You're mortal, and only a mortal can afford to be romantic. When we conquered death, we murdered love.
How oft do they rescue or ruin us, through whimsy or design or a combination of both, the adults to whom we entrust our care!
As long as you draw breath anywhere -here or ten thousands miles from here- I will love you. I can't help loving you, so I choose to hate you...to make my love bearable.
Memories can bring comfort to the old and infirm, but memories can also be implacable foes, a malicious army of temporal ghosts forever pillaging the long-sought-after peace of our twilight years.
We are very much like them: indiscriminate killers, ruled by drives little acknowledged and less understood, mindlessly territorial and murderously jealous - the only significant difference being that they have yet to master our expertise in hypocrisy, the gift of our superior intellect that enables us to slaughter one another in droves, more often than not under the auspices of an approving god!
A child has little defense against the sight of a parent laid low. Parents, like the earth beneath our feet and the sun above our heads, are immutable objects, eternal and reliable. If one should fall, who might vouch the sun itself won't fall, burning, into the sea?
Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.
I assure you, Constable Morgan, I am quite sane, as I understand the word, perhaps the sanest person in this room, for I suffer from no illusions. I have freed myself, you see, from the pretense that burdens most men. Much like our prey, I do not impose order where there is none; I do not pretend there is any more than what there is, or that you and I are anything more than what we are. That is the essence of their beauty, Morgan, the aboriginal purity of their being, and why I admire them.
But monsters, I now know, come in all shapes and sizes, and only their appetite for human flesh defines them.
We are the hunters---and we are also the bait.
And red is not the color of apples or roses or the dresses that pretty girls wear in the summertime. That is not the color of red at all.
Afterward I told his widow, "Your husband is dead, but at least he died laughing.' I think she took some comfort in that. It is the second-best way to die, Will Henry." He did not say what the best way was.
Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.
Adolphus is not at his desk. That means he is somewhere in the Monstrumarium, has gone home for the day, or is dead.
Our enemy is fear. Blinding, reason-killing fear. Fear consumes the truth and poisons all the evidence, leading us to false assumptions and irrational conclusions.
Please, do not leave me, Will Henry. I would not survive it. You were nearly right. What Mr. Kendall was, I am always on the brink of becoming. And you - I do not pretend to know how or even why - but you pull me back from the precipice. You are the one... You are the one thing that keeps me Human.
There are those who labor in the darkness, that the rest of us might live in the light.
Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.
Just because a man is a homicidal maniac doesn't make him wrong.
The doctor frowned upon drinking and often expressed wonderment at men who willingly made imbeciles of themselves.
There are things that are too terrible to remember, and there are things that are almost too wonderful to recall.
I was woefully ignorant in the social graces. I was being raised, after all, by Pellinore Warthrop.
It's an either/or world now.
It isn't up to me to break his heart; that's time's job.
Tampons. I’m constantly worrying about my stash and if I’ll be able to find more.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: