Best 195 quotes in «nightmares quotes» category

Her voice never stops: even when I sleep, it is a shining silver thread running through most of my dreams and all my nightmares, whispering, beseeching, threatening: One word from you is all I want. Just speak one word, and we'll begin. Name, rank, and serial number, perhaps the misquoted lyrics from a popular song: anything will do. From there we'll move with slow cautious steps to gentle verbal sparring, twice-told tales, descriptions of the scarred and darkest places of our old and worn-out souls. I'll love you back; I'll tell you secrets—

He smelled like alcohol and a bad dream.

He's a nightmare," she said. "I can be, too." Rook answered, his red eyes glowing. "Just try me.

His mind was still at the precinct, where he saw his friend being yanked out of the car. It was an image he would never forget. He dreaded the terrifying experience that must have followed for her. He had a feeling he was going to have nightmares for years.

I am coming to see that the sensation of the worst nightmares, a sensation that can be felt asleep or awake, is identical to those worst dreams' form itself: the sudden intra-dream realization that the nightmares' very essence and center has been with you all along, even awake: it's just been... overlooked.

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp, cutting shards, shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly, both, caught in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores; she was insanity, wrapped up in the thin, transient wrappings of a temporary lucidity; and she was afraid, because an innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche for the very poison that was killing her.

He wondered if sanity had completely forsaken him in a land where nightmares and reality existed side-by-side.

His dad's eyes were getting darker. "How bad is it really?" Very bad. Too many fronts to fight. Bur for starters... "That big storm out east?" Jordan and Rook had gone to investigate... "That's the Sandman in the waking world." His dad frowned deeply. He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what that means." Yeah, well... "Neither do we.

How's daydreaming affecting nightmares?? Showing the light where is all dark!

I am kinda lost, don't know who I am, what am doing, and why I am in it. Everything around me is more like a weird dream. I wish I could wake up. Before the dream finishes me.

I awoke to a daymare. Life.

I can push everything into the dark.But it leaves me empty.And the dark always ends up finding me in my sleep

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in a cold sweat thinking I’m being chased by a grunting, disfigured man wielding a hatchet. Usually we're at an abandoned campground, which leads me to believe this is a subconscious mashup of Friday the 13th and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He never catches me. The only thing that ever happens is I'm running and he's chasing. It's pretty horrible. I know it’s not real, but it feels real, and you know how feelings are. They make everything real.

I'd ask my parents to leave the door open just a little bit so I wouldn't be stuck in the prison of my bedroom and mind, the imaginary horrors barring me from entering dreamland.

I bolted upright in my bed, gasping for air and still feeling his touch on my hand. I could feel him watching me. I could feel him waiting for me.

I do have nightmares. So what? I wouldn’t trade places with any of the f**kers I killed. Am I afraid of Hell? No. I’ve been. It’s worse than advertised but not as bad as imagined. ~ Brandon Hull

I could either succumb to the nightmares I’ve raised or paint them.

If anyone comes, shoot first, ask questions later.

I dreamed in night vision; white flowers of nocturnal gun fire – day residue shot to hell. If I held my dreams to a windowsill, sun would sieve through my screams.

If i can't be your true love, i want to be your worst nightmare.

I don't know if I'm dreaming when I sleep or sleeping while I'm awake, but I have reoccurring dreams my mind cannot take

If we didn't have nightmares, we wouldn't wake up every morning chasing our dreams.

If you look into someone else’s dreams, all you ever find are nightmares.

I found him between a reality and a nightmare.

I had lied to myself from the very beginning, deceived myself into believing that I was being fanciful and overly imaginative. Surely such monstrosities only existed in nightmares? Yet I had lived through a nightmare these past months, and that was no dream at all.        I was still fighting against the awful truth, not wanting to give in, searching my mind for a logical explanation—but there was none. And the most horrible realization of all was that I had known, somewhere deep inside, ever since the day I first set eyes on Vladec Salei.        Plague carrier.        Living death.        Drainer of life.        The phrasing did not matter. No euphemism could strike fear into the hearts of men the way that single word could.        Vampire.         And for me, the uninitiated, that single word meant death.

I have lain long here in your mind, longer than any nightmare has before me. I have sunk my roots into your worst imaginings and feasted on your memories. I know you, child.

I look my nightmares in the eye. And if my nightmares shoud look back, they see nothing but shadow.

If you can think of anything more terrifying than that happening to you in the middle of the night, then let's hear about it.

I love bad dreams. They remind me of the goodness of life.

I needed a moment to understand that I'd been dreaming, that I had come awake, and another moment to remember where I had gone to bed.

In the daylight we know what’s gone is gone, but at night it’s different. Nothing gets finished, not dying, not mourning;

In nightmares we can think the worst. That's what they're for, I guess.

In my sleep I have my nightmares, awake I have my thoughts, I am not sure which is worse.

Isn’t so scary that the person you used to daydream about is the same one who left you with so many nightmares?!

I really like it when a bad dream doesn't scare you...it inspires you instead'.

I spent many years trying to make up reasons about why I had the flashbacks, memories, continuous nightmares. When I finally decided to quit trying to hide from truth, I began to heal.

I thought when the abuse stopped I could move on with my life. Instead I am still running from Brian. The only difference is now I am running from him in my dreams.

Is she okay?" Harlen's throat was clogged with stones of fear. "She has to be okay.

It's because the door hasn't been closed yet that the nightmares still find their way in.

In these myriad ways, we carved out our lives in Los Angeles. Yet falling asleep was often an act of travel, taking me quickly by the hand so that I am instantly surrounded by verdant foliage, the ocean's emerald roar, the voices of Alice, Mala, our grandmother. Those most familiar and beloved of women. But there are also nightmares. Over and over I dream of a small house, a glittering lagoon, a mango tree, and a young girl. She stands before me and her large bruised eyes do not leave mine. When she unpins the sari fold at her shoulder and pulls it away from her, I see sunset-colored bruises on her delicate clavicles. When she undoes her sari blouse, I see the grenades tucked like extra breasts under her own. It is grotesque. I wake trembling, and her eyes stays with me for hours.

It's time to laugh at your nightmares and have nightmares of your laughter.

It's the place where dreams end and nightmares begin—it's the world of Intimate Partner Violence (IPV).

It was so awful! And he kept on looking at me and I knew I must get out of bed or he'd come and touch me. I did, too, but when I got out I wasn't me-I was a little white bunny. And he started out of the room and I had to go with him for fear he'd touch me. It felt so horrid, going out with him and looking back at mother there asleep. "We went into the main part of the house, and one of the big front doors was open, and we went out through it. And then he gave a big jump, and so did I, and it took us clear up into the sky. We couldn't fly, but we kept jumping and jumping. "Sometimes we stayed in the sky a little while, jumping from cloud to cloud, and the moon would get closer and closer and bigger and bigger, and its face would change and get horrible and grin at us until it seemed like its mouth was a mile wide and open, to swallow us up. And then we'd come down again and jump from one cliff to another, and the sea would be roaring down under us, and the waves all grey and cold and moving around and boiling like they were mad or afraid. "We went all over the island and sometimes we jumped over the sea to the mainland and back again; and sometimes I tried to get away and run back to Mother - I thought she'd know me even if I was a bunny - but always, whichever way I turned, the hare was there in front of me, and his teeth were shining. "We kept it up all night, and I was so tired and cold and miserable, and so scared. I didn't know whether he would ever let me go home or whether he would take me to Aunt Sarai. Then finally I did get away and the hare chased me!" She broke off, her voice rising again to a wail. "It was so awful! I ran all over the island, into all sorts of queer little places that I never knew were there before - it seems so different after dark - and finally, when two or three times I'd been so tired that I thought I just couldn't go any farther, before he caught me, I saw the house in front of me and the front door still open and I started to run in, and then I thought - what if they'd planned it that way, and Aunt Sarai had come down from her portrait and was inside there in the dark, waiting for me?

It was a time of dark dreams. They washed in like flotsam on the night tide, slipping beneath doorways and window latches, rising through the streets and hills; and the little fishing-town of Scarlock foundered deep.

It is a law of nature that a dream carried for too long inside you must, eventually, begin to rot.

I wish this were just a nightmare that we could wake up from.

I want to wake up!" a young woman shouted to the classroom ceiling. With her wide-set eyes and freckles, she looked like a nice person. Then a knobby-boned creature advanced on her. But she couldn't wake. And she likely wouldn't ever again.

I’ve long considered becoming a writer to be the death of nightmares. For me at least, since I started writing I hadn’t had any. Something really terrible or awful happens in a dream and you wake up and think, awesome, and reach for a pen and paper.

I wonder sometimes if the thoughts that flock my nightmares are abandoned memories coming home to roost.

I woke myself in the darkness, and I knew only that a dream had scared me so badly that I had to wake up or die, and yet, try as I might, I could not remember what I had dreamed. The dream was haunting me: standing behind me, present and yet invisible, like the back of my head, simultaneously there and not there.