Gothic Fiction Quotes

“I envy people that know love. That have someone who takes them as they are.”
― Jess C Scott, The Devilin Fey

“One hand was behind his back, and he held it out, presenting a bouquet of white and smoky purple lilies.

“They’re straight from the underworld, by the way. They are everlasting. They won’t die.”
― Jess C Scott, The Devilin Fey

“At its heart, Gothic Fiction is the introvert's "Hero's Journey" where heroes and heroines must navigate the uncharted territory of the mind in order to solve the mystery of their life's adventure.”
― Barrymore Tebbs

“No, I will not join your Civil War reenactment troupe.”
― Aaron A. A. Smith, Siren's Lament and Other Stories

“How strange the heart was, capable of making you lose your head over a monster.”
― Aran Maza, Garden Of Shadows

“For the sake of your bright eyes, Jem Merlyn.”
― Daphne du Maurier, Jamaica Inn

“I looked upon the scene before me—upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain—upon the bleak walls—upon the vacant eye-like windows—upon a few rank sedges—and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees—with an utter desperation of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the afterdream of the reveller upon opium—the bitter lapse into everyday life—the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart—an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it—I paused to think—what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down—but with a shudder even more thrilling than before—upon the remodelled and inverted images of the grey sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Fall of the House of Usher

“Lady Dunreath, in the meantime, suffered torture; after she had seen Malvina turned from the abbey, she returned to her apartment; it was furnished with the most luxurious elegance, yet she could not rest within it. Conscience already told her, if Malvina died, she must consider herself her murderer: her pale and woe-worn image seemed still before her: a cold terror oppressed her heart, which the terrors of the night augmented. The tempest shook the battlements of the abbey; and the wind howled through the galleries, like the moan of some wandering spirit of the pile, bewailing the fate of one of its fairest daughters.”
― Regina Maria Roche, The Children of the Abbey

“There was something so strange in all this, something so weird and impossible to imagine, that there grew on me a sense of my being in some way the sport of opposite forces - the mere vague idea of which seemed in a way to paralyse me. I was certainly under some form of mysterious protection. From a distant country had come, in the very nick of time, a message that took me out of the danger of the snow-sleep and the jaws of the wolf.”
― Bram Stoker, Dracula's Guest

“...Leaning on her maid, she stole through the winding galleries, and lightly descending the stairs, entered the long hall, which terminated in a dark arched passage that opened into the chapel. This was a wild and gloomy structure: beneath it were the vaults which contained the ancestors of the earl of Dunreath, whose deeds and titles were enumerated on gothic monuments: their dust-covered banners waving around in sullen dignity to the rude gale, which found admittance through the broken windows. The light which the maid held produced deep shadows, that heightened the solemnity of the place.”
― Regina Maria Roche, The Children of the Abbey

“The darkness and the night made her see monsters where there were only shadows, screams where a creaking door opened, whispers where the wind swayed.”
― Aran Maza, Garden Of Shadows

“All spirits come out at night, they like the dark, they hide in the shadows.”
― Aran Maza, Garden Of Shadows

“If a tree fell alone in the woods and no one was around to hear it, did it really make a sound?
She was certain, then, that her scream went unheard.”
― Ashton Morgan, De Novo

“Cecilia came whirling back into his chest, his eyes catching her own. They were a strange silver, a colour like smoke, the only trail that proves the heat of the flame. His eyes held no malice, nor fury, the only fervor a desire she couldn’t place.”
― Ashton Morgan, De Novo

“Algo que não pode ser tão facilmente erradicado é, talvez, o maior dos medos vitorianos: o de que ao procurar pelo reflexo do vampiro, esse Outro, no espelho, irás encontrá-lo rastejando dentro de ti.”
― Thiago Sardenberg, O Vampiro à Sombra do Mal: A Fluidez do Lugar da Figura Mítica na Literatura

“O lócus que tradicionalmente habita o vampiro, essencialmente noturno, também perpassa o desconhecido: não tememos a escuridão apenas devido à falta de estímulos visuais que nos priva da percepção de possíveis ameaças, mas também porque ela dá vida e amplifica nossos próprios medos, concretizando no invisível aquilo que nos perturba no íntimo.
Assim, se a noite é esse “espaço-tempo em que o terror se sente à vontade”, os terrores que nas sombras me alucinam poderão ser vastamente distintos dos teus, mesmo que juntos a desbravemos.”
― Thiago Sardenberg, À Noite não Restariam Rosas: A Ameaça Epidêmica em Narrativas Vampirescas

“Impregnadas nas diferentes ameaças epidêmicas impostas pelos vampiros, estão inquietações que perpassam esse olhar crítico para as escolhas que nós, humanos, estamos continuamente fazendo. Se o vampiro ficcional, esse monstro que tanto nos revela e adverte sobre nós mesmos, insiste de maneira tão enfática no viés pandêmico-apocalíptico na contemporaneidade, talvez seja pelo inconveniente fato de que se torna cada vez mais evidente que “o surto mais grave no planeta Terra é o da espécie Homo sapiens” e que, caso continuemos a fazer as mesmas escolhas equivocadas, teremos que lidar com a o fato de que “eis a verdade em relação aos surtos: eles acabam”.”
― Thiago Sardenberg, À Noite não Restariam Rosas: A Ameaça Epidêmica em Narrativas Vampirescas

“Narrativas como Apocalipse V e The Passage evidenciam o papel da humanidade na perturbação e desintegração de ecossistemas, fatores que acabam por favorecer a criação de cenários pandêmicos, no que somos expostos a novos patógenos que se encontravam placidamente contidos, e que podem ser responsáveis pela emergência (ou reemergência) de doenças infecciosas potencialmente perigosas.”
― Thiago Sardenberg, À Noite não Restariam Rosas: A Ameaça Epidêmica em Narrativas Vampirescas

“Nas artes, afinal, o vampirismo é como que endêmico — os surtos que retratam aparecem e então se tornam latentes por tempo indeterminado; quando os esquecemos ou julgamos tê-los superado, eis que reaparecem, seus monstros-vampiros funcionando como personificações de uma nova “variante” bem preparada para desarmar as defesas que construímos.”
― Thiago Sardenberg, À Noite não Restariam Rosas: A Ameaça Epidêmica em Narrativas Vampirescas

“Woolens to wash await Eliza, while Eliza awaits her next thought, a thought which pleases her by being three trees taunting, two, two tombs tattling, one for her and one for me, walking harvest-wise across the bridge.
(Aulisyn: A Gothic Sci-Fi Novel)”
― erzsebet carmean

“I raise my forlorn heart, Eliza thinks, to know the bounty of food at Bellumfort and understand the long months of winter grief on the demesne are preventable.”
― Erzsebet Carmean, Aulisyn A Gothic Sci-Fi Novel

“Woolens to wash await Eliza, while Eliza awaits her next thought, a thought which pleases her by being three trees taunting, two, two tombs tattling, one for her and one for me, walking harvest-wise across the bridge.”
― Erzsebet Carmean, Aulisyn A Gothic Sci-Fi Novel

“Then there was darkness. The light from the oil lamp had gone off. She wasn't in the tub anymore. She had been wrapped in a thin cloth that impeded her movement, but she managed to pull it apart, to slide it away, and it slipped from her shoulders as neatly as the membrane she'd observed.

Wood. She could smell damp earth and wood, and when she raised a hand her knuckles hit hard surface and a splinter cut her skin.

Coffin. It was a coffin. The cloth was a shroud.”
― Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Mexican Gothic

“An odd sensation rushed through her body. Her head grew light, and a peculiar pleasure imbued her mind. In the demon’s eyes a promise was held. Her days had been filled with misfortune; enduring adversity had made her tired. The lure was too enticing, and she followed. - Ch 2 The Darkness of Judith”
― Helen Mihajlovic

“This glass was a gift from the Watchers, Faustine. Real angels sent from heaven. A long time ago one of them fell in love with a mortal, and this glass was their first blessing. Glass that sings.

-Seraphine, Singing For Starblood”
― Emma lou , Singing For Starblood

“The library at Hellebore, however, was different. Appendage to the main campus, it acted only in the faculty's interest, which seemed to revolve exclusively around fucking us students over.”
― Cassandra Khaw, The Library at Hellebore

“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

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“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“The Basement Morgue by Stewart Stafford

A reluctant errand to a basement morgue,
No mortal knew what things lurked there,
The elevator shuddered to a halt, opening,
To a scattered boneyard of patient beds.

Totem tchotchkes of a broken system,
Dead corridors stretched left and right,
A charged cold-sweat silence hung,
As a flaccid desk stethoscope rattled.

Buried my nose in my clipboard;
Had to find their machine - now!
A gurney wheeled itself past me,
Disappearing into an anteroom.

A hanging skeleton lunged at me—
Spindly fingers choked me into blackness.
Rousing to bright lights, blinding me;
Icy steel drawers swallowed my screams.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“A dark Southern Gothic tale of forbidden desire and supernatural vengeance. Within the cursed halls of Chesterson Manor, love turns deadly, and ghosts of the past hunger for redemption.”
― Thomas Miller, The Deadly Lust Of Chesterson Manor : A Story Of Lust Love And Death