Ghosts Quotes

In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.


Laurie Halse Anderson


Terror made me cruel . . .

Wuthering Heights

Emily Brontë

Wuthering Heights

I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.

On the Road

Jack Kerouac

On the Road

The house smelled musty and damp, and a little sweet, as if it were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead cookies.

American Gods

Neil Gaiman

American Gods
Cookies    Descriptions    Ghosts    Humor    Scent    Setting    Smell

You fuck - you ate my cat!

Cass    Cats    Death    Ghosts    Humor

Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that's what.

The Satanic Verses

Salman Rushdie

The Satanic Verses

He was trying to tell me something."
Derek snorted. "Aren’t they all? Must be a rule in the ghost handbook—if in danger of evaporating, make sure you’re in the middle of a dire pronouncement.

Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind/Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,/Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,/Above, beneath, betwixt, between.

The others can’t see me, said the little ghost.
I know, I said. My name’s Gwyneth. What’s yours?
Dr. White to you, said Dr. White.
I’m Robert, said the ghost.
That’s a very nice name, I said.
Thank you, said Dr. White. I’ll return the compliment by saying you have very nice veins.

Ruby Red

Kerstin Gier

Ruby Red

The people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this you keep them alive.

Alive    Ghosts    Love    Memory    Remember

Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us.

Afterlife    Conscience    Death    Ghosts    Poetry

I let out a laugh that sounded more like the yip of a startled poodle. "Superp-powers? I wish. My powers aren't winning me a slot on the Cartoon Network anytime soon... except as a comic relief. Ghost Whisperer Junior. Or Ghost Screamer, more like it. Tune in, every week, as Chloe Saunders runs screaming from yet another ghost looking for her help."
Okay, superpower might be pushing it.

The Summoning

Kelley Armstrong

The Summoning
Ghosts    Humor    Powers

Oh, very good,' interrupted Snape, his lip curling. 'Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. 'Ghosts are transparent.

The ORDINARY RESPONSE TO ATROCITIES is to banish them from consciousness. Certain violations of the social compact are too terrible to utter aloud: this is the meaning of the word unspeakable.
Atrocities, however, refuse to be buried. Equally as powerful as the desire to deny atrocities is the conviction that denial does not work. Folk wisdom is filled with ghosts who refuse to rest in their graves until their stories are told. Murder will out. Remembering and telling the truth about terrible events are prerequisites both for the restoration of the social order and for the healing of individual victims.
The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma. People who have survived atrocities often tell their stories in a highly emotional, contradictory, and fragmented manner that undermines their credibility and thereby serves the twin imperatives of truth-telling and secrecy. When the truth is finally recognized, survivors can begin their recovery. But far too often secrecy prevails, and the story of the traumatic event surfaces not as a verbal narrative but as a symptom.
The psychological distress symptoms of traumatized people simultaneously call attention to the existence of an unspeakable secret and deflect attention from it. This is most apparent in the way traumatized people alternate between feeling numb and reliving the event. The dialectic of trauma gives rise to complicated, sometimes uncanny alterations of consciousness, which George Orwell, one of the committed truth-tellers of our century, called "doublethink," and which mental health professionals, searching for calm, precise language, call "dissociation." It results in protean, dramatic, and often bizarre symptoms of hysteria which Freud recognized a century ago as disguised communications about sexual abuse in childhood. . . .

The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.

Bag of Bones

Stephen King

Bag of Bones
Art    Ghosts    Muse

Hazel frowned. "Why that one?"

"You don't see the ghost?" Frank asked.

"Ghost?" Nico asked.

Okay... if Frank was seeing a ghost that the Underworld kids couldn't see, something was definitely wrong.

There is a time in the life of every boy when he for the first time takes the backward view of life. Perhaps that is the moment when he crosses the line into manhood. The boy is walking through the street of his town. He is thinking of the future and of the figure he will cut in the world. Ambitions and regrets awake within him. Suddenly something happens; he stops under a tree and waits as for a voice calling his name. Ghosts of old things creep into his consciousness; the voices outside of himself whisper a message concerning the limitations of life. From being quite sure of himself and his future he becomes not at all sure. If he be an imaginative boy a door is torn open and for the first time he looks out upon the world, seeing, as though they marched in procession before him, the countless figures of men who before his time have come out of nothingness into the world, lived their lives and again disappeared into nothingness. The sadness of sophistication has come to the boy. With a little gasp he sees himself as merely a leaf blown by the wind through the streets of his village. He knows that in spite of all the stout talk of his fellows he must live and die in uncertainty, a thing blown by the winds, a thing destined like corn to wilt in the sun.

Ambition    Future    Ghosts    Life    Manhood    Nothingness    Regret    Sophistication    Time    Uncertainty

Before she knew it, she was just another set of eyes in a dusty attic, waiting for the stairs to creak.

Do you really want to know where we come from?" she said. "In every century, in every country, they'll call us something different. They'll say we're ghosts, angels, demons, elemental spirits, and giving us a name doesn't help anybody. When did a name change what someone is?

The Replacement

Brenna Yovanoff

The Replacement
Demons    Ghosts    Names

For when all else is done, on­ly words re­main. Words en­dure.

Ghosts    History    Letter    Writing

It's not only what we have inherited from our father and mother that walks in us. It's all sorts of dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we can't get rid of them.

We're all ghosts. We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.

Ghosts don't haunt us. That's not how it works. They're present among us because we won't let go of them."
"I don't believe in ghosts," I said, faintly.
"Some people can't see the color red. That doesn't mean it isn't there," she replied.

Did you know sometimes it frightens me--
when you say my name and I can't see you?
will you ever learn to materialize before you speak?
impetuous boy, if that's what you really are.
how many centuries since you've climbed a balcony
or do you do this every night with someone else?
you tell me that you'll never leave
and I am almost afraid to believe it.
why is it me you've chosen to follow?
did you like the way I look when I am sleeping?
was my hair more fun to tangle?
are my dreams more entertaining?
do you laugh when I'm complaining that I'm all alone?
where were you when I searched the sea
for a friend to talk to me?
in a year where will you be?
is it enough for you to steal into my mind
filling up my page with music written in my hand
you know I'll take the credit for I must have made you come to me somehow.
but please try to close the curtains when you leave at night,
or I'll have to find someone to stay and warm me.
will you always attend my midnight tea parties--
as long as I set it at your place?
if one day your sugar sits untouched
will you have gone forever?
would you miss me in a thousand years--
when you will dry another's tears?
but you say you'll never leave me
and I wonder if you'll have the decency
to pass through my wall to the next room
while I dress for dinner
but when I'm stuck in conversation
with stuffed shirts whose adoration
hurts my ears,
where are you then?
can't you cut in when I dance with other men?
it's too late not to interfere with my life
you've already made me a most unsuitable wife
for any man who wants to be the first his bride has slept with
and you can't just fly into people's bedrooms
then expect them to calmly wave goodbye
you've changed the course of history
and didn't even try
where are you now--
standing behind me,
taking my hand?
come and remind me
who you are
have you traveled far
are you made of stardust too
are the angels after you
tell me what I am to do
but until then I'll save your side of the bed
just come and sing me to sleep

The main thing about ghosts – most of them have lost their voices. In Asphodel, millions of them wander around aimlessly, trying to remember who they were. You know why they end up like that? Because in life they never took a stand one way or another. They never spoke out, so they were never heard. Your voice is your identity. If you don’t use it,’ Nico said with a shrug, ‘you’re halfway to Asphodel already.’

He hated when his own advice applied to himself.

All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.

Abandoned    Amnesia    Androids    Apocalypse    Carrack    Cityisle    Cityspire    Count    Damnation    Death    Desolate    Dreams    Emily dickinson    Empty    Fedora    Ghosts    Gothic    Greek mythology    Haunting    Haunts    Horace walpole    Jazz    Life    Magic    Magick    Mannequins    Masquerade    Music    Phillip k dick    Piano    Poems    Puddles    Rain    Reflections    Romance    Sacrifice    Science fiction    Sex    Shakespeare    Ships    Songs    Specters    Spectre    Storms    Tempest    Waking    Water

Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lost
memories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreams
play when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?

Abandoned    Amnesia    Androids    Apocalypse    Carrack    Cityisle    Cityspire    Count    Damnation    Death    Desolate    Dreams    Emily dickinson    Empty    Fedora    Ghosts    Gothic    Greek mythology    Haunting    Haunts    Horace walpole    Jazz    Life    Magic    Magick    Mannequins    Masquerade    Music    Phillip k dick    Piano    Poems    Puddles    Rain    Reflections    Romance    Sacrifice    Science fiction    Sex    Shakespeare    Ships    Songs    Specters    Spectre    Storms    Tempest    Waking    Water

All right, you deadly little ghostlings, I muttered. Mama says go back to
- Cat

Bones    Cat    Frost    Ghosts    Jeaniene frost    Night huntress    Zombies

Maybe before you die, it's your ghosts you see.

Before I Fall

Lauren Oliver

Before I Fall

When you go out hunting wicked spirits, it's the simple things that matter most. The silvered point of your rapier flashing in the dark; the iron filings scattered on the floor; the sealed canisters of best Greek Fire, ready as a last resort...
But tea bags, brown and fresh and plenty of them, and made (for preference) by Pitkin Brothers of Bond Street, are perhaps the simplest and best of all.
OK, they may not save your life like a sword-tip or an iron circle can, and they haven't the protective power of a sudden wall of fire. But they do provide something just as vital. They help keep you sane.

Drink    Ghost hunting    Ghosts    Tea

Fucking nightmares.
My heart starts to slow down. Glancing down at the floor, I see Tybalt, who is glaring at me with a puffed-up tail. I wonder if he had been sleeping on my chest and I catapulted him off when I woke up. I don't remember, but I wish that I did, because it would've been hilarious.

It's easier to dismiss ghosts in the daylight.

Dragon Bones

Patricia Briggs

Dragon Bones

I assure you; while I look like a ghost, I'm no spirit or demon. I'm nothing but a girl struggling to make her way in an intolerant world. I bleed, I love, and someday, I'll die.

The ghosts of things that never happened are worse than the ghosts of things that did.

Ghosts have a way of misleading you; they can make your thoughts as heavy as branches after a storm.

Aura," he whispered, "I wish I could wipe away just one of your tears. Then I'd
feel like a person again. Like I'm something more than a bunch of light.

At night, here in the library, the ghosts have voices.

The Library at Night

Alberto Manguel

The Library at Night

Psychoanalysis is often about turning our ghosts into ancestors, even for patients who have not lost loved ones to death. We are often haunted by important relationships from the past that influence us unconsciously in the present. As we work them through, they go from haunting us to becoming simply part of our history.

Weave the circle, tightly sewn,
Let nothing evil or unknown
Enter within. Stay without
On pain of death, we cast you out.

They told of dripping stone walls in uninhabited castles and of ivy-clad monastery ruins by moonlight, of locked inner rooms and secret dungeons, dank charnel houses and overgrown graveyards, of footsteps creaking upon staircases and fingers tapping at casements, of howlings and shriekings, groanings and scuttlings and the clanking of chains, of hooded monks and headless horseman, swirling mists and sudden winds, insubstantial specters and sheeted creatures, vampires and bloodhounds, bats and rats and spiders, of men found at dawn and women turned white-haired and raving lunatic, and of vanished corpses and curses upon heirs.

Castles    Ghosts    Gothic    Graveyards    Horror    Ruins    Vampires

I don't suppose you have to believe in ghosts to know that we are all haunted, all of us, by things we can see and feel and guess at, and many more things that we can't.

More Than You Know

Beth Gutcheon

More Than You Know
Believe    Feel    Ghosts    Life

Not everybody believes in ghosts, but I do. Do you know what they are, Trisha?
She had shaken her head slowly.
Men and women who can't get over their past . . . That's what ghosts are.

Needful Things

Stephen King

Needful Things
Forgive    Ghosts    Past

In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities; people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class; every hour carries its new challenge. When you pass the inn at the end of the village you leave your favourite whimsy behind you; for you will meet no one who can share it. We listen to eloquent speaking, read books and write them, settle all the affairs of the universe. The dumb village multitudes pass on unchanging; the feel of the spade in the hand is no different for all our talk: good seasons and bad follow each other as of old. The dumb multitudes are no more concerned with us than is the old horse peering through the rusty gate of the village pound. The ancient map-makers wrote across unexplored regions, 'Here are lions.' Across the villages of fishermen and turners of the earth, so different are these from us, we can write but one line that is certain, 'Here are ghosts.' ("Village Ghosts")

Ghosts    Minority    Small town    Small towns    Town    Towns    Village    Villages

I wouldn't describe myself as lacking in confidence, but I would just say that - the ghosts you chase you never catch.

Advice    Chase    Confidence    Ghosts

Now the two of them rode silently toward town, both lost in their own thoughts. Their way took them past the Delgado house. Roland looked up and saw Susan sitting in her window, a bright vision in the gray light of that fall morning. His heart leaped up and although he didn't know it then, it was how he would remember her most clearly forever after- lovely Susan, the girl in the window. So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.

Ghosts    Loss    Love

Call me crazy, but there is something terribly wrong with this city.

Abandoned    Amnesia    Androids    Apocalypse    Carrack    Cityisle    Cityspire    Count    Damnation    Death    Desolate    Dreams    Emily dickinson    Empty    Fedora    Ghosts    Gothic    Greek mythology    Haunting    Haunts    Horace walpole    Jazz    Life    Magic    Magick    Mannequins    Masquerade    Music    Phillip k dick    Piano    Poems    Puddles    Rain    Reflections    Romance    Sacrifice    Science fiction    Sex    Shakespeare    Ships    Songs    Specters    Spectre    Storms    Tempest    Waking    Water

It bothered me that he was right. Without Sir Stuart's intervention, I'd have been dead again already.
That's right--you heard me: dead again already.
I mean, come on. How screwed up is your life (after- or otherwise) when you find yourself needing phrases like that?

Death    Ghosts    Life

Maybe all the people who say ghosts don't exist are just afraid to admit that they do.

I don’t believe in ghosts and neither should you, Kingsley.
Why not? I’ve been in love with a ghost for thirty years.
Kingsley strolled over to the armchair and sat on the ottoman between the other man’s knees. Soren narrowed his eyes at him.
The body’s not even cold yet. Eleanor’s been gone one day and you’re already trying to get me into bed again?
Again? Kingsley laughed and rolled his eyes. Always. Are you surprised?
Soren shrugged. Not really.

A house with old furniture has no need of ghosts to be haunted.


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