Gothic Fiction Quotes

Quotes tagged as "gothic-fiction" (showing 1-30 of 48)
Jess C. Scott
“I envy people that know love. That have someone who takes them as they are.”
Jess C Scott, The Devilin Fey

Jess C. Scott
“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

“This is not written for the young or the light of heart, not for the tranquil species of men whose souls are content with the simple pleasures of family, church, or profession. Rather, I write to those beings like myself whose existence is compounded by a lurid intermingling of the dark and the
light; who can judge rationally and think with reason, yet who feel too keenly and churn with too great a passion; who have an incessant longing for happiness and yet are
shadowed by a deep and persistent melancholy—those who grasp gratification where they may, but find no lasting comfort for the soul.”
B.E. Scully

Barrymore Tebbs
“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

Ann Radcliffe
“When her mind was discomposed... a book was the opiate that lulled it to repose.”
Ann Radcliffe, The Romance of the Forest

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

Shirley Jackson
“All of the village was of a piece, a time, and a style; it was as though the people needed the ugliness of the village, and fed on it. The houses and the stores seemed to have been set up in contemptuous haste to provide shelter for the drab and the unpleasant, and the Rochester house and the Blackwood house and even the town hall had been brought here perhaps accidentally from some far lovely country where people lived with grace. Perhaps the fine houses had been captured—perhaps as punishment for the Rochesters and the Blackwoods and their secret bad hearts?—and were held prisoner in the village; perhaps their slow rot was a sign of the ugliness of the villagers.”
Shirley Jackson

Tiffany Apan
“Matthew shook his head. “Whoever said anything of women in the Victorian era being prim and proper apparently hadn’t met Maxine Fleming.”
Tahatan chuckled. “I’m sure a publisher somewhere would make a nice fortune with putting this into print. The fact is, people tend to look back on bygone times through rose-colored glasses. All eras have encouraged values that are pushed on the surface, but in the end, people are still people.”
Tiffany Apan, Descent

“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

Hazel Butler
“Joshua had always been able to get away with things—things for which he should never have been forgiven. He was a lot like James in that respect, for while my husband had bought his grace with his brilliance, Joshua did so with his looks. I considered that a moment, before turning away, suddenly finding I could not bear to look at him for fear of what I might forgive next.”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

Hazel Butler
“It seemed for a moment as if something was there, loitering between the knurled and towering cherry trees, a flash of a presence as stark as the sight of the snow against their bare branches and cracked, piceous bark. Unblinking, I watched the edge of the lake, waiting for it to reappear, but whatever it had been was gone, vanished under cover of a willow tree, lofty and dense, rearing over the lake, its branches dripping all the way to the ground. The tree’s lament had been transformed into a thing of such beauty I was tempted to go and hide within it.”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

Hazel Butler
“Insects crawled across my skin, legs skittering across my flesh, numbed paths of cold left in their wake. They were the creatures that heralded my ghosts, and I knew them well, yet the revulsion they caused in those moments far exceeded anything I’d felt before.”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

“...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

“Dead tree branches rattled,
the cold wind seethed, it prattled
of abominations about to unfold.
A lone wolf howled,
the full moon it prowled,
ready for evils untold.”
A. Lee Brock

Paula Heath
“Good evening, you poor little Orphans of a Loveless God. Good evening to you blood sucking fools.”
Paula Heath, Orphans of a Loveless God - Volume II: Request

Ava Bloomfield
“I liked the darkness, the dusty bay window, the view over the grey, muddy harbour and the towering cliffs beyond. How could I think of all that and dislike it, really, when in every nook and cranny I felt Peter’s eyes peering out, watching me?”
Ava Bloomfield, Honest

Vince Liberato
“Don’t look so shocked. And please, please don’t scream. You and I both knew that this was coming… Yes, yes, it’s a mess… but the nails were having trouble penetrating so they had to go. Speaking of which… Could you get that last nail?

Vince Liberato
“Because I was Bored”
Vince Liberato, The Rogues Gallery: The Illustrated Police News

Hazel Butler
“The night beyond the window was still, mordant white snow, punctuated only by the eerie dark of the trees, gumshoeing their way along the edge of the path outside. Their skeletal fingers clawed up at the stars, held down by an insidious, weightless lacing of snowflakes. I gazed idly at the moon and wondered if it truly had the power to sway the will of men.”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

“Rain turned to ice,
and lightning splintered, it spliced
the black sky, it seeped a bright white.
All animals they fled,
from the sky as it bled,
pale death that fell veiling the night.”
A. Lee Brock, Penny Willan and the Well: A Fairy Tale of Ode

“Painful memories, they can mend,
love’s powerful, but it can rend,
through the treacherous act of jealousy.
A passion that seeks to destroy,
the soul when it deploys,
the vicious sin that is envy.

Take heed my friends,
when contemplating the end
of an imagined rival for the heart’s true amour.
Acts of envy bode not well,
for they cast an evil spell,
and in the end you’ll suffer forevermore.

For jealously can blight,
the harmonious light
of all the love you’d hoped to see,
because envy has power,
and can inhumanly devour,
everything you wanted from love, for thee.”
A. Lee Brock, Penny Willan and the Well: A Fairy Tale of Ode

“Wrath crawled out from the well,
on direction from Hell,
to get back what it once lost.
With vengeance in mind,
it set out to find,
a specified soul to accost.

When the Hell-well beckoned,
Mother’s will now reckoned,
her dead soul now wholly enslaved.
Embodied in a rotting husk,
the corpse reeked of putrid musk,
her being wholly depraved.”
A. Lee Brock, Penny Willan and the Well: A Fairy Tale of Ode

“Envy said, “Girl, I remember well,
ye, who I flung from Hell,
and not a day has passed, I haven’t missed
the loss of your soul that I mourned,
I’ve been bereft and forlorn,
for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve yet to kiss.

But no worries—bygones,
that’s the past—long gone,
I don’t hold a grudge, no, in no way.
And though your family they did swindle
my joy of flaying ye on a spindle,
I begrudge ye not a little, so let’s play.

So, merely toss your token in my well,
and all your dreams I will unveil,
for ye alone, them I’ll grant.
Come closer, little Penny,
your hands I know are not empty,
ye have something I dreadfully want.”
A. Lee Brock, Penny Willan and the Well: A Fairy Tale of Ode

“In hundreds of years of wish fulfillment,
never once to the demon’s bereavement,
had a wish gone unable to be yielded.
It was love this day, which defeated the curse,
and there in Hell there was little worse,
than the dark forces of evil gone unwielded.”
A. Lee Brock, Penny Willan and the Well: A Fairy Tale of Ode

Hazel Butler
“he night beyond the window was still, mordant white snow, punctuated only by the eerie dark of the trees, gumshoeing their way along the edge of the path outside. Their skeletal fingers clawed up at the stars, held down by an insidious, weightless lacing of snowflakes. I gazed idly at the moon and wondered if it truly had the power to sway the will of men.”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

Hazel Butler
“The reflection was that of a putrefying corpse. By some trick of the light, her face seemed sallow and slipping, the patches of darkness giving the appearance of skin sloughing off in small pockets. I’d almost forgotten the knife in my panic; the woman was far more dangerous than the weapon. Blood drizzled down the blade, obscuring the macabre reflection of Natalya’s face and suddenly I was transfixed by a thought that should have been immediate:
Whose blood is that?”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

Hazel Butler
“I imagined her poised, a humerus in one hand, a toothbrush in the other, as she gently brushed away the last remnants of the person who had once used that arm to shake hands, open doors, lift a mug of tea. I wondered if it was so very different from how I myself looked when I sat on the floor of my finds room, perhaps sitting cross-legged, at the centre of a circle of newly cleaned bones, a tibia in one hand, a toothbrush in the other …”
Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

“Art lovers collect paintings that demonstrate some form of imperceptible complexity. Abstract images with vague messages and symbols that keep you guessing and wondering what it all means, if anything. What these art buffs don’t seem to realize is that true complexity—the real abstract image—lies in something as simple and as random as a family photo. If they bothered to look deeply and closely enough into these unremarkable images, they would see the lies, the sorrow and the dark secrets that hide behind the superficial smiles and forced joviality. A picture is worth a thousand words, but most of those words get lost in translation.”
Mindy Fordham, The Waking World

Stewart Stafford
“To me, Gothic fiction is the literary representation of the stormy gloom of the British Isles.”
Stewart Stafford

Sharon Cameron
“Simon’s baby,” he said, rocking on his heels. “Simon’s baby girl. But you are too many, much too many to be Simon’s baby girl. How many are you?”

“Seventeen,” I whispered. He was still uncomfortably close.

“Lane!” he shouted. I jumped. “Do I have a niece of seventeen?”

“Yes,” came Lane’s voice from the door.

The old man relaxed. “Then that is as it should be. Lane always knows when things are as they should be. Where is your father, little niece?”
Sharon Cameron, The Dark Unwinding

Bram Stoker
“Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.”
Bram Stoker, Dracula

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