anybody in his family had a trouble and he had not been there for a couple of months beforehand, doing silly tricks on the lawn or balancing himself on somebody's bedrail. ("Introduction" to TOLD AFTER SUPPER)”

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Book:Gaslit Nightmares: Stories by Robert W. Chambers, Charles Dickens, Richard Marsh, and Others
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“Moreau, the guy who built the castle at the beginning of the nineteenth century, built it for his wife. But she died shortly after. That's when others began to vanish. It's like a Star Trek vortex. Sucks in women and never spits them back out." "That's morbid," Cleo said. Stasia waved her off. "So is crime TV, but I watch it all the time. You don't?" "No." "That sucks." Stasia shrugged again, her mouth twisting in a look of pitiful apology. "Crime TV prepares you. Like, you'll never vanish if you know how a killer thinks. You'll be ready for them. True preparedness and survival skills.”

Ghost StoryPrepared MindCrime Scene Investigation
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“There was a subtle shift in the mood in the room. Not exactly hostile, Tempy felt, more of one of accusation. It was impolite in this company to demonstrate how much the world had moved on since one had died. It was said that Hell was seeing the world pass before you while you could do nothing about it. Not only had she reminded George of his passing, and his inability to become integrated into polite society due to the language barrier, but also that he had lived a sad life.”

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Book:Blue Summer: A Pair of Normal Girls Mystery
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