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Undead Quotes

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Undead Quotes

“Flowers are evil, because they live just to die for the love of other people. You don’t believe me? Try it for yourself and see if you’ll be good afterwards. Undeath is a way of life, for some things. That doesn’t make it good or anything. Especially anything. Nothing makes anything anything. Because nothing is a serious matter, and anything just is.”

“We are aberrations—beings born undead, neither one thing nor another, or two things at once … uncanny things that have nothing to do with the rest of creation, horrors that poison the world by sowing our madness everywhere we go, glutting daylight and darkness with incorporeal obscenities. From across an immeasurable divide, we brought the supernatural into all that is manifest. Like a faint haze it floats around us. We keep company with ghosts. Their graves are marked in our minds, and they will never be disinterred from the cemeteries of our remembrance. Our heartbeats are numbered, our steps counted. Even as we survive and reproduce, we know ourselves to be dying in a dark corner of infinity. Wherever we go, we know not what expects our arrival but only that it is there.”

“All practitioners of Wamphyrism must in the end become possessed by the undead and these unclean spirits so possessing, these dark forces, are also linked to the Satanic bloodline. Look to Mastema, “the angel of disaster, the father of all evil”. Look to deep antiquity and beyond and there you will find the nature both of Satan and Wamphyrism which humans in their false leads, confusion and nescience will seek to obscure. Every excess, every blasphemy, every zenith of the hideous and catastrophic which those who preach a watered down doctrine, claiming that such is either a distortion, a subversion or modern innovation, already exists in the ancient world. “Great is the daughter of Heaven who tortures babies. Her hand is a net, her embrace is death. She is cruel, raging, angry, predatory.” Do not let the shackles of those preaching false doctrine hold you back. Instead break those fetters and, looking to ancient evil as the source of your praxis, unleash hell.”

“What's that you're holding?" he asked, noticing the pamphlet, still rolled up in her left hand. "Oh, this?" She held it up. "How to Come Out to Your Parents." He widened his eyes. "Something you want to tell me?" "It's not for me. It's for you." She handed it to him. "I don't have to come out to my mother," said Simon. "She already thinks I'm gay because I'm not interested in sports and I haven't had a serious girlfriend yet. Not that she knows of, anyway." "But you have to come out as a vampire," Clary pointed out. "Luke thought you could, you know, use one of the suggested speeches in the pamphlet, except use the word 'undead' instead of--" "I get it, I get it." Simon spread the pamplet open. "Here, I'll practice on you." He cleared his throat. "Mom. I have something to tell you. I'm undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I'm here to tell you that the undead are just like you and me." Simon paused. "Well, okay. Possibly more like me than you." "SIMON." "All right, all right." He went on. "The first thing you need to understand is that I'm the same person I always was. Being undead isn't the most important thing about me. It's just part of who I am. The second thing you should know is that it isn't a choice. I was born this way." Simon squinted at her over the pamphlet. "Sorry, reborn this way.”

“For now, Cal detailed Kostya's left arm with an undead cornucopia--- flowering skulls surrounded by fruit and grains and veggies, their eye sockets and mouths and nose holes all blooming with herbs--- rosemary and thyme, Thai basil and cilantro. The bones were nestled among other culinary delights--- fruits de mer, oyster shells and curling pink shrimp, crab legs and lobster claws, cuts of meat, steaks and chops and poultry, dumplings and noodles, pastry and bread; and tools of the trade--- knives and forks and spoons, spatulas, cleavers, balloon whisks, kitchen twine. The detail was otherworldly, each element real enough to touch, and, surrounding it all, the frothy flow of rich, dark wine--- Cabernet, Petit Verdot--- cascading down from an upended glass on his shoulder, dripping along the entire length of his arm.”

“The Blood Supper by Stewart Stafford Nightcrawler leaves their dirt bed, Seeking an essential blood supper, Cloaked in regal Stygian armour, Bar one chink in the left chest area. All the experience of centuries used, Lives lived long before their victims, Stalking stacked in a predator's favour, Shock overwhelms when blindsided. The infected victim then becomes one, With their undead attacker, connected, Sharing their contagion and obsessions, In a parasitic void betwixt life and death. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“The Haunting ensures the current state of Dy5topia―a nightmarish world where terrified 'Creeple' nervously travel through an ever-changing, phantasmagorical land filled with Mutants, Robots, unDead, Specters, Beasts, Landscape-lifeforms, and Others. With these things in mind, consider yourself cordially invited to enter the regions of Chet Zar’s Dark Universe!”

“The earliest documented appearance of rabies on our planet has been in Mesopotamia around 2000 B.C. ... The symptoms of rabies were diagnosed throughout history, following its inception, as being a form of undead or cursed type of creature, revenants if you will.”

“I believe he's been asked to testify today," I told Lennox, who'd continued to track Truman's progress through the room. "He's a member of the historical undead, Truman Capote, the author. He wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood."... "Hi, Truman, you're sitting next to me," I said, pulling out his chair. I figured after he'd asked me to suck on his cherry, we should be on a first-name basis.”

“Todd’s wife was one of those women with a forced smile perpetually cemented on her face. Even after being chased by a mob of homicidal maniacs and attempting to barricade doors with barstools she kept up appearances, practicing for the days when her husband would be running for public office. When she saw her son poking at their former mail carrier’s dead body a look of utter horror came across her face for the slightest instant. She caught herself and put that smile back on so quickly Will wondered if she might have pulled a few cheek muscles. “Trevor!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Trevor, you get away from that this instant! You don’t know what kind of diseases that man had. Children shouldn’t play with dead things.” Will looked at Todd and smirked. “Cute kid. How many of those things do you think are out there?”

“For me, it's a multitude of things. In the modern world, there's a real genuine fear of loss of individuality and I think the undead speak to that. I also think the idea of the dead coming back to life, and this unstoppable foe that just keeps coming and coming, but rather slowly just chases you, is a real primal fear. It's like a fear of claustrophobia, heights or water.”

“It was my view then, and still is, that you don't make war without knowing why. Knowledge of course, is always imperfect, but it seemed to me that when a nation goes to war it must have reasonable confidence in the justice and imperative of its cause. You can't fix your mistakes. Once people are dead, you can't make them undead.”