Hauntings Quotes

“Every city is a ghost.
New buildings rise upon the bones of the old so that each shiny steel bean, each tower of brick carries within it the memories of what has gone before, an architectural haunting. Sometimes you can catch a glimpse of these former incarnations in the awkward angle of a street or filigreed gate, an old oak door peeking out from a new facade, the plaque commemorating the spot that was once a battleground, which became a saloon and is now a park.”
― Libba Bray, Lair of Dreams

“It was haunted; but real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts finally; they have to do with the menace of memory.”
― Anne Rice, The Queen of the Damned

“It’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.”
― Theodore Roethke, Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke

“Softly as brown-eyed Angels rove
I will return to thy alcove,
And glide upon the night to thee,
Treading the shadows silently.

And I will give to thee, my own,
Kisses as icy as the moon,
And the caresses of a snake
Cold gliding in the thorny brake.

And when returns the livid morn
Thou shalt find all my place forlorn
And chilly, till the falling night.

Others would rule by tenderness
Over thy life and youthfulness,
But I would conquer thee by fright!”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les fleurs du mal

“Quinns always come at half price, about half the time, and half-naked, even during the colder half of winter. A Quinn is like a queen, but draggier, and cheaper to buy and use for personal gain, unless you’re suspicious that you’re poor and illiterate like Jarod Kintz, in which case Quinns could be the spirits of your dead relatives, come to haunt you until you gather a massive fortune through selling books on the internet, to send some back in time through a portal you bought from the NSA, so they would have lived better lives without having to move a finger for their fortune. Oh, yah, and since they aren’t - they’re blue, like smurfs, yet they turn purple whenever tickled on the belly, which is something they seem to rather dislike, since they start biting and scratching when it happens, for no good reason, I might add.”
― Will Advise, Nothing is here...

“The popular notion that ghosts are likely to be seen in a graveyard is not borne out by psychical research... A haunting ghost usually haunts a place that a person lived in or frequented while alive... Only a gravedigger's ghost would be likely to haunt a graveyard.”
― John Alexander, Ghosts! Washington Revisited: The Ghostlore of the Nation's Capitol

“One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.
As ancient is this hostelry
As any in the land may be,
Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality;
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams,
Remote among the wooded hills!
For there no noisy railway speeds,
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;
But noon and night, the panting teams
Stop under the great oaks, that throw
Tangles of light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window-sills.
Across the road the barns display
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,
Through the wide doors the breezes blow,
The wattled cocks strut to and fro,
And, half effaced by rain and shine,
The Red Horse prances on the sign.
Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust
Went rushing down the county road,
And skeletons of leaves, and dust,
A moment quickened by its breath,
Shuddered and danced their dance of death,
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead
Mysterious voices moaned and fled.
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flowers of the field with petals thin,
Lilies that neither toil nor spin,
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse
Hung in the parlor of the inn
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.
Uprose the sun; and every guest,
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed
For journeying home and city-ward;
The old stage-coach was at the door,
With horses harnessed,long before
The sunshine reached the withered sward
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar
Murmured: "Farewell forevermore.
Where are they now? What lands and skies
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?
What hope deludes, what promise cheers,
What pleasant voices fill their ears?
Two are beyond the salt sea waves,
And three already in their graves.
Perchance the living still may look
Into the pages of this book,
And see the days of long ago
Floating and fleeting to and fro,
As in the well-remembered brook
They saw the inverted landscape gleam,
And their own faces like a dream
Look up upon them from below.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow "Tales of the Wayside Inn"

“I began to doubt that I would ever know the truth of what transpired, or who those people really were. But all that changed one rainy August afternoon, when I was surprised by a dead man who had answers.”
― James Caskey, Haunted Savannah: America's Most Spectral City

“Everything that’s loved lives.”
― Mira Grant, In the Shadow of Spindrift House

“She stood a moment, staring up at the mansion. If it were haunted, she thought, it was probably by long-lost lovers. There was no way she could fathom anything wicked existing in such a beautiful place.”
― Alistair Cross, The Ghosts of Ravencrest

“She ran her hand over his cock and said, "This is the only thing I ever want to come between us."
His grin couldn't have stretched any further.”
― Terry Spear, A Silver Wolf Christmas

“This island is haunted, but by something far more powerful than a witch: my story, my exile, the reason I am here. It was I who echoed in these rocks and pathways, inside the roofs of these caves. It was my memories that acted as signposts to draw Perseus in my direction, but what might happen when he reached his final destination?”
― Jessie Burton, Medusa

“Happy Hauntings; and, pleasant dreams!”
― Peter James, Heaven Can You Hear Me?

“Ghosts are just our minds telling us that subconsciously we feel guilty about something we should have done, would have done, but never took the time!”
― Nell Rose

“I’m pretty sure your house isn’t haunted,” he said.
She shrugged. “Part of me hopes you’re wrong.”
― Jake Vander-Ark, Fallout Dreams

“If haunting is anything, perhaps that's what it is; time in the wrong place.”
― Jeanette Winterson, Eight Ghosts: The English Heritage Book of New Ghost Stories

“Within, the residents of Ravencrest shared their home with all who had lived and died over the centuries before them.”
― Alistair Cross, The Ghosts of Ravencrest

“It was high time Ivor got moving. It wasn’t fair to be dead and yet to hang around like this, in every room, in every corner of the house….There ought to be something like a fly-spray, a fly-spray for ghosts, a ghost-spray….”
― Celia Fremlin, The Long Shadow

“The shadows whisper truths the living are too afraid to hear.”
― Arjan Singh, Whispers in the Dark: The True Story of a Paranormal Encounter

“Descending south into St. Augustine’s Historic District along A1A, visitors are immediately confronted by an edifice which serves as a stark reminder that the city was originally founded as a military outpost, deep in hostile territory. Jutting up like a molar from the defensive teeth of the Ancient City is the forbidding fortress of Castillo de San Marcos, a coquina fortification which has served many roles it its nearly three hundred fifty year history.”
― James Caskey

“Do you remember the part in our wedding vows about 'Until death do we part?'
Consider this a bonus round.”
― Kevin Purdy, The Legend of Decimus Croome: A Halloween Carol

“Whether ghosts exist, it was silly to go to an expensive, infamously haunted inn if you didn't at least want to pretend. There was no need to be the sort of person who goes to a horror movie and points out it is all fake. We know. It's a movie. We suspended our disbelief when the lights dimmed. You are not made erudite by waving at the projectionist.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

“The hauntings died down, as it were, since exhumed bones were taken off display and interred elsewhere. A lack of archaeological ghoulishness will do that.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

“The ghostly woman still smiled, but there was no joy in it; it was empty, lunatic. The grin widened showing too much madness - and too many teeth - to be pretty anymore. She moved closer, wrapping cold arms around him.”
― Alistair Cross, The Cliffhouse Haunting

“Yellow Hand Running Epic Poem
(The 'Halla # 5)

Kari, the Valkyrie
Yellow Hand Running Epic Poem

Don't you lie to me you damned ghost. I can see right through you.

--Kari, the Valkyrie
Chapter Double Nought Zero”
― douglas laurent

“Spirits don’t tend to open new wounds in the people they haunt. It’s more in their nature to gouge at old ones.”
― A. K. M. Beach

“It's always startling to see her... the way looks like a fever dream, like something not quite real. That valence of dark hair over her eyes, those lips always painted bright red as a pomegranate seed--

I've just come face-to-face with a street full of ghosts... but nobody's ever haunted me like she does.”
― Gwendolyn Kiste, The Haunting of Velkwood

“He was not smiling. But neither was his look menacing. His close-cropped white hair gave him an almost regal appearance as he stared at me with a benign, slightly bemused expression as if he were intrigued by this strange white child who was howling like a banshee.
By now I was sitting straight up in bed, the tears streaming copiously down my face, and as I screamed again he began to disappear. Starting with his feet he began to vanish a bit at a time: his lower legs disappeared, and then his thighs, and then his arms and torso until all that was left of him was his handsome face, that face now floating in the air without a body to sustain it, and his face was still wearing that benign, slightly bemused expression until, at last, his face was gone, too.”
― John Russell, A Knock in the Attic

“The poltergeist — or dracu (demon) as Eleonora called it — communicated by automatic writing, and even spoke a few sentences in a 'breathy and toneless voice.' But what it had to say indicated that its level of intelligence was extremely low.”
― Colin Wilson, Poltergeist!

“There’s something deeply humiliating about being haunted.If you’re mentally ill, you hide it. If you’re physically disabled, you minimize it. If your house is haunted, you damn well better keep that to yourself.

Because what’s the alternative? Laughter. Pity. Fear. Dismissal”
― Doug Owen, THE UNHOLY SILENCE: A true Account of a Haunted Idaho Home