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Nightmare Quotes

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Nightmare Quotes

“ನಿಮ್ಮ ನಾಲಿಗೆಯಿಂದ ನೀವು ನನ್ನ ಬೆವರುವಿಕೆಯನ್ನು ಮುಟ್ಟಿದ್ದೀರಿ ಅಬೋಂಟಿಕಾ, ಮತ್ತು ಹೇಳಿದ್ದು, ‘ಆಹ್ ಉಪ್ಪು ಸೌಂದರ್ಯ ಹೃದಯದ ಹೃದಯ… ಪುರುಷತ್ವದ ಪರಿಮಳ… ’ ಆ ದಿನ, ಪೊಲೀಸ್ ಕಸ್ಟಡಿಯಿಂದ ನ್ಯಾಯಾಲಯದವರೆಗೆ ಹಗ್ಗವನ್ನು ನನ್ನ ಸೊಂಟಕ್ಕೆ ಕಟ್ಟಿ ಕೈಕವಚ ನಾನು ಕೊಲೆಗಾರರ ಹುಡ್ಲಮ್ಗಳೊಂದಿಗೆ ನಡೆದಿದ್ದೇನೆ; ರಸ್ತೆಯ ಎರಡೂ ಬದಿಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಸರ್ಕಸ್ ಪ್ರೀತಿಯ ಗುಂಪು. ದ್ರೋಹಿಗಳು, ಯಾರು ಸ್ವಯಂಪ್ರೇರಿತರಾಗಿದ್ದಾರೆ ನನ್ನ ವಿರುದ್ಧ ಸಾಕ್ಷಿ ಹೇಳಲು ನ್ಯಾಯಾಲಯ, ಯಾವಾಗ ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದರು ಅವರು ಸಾಕ್ಷಿ ಪೆಟ್ಟಿಗೆಯಿಂದ ಕೆಳಗಿಳಿದು, ‘ಇಲ್ಲ, ಬೆವರು ಸಿಹಿಯಾಗಿತ್ತು ಮತ್ತು ಉಪ್ಪಾಗಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ; ಹೀಗೆ ವಿಶ್ವಾಸಘಾತುಕತನದ ಯಾವುದೇ ಪ್ರಶ್ನೆ ಉದ್ಭವಿಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲ- ಮತ್ತು ದ್ರೋಹಿಗಳು ಎಂದು ಗುರುತಿಸಬಾರದು.”

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Book:Selected poems
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“It’s often said that cowards make the best torturers. Cowards have good imaginations, imaginations that torment them with all the worst stuff of nightmare, all the horrors that could befall them. This provides an excellent arsenal when it comes to inflicting misery on others. And their final qualification is that they understand the fears of their victim better than the victim does himself.”

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Book:Prince of Fools
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“WRITER'S NIGHTMARE" "I felt a grip on my arm that shook my body, forcefully pulling me toward a tunnel of darkness.   The threat of consciousness stole my steady breath. For a moment I believed myself to be under siege; ripped from the sky in mid flight, my wings useless against the monstrous claws shredding my reality. I struggled to remain, to be left alone, aloft.  Reaching with wings that through the power of imagination were suddenly feathered arms, I grabbed at the air.  My hands clutched at something solid.  Wooden.  A desk.  My head spun as I held the furniture, suffering the illusion of falling. "I was flying," I gasped, realizing suddenly that it had all been a dream. "My best fantasy ever." Lifting my head from its resting spot on the writing desk, I worked mentally to secure the fading images, hoping to capture their essence to memory before they faded away forever.  Bitterness tainted my heart against the hand that had jerked me into sensibility.  Why was I always so callously awakened while doing my best work?  Why not let me dream?”

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Author:Richelle E. Goodrich
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“The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.”

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Book:Nightmarish Sacrifice
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“From The Darkest Depths by Stewart Stafford Salvation swallowed in a bleak abyss, Of impossibly lost and betrayed souls, Swarming screams of frantic contrition, Clawing collisions in a drowning grip. Drops of reason cascade down the vortex, Falling infinitely through the fallen infamy, Snaking doubt constructing every delusion, Of false idols, prophets, and graven images. Scaling its putrescent and lacerating walls, Is a repentant struggle beyond endurance, Then distant dawn appears, growing nearer, Darkness fades and a basking reign forms. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Oh, he did look like a deity – the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.”

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Book:Nightmarish Sacrifice
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“Pausing on the threshold, he looked in, conscious not so much of the few familiar sticks of furniture - the trucklebed, the worn strip of Brussels carpet, the chipped blue-banded ewer and basin, the framed illuminated texts on the walls - as of a perfect hive of abhorrent memories. That high cupboard in the corner, from which certain bodiless shapes had been wont to issue and stoop at him cowering out of his dreams; the crab-patterned paper that came alive as you stared; the window cold with menacing stars; the mouseholes, the rusty grate - trumpet of every wind that blows - these objects at once lustily shouted at him in their own original tongues. ("Out Of The Deep")”

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Book:Great Tales of Terror and the Supernatural
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“Aragorn looked at them, and there was pity in his eyes rather than wrath; for these were young men from Rohan, from Westfold far away, or husbandmen from Lossarnach, and to them Mordor had been from childhood a name of evil, and yet unreal, a legend that had no part in their simple life; and now they walked like men in a hideous dream made true, and they understood not this war nor why fate should lead them to such a pass.”

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Book:The Return of the King
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“The door opened. I stopped. Beyond it, orks lined both sides of the corridor. They had been watching for me. The moment I appeared, they roared their approval. They did not attack. They simply stood, clashed guns against blades, and hooted brute enthusiasm. I had been subjected to too many celebratory parades on Armageddon not to recognise one when it confronted me. I went numb from the unreality before me. I stepped forward, though. I had no choice. I walked. It was the most obscene victory march of my life. I moved through corridor, hold and bay, and the massed ranks of the greenskins hailed my passage. I saw the evidence of the destruction I had caused around every bend. Scorch marks, patched ruptures, buckled flooring, collapsed ceilings. But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Only enough for this… this… At length, I arrived at a launch bay. There was a ship on the pad before the door. It was human, a small in-system shuttle. It was not built for long voyages. No matter, as long as its vox-system was still operative. I knew that it would be. Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka awaited me beside the ship’s access ramp. I did not let my confusion or the sense that I had slipped into an endless waking nightmare slow my stride. I did not hesitate as I strode towards the monster. I stopped before him. I met his gaze with all the cold hatred of my soul. He radiated delight. Then he leaned forward, a colossus of armour and bestial strength. Our faces were mere centimetres apart. My soul bears many scars from the days and months of my defeat and captivity. But there is one memory that, above all others, haunts me. By day, it is a goad to action. By night, it murders sleep. It lives with me always, the proof that there could hardly be a more terrible threat to the Imperium than this ork. Thraka spoke to me. Not in orkish. Not even in Low Gothic. In High Gothic. ‘A great fight,’ he said. He extended a huge, clawed finger and tapped me once on the chest. ‘My best enemy.’ He stepped aside and gestured to the ramp. ‘Go to Armageddon,’ he said. ‘Make ready for the greatest fight.’ I entered the ship, my being marked by words whose full measure of horror lay not in their content, but in the fact of their existence. I stumbled to the cockpit, and discovered that I had a pilot. It was Commander Rogge. His mouth was parted in a scream, but there was no sound. He had no vocal cords any longer. There was very little of his body recognisable. He had been opened up, reorganised, fused with the ship’s control and guidance systems. He had been transformed into a fully aware servitor. ‘Take us out of here,’ I ordered. The rumble of the ship’s engines powering up was drowned by the even greater roar of the orks. I knew that roar for what it was: the promise of war beyond description.”

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Book:Yarrick: The Omnibus
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“Woke up from a Nightmare, realised my Life is Made of Dreams of Sunshine anyway, so maybe the Balance was thus, Happinesses & Pain, Success & Failure, Good & Ugly and Everything in Between walking pass by only to Make Us Know that Nothing is Real, Not that Nightmare Not that Dream; then why do we Carry On I ask? Simply To Know, that We are Beyond All of This and Everything that Our Mind Perceives and Heart Feels, something of Stardust, something of Fire & Ice, of Stones & Greens, of Everything Dichotomous and Multifarious yet Unified in the One who watches it All, who Knows it All. …to dreams that turns into Nightmare, I greet you with a Smile anyway, I hold you warm in my heart anyway, I love you anyway.”

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Author:Debatrayee Banerjee
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“Life is just a dream, to some it's a sweet dream, to others, a nightmare. But whatever it is, it's always short and dissipates quickly.”

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Book:Pearls Of Eternity
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“Isn't it ironic that a nightmare can masquerade as a dream?”

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Author:Ken Poirot
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“Then the man smiled, and his smile was a shock, for it was all on one side, going up in the right cheek and down in the left. There was nothing, rationally speaking, to scare anyone about this. Many people have this nervous trick of a crooked smile, and in many it is even attractive. But in all Syme's circumstances, with the dark dawn and the deadly errand and the loneliness on the great dripping stones, there was something unnerving in it. There was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even classic face. And there was the last nightmare touch that his smile suddenly went wrong.”

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Book:The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare
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“In the center of a garden reared a tree, glinting golden in the darkness, peppered with flowers that smelled of blood. The great yawning hollows of the trunk invited her in, promising a snug sanctuary. "They will suffocate you like a pillow of sand and you will never emerge alive," a chittering voice cried out. The patterns engraved on the tree's bark dizzied her eyes. "If your finger brushes against them, you'll know true madness." She glanced away from the bark, her eyes caught by a movement in the branches. A squirrel scurried down the trunk towards her. It didn't seem to be bothered that its tail was swathed in flames, or that something had eaten away at half of its rot-black face and torso. Death's pet project bared its teeth at her. "Do you really want to be here?”

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Book:The Wake Up
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“And, as the storm of water thrashed the very pinnacles that toppled into mist, he had seen the ribs of cliff laid bare and bleeding—as it were the laceration of a living land that he looked on. Then, ‘Corne et tonnerre!’ he had seemed to cry to himself, ‘the very world is torn by some inhuman power, and flows to the sea in rivers of purple!’ and he heard the bells of the ocean receding innumerably, choke at their moorings, muffled and congested with the floating scum of carnage that no wind might ruffle and only God’s fire cleanse. Now, in a moment, he saw that what he had taken for land was in truth a great cliff built up of human bodies—a vast reserve of human force accumulated by, and for the use of, a single dominant will. And this cliff was washed by the waves of an ocean of blood, to which its life contributed in a thousand spouting rivulets. And it was compact of limitless pain; and the cry of torture never ceased within it. And suddenly the dreamer—as in the way of dreams—felt himself to be a constituent agony of that he gazed upon—a pulp of suffering self-contained, yet partaking of the wretchedness of all.”

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Book:The Black Reaper
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