Goth Girl Quotes

That was the goth stage, where I decided I'd never get the girl of my dreams because of my scars. Not to mention my hairstyle. (pause) But then she slammed a door handle into my gut. And when a girl does that to a boy, it means she likes him.

Don't leave me, Rainbow Girl." Rainbow Girl. Was that who I was? It seemed so long ago. I smiled faintly. "Remember the skirt I wore to Mallucé's the night you told me to dress Goth?" "It's upstairs in your closet. Never throw it away. It looked like a wet dream on you.

Oh, he did look like a deity – the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.

Says the girl dressed up in formal Goth mourning," Shane said. "Seriously, who buys a black lace veil? You keep that on hand for special occasions, like prom and kid's birthdays?

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

And the truth is that I'm not, Ed, is what I wanted to tell you. I'm not arty like everyone says who doesn't know me, I don't paint, I can't draw, I play no instrument, I can't sing. I'm not in plays, I wanted to say, I don't write poems. I can't dance except tipsy at dances. I'm not athletic, I'm not a goth or a cheerleader, I'm not treasurer or co-captain. I'm not gay and out and proud, I'm not that kid from Sri Lanka, not a triplet, a prep, a drunk, a genius, a hippie, a Christian, a slut, not even one of those super-Jewish girls with a yarmulke gang wishing everyone a happy Sukkoth. I'm not anything, this is what I realized ... I like movies, everyone knows I do -- I love them -- but I will never be in charge of one because my ideas are stupid and wrong in my head. There's nothing different about that, nothing fascinating, interesting, worth looking at.

Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –

And what if you try to kill me? Or worse: to kiss me?

This girl who equally drove me crazy and made me care about her more than I should. She was the only one who understood. The only one who could help make what I was more bearable, even if she occasionally tortured me in the process.

Well, there's this new girl who just moved in on floor three. Her family's re-opening the cafe. I hear she likes to lie, and hit people." "Oh yeah? Well, there's that strange goth guy, the one who's always lurking around Five C." "Strangely hot in a mysterious way, though, right?

One time you told me that the opposite of love isn't hate. And I didn't understand that, but I think I do know. Because if you hate someone, you most still care, right? You have to care a little bit; otherwise you would just ignore them and forget they even live. Or lived.

You kissed me once and now you feel as if you’ve got some special kind of licence to do it whenever you want?

So, apart from casting runes, what other hobbies do you have? Forbidden rituals, human sacrifices, torturing? –

I just have an allergic reaction to lung cancer. Gives me tumors.

You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.

This girl. This little high school kid with her stupid boots and her Addams Family wardrobe and her skin as white and floury-looking as unbaked bread. Pillsbury goth girl, just out of the can.

Stop…stop, that’s the next generation of fans… How dare you pass judgment on those 12-year-old girls who like vampires! They need to be encouraged because in six years they’ll be 18-year-old girls who like vampires and are into all sorts of goth-permissive and whatnot. Don’t Poo-poo it. There’s a plan, and it’s working.

Do vampyres play chess? Were there vampyre dorks? How about Barbie-like vampyre cheerleaders? Did any vampyres play in the band? Were there vampyre Emos with their guy-wearing-girl’s-pants weirdness and those awful bangs that cover half their faces? Or were they all those freaky Goth kids who didn’t like to bathe much? Was I going to turn into a Goth kid? Or worse, an Emo? I didn’t particularly like wearing black, at least not exclusively, and I wasn’t feeling a sudden and unfortunate aversion to soap and water, nor did I have an obsessive desire to change my hairstyle and wear too much eyeliner.

...she's leaving now. ... Janis attacks the back door of the school gym and finds herself in a heavy cloud of smoke. She realizes she's found the Goths' hangout. Who knew? "Oof," someone says. She keeps walking, muttering, "sorry" to whomever it was she hit with the flying door. *** Cabel: ... That was the Goth stage where I decided I'd never get the girl of my dreams because of my scars. Not to mention the hairstyle. (pause) But then she slammed a door handle into my gut. And, when a girl does that to a boy, it means she likes him.

I don't know and I don't care anymore. I was supposed to have my way for once, just once in my life. I did everything right and I got nothing for it. I want to kill them all. no, better yet, I want to die. No, even bettter than that: I want to kill them all then die.

2. Goth girls. Streaked purple and black hair, tattoos, a sexy little tramp stamp on the lower back, navel rings, tongue studs… nipple rings… ripped fishnets and high heels, dark clothes and dark moods. Makes me want to peel it all off and find the soft spots underneath, the sweetness at the center… mmmm.

The best revenge is living well, my dad told me once.

I leaned back to look at her, seeing only her, this girl who was Ally but also Alona, and who bore a resemblance to a friend i'd once had but was someone new. Someone i could live without, but didn't want to

When people look at me, they automatically assume I'm dark and weird. Why can't they see the truth? I'm just a girl, trying to find my place in the world.

It's a good day when a goddess gets on the school-bus with you.

I suddenly realize that I'm naked, which shouldn't bother me since it's the phone, but for some reason it does. "How's it hanging?" Kyra asks and now I think I'm blushing. It's just an expression, but jeez!

(Man, I wish life had emoticons, you know? So that when your dad pisses you off you could like click a mental button or something and just show him one of those rolleyes. That would rock) Anyway.

You can't rely on love. Love will let you down every time. Every. Single. Time. I don't love Jecca. I don't love Fanboy. But... God, the buts in life will kill you absolutely every time, won't they. I don't love. But I need. I can admit that to myself.

So I got dressed up kind of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo-y goth. As I head out, I say bye to Mum and Dad, and Mum says, ‘You look cool’, just as Dad says, ‘You look terrifying.

When you feel like things are out of control, you take control. Yeah, that's what you do. Take control. So, yeah. Oh, yeah.

The world pretty much sucks most of the time. But the point of life isn’t to live in a world that doesn’t suck. The point is to try to make it suck a little bit less.

In a way, i feel sorry for boys. They're weak. You show them boobs or a butt and they just fall apart. But I feel sorry for girls, too. Because girls get screwed, even when they're not naked with a guy. Everyone hates girls--even other girls. I mean, "girl" is like an insult, you know? "That's so girly." "Stop being a girl." "You're like a little girl." Hey, you know what? I was a little girl once and I kicked ass. I was awesome.

And if it's locked, I'll knock it the hell down." He thinks when he busts out "hell" I take him more seriously. Yeah. Insert eye roll here.

...She's not buying [the lie], but there's nothing else on the shelves.

It just means that if someone hates you, they still have feelings for you. If they really didn't care about you, they'd just forget about you. They wouldn't even waste the time hating you.

Aliens struck me as being rather goth.

You can't rely on love. Love will let you down every time. Every. Single. Time.

Strength and victory... What he would never praise himself for, but whose loss was his most obsessive fear.

Sleeping Beauty is the worst fairy tale, pretty much any way you slice it. It’s aimless and amoral and chauvinist as shit. It’s the fairy tale that feminist scholars cite when they want to talk about women’s passivity in historical narratives. (“She literally sleeps through her own climax,” as my favorite gender studies professor used to say. “Double entendre fully intended.”)... ..Even among the other nerds who majored in folklore, Sleeping Beauty is nobody’s favorite. The romantic girls like Beauty and the Beast; basic girls like Cinderella; goth girls like Snow White. Only the dying girls like Sleeping Beauty.

As we walk across the oval afterwards - the Goth, the beauty queen and the fat country girl - I can feel the whole school turning our way and raising a collective eyebrow. If we were a band we would be called The Outcasts.

Oh, that was smooth. I'm as subtle as a fart.

Love makes you weak. This I know for sure. Mom loved Roger. Roger loved Mom.And look what happpened there. She died. She thought her love made her strong. She kept telling me-after she was diagnosed-she ket telling me, "I'm going to beat this Kyra. I'm going to come out of it. I love you and I love your father and that love is my strength. You're my strength.

I'm strong thanks to you, Kyra. You're my strength." And who the hell was she to put that burden on me? I was her strength? Then what did that mean as the cancer ate her from the inside out? What did that mean as she got weaker and weaker and weaker? When the cancer migrated her brain and made her forget things and space out randomly? You can't rely on other people to be your strength. You have to be your own strength.

Everyone knew that girls who admitted to liking girls stopped being whatever they were before and became a cross between a lumberjack and a punk-goth-anarchist. - Adena Galinksy, USA (p. 38)

Um… Eve…can I ask…?” “About what?” Eve was still frowning at the pasta like she suspected it to do something clever, like try to escape the pot. “You and Michael.” “Oh.” A surge of pink to Eve’s cheeks. Between that and the fact that she was wearing colors outside of the Goth red and black rainbow, she looked young and very cute. “Well. I don’t know if it’s – God, he’s just so–” “Hot?” Claire asked. “Hot,” Eve admitted. “Nuclear hot. Surface of the sun hot. And–” She stopped, the flush in her cheeks getting darker. Claire picked up a wooden spoon and poked the pasta, which was beginning to loosen up. “And?” “And I was planning on putting the moves on him before all this happened. That’s why I had on the garters and stuff. Planning ahead.” “Oh, wow.” “Yeah, embarrassing. Did he peek?” “When you were changing?” Claire asked. “I don’t think so. But I think he wanted to.” “That’s okay then.” Eve blinked down at the pasta, which had formed a thick white foam on top. “Is it supposed to be doing that?” Claire hadn’t ever seen it happen at her parents’ house. But then again, they hadn’t made spaghetti much. “I don’t know.” “Oh, crap!” The white foam kept growing, like in one of those cheesy science fiction movies. The foam that ate the Glass House…it mushroomed up over the top of the pot and down over the sides, and both girls yelped as it hit the burners and began to sizzle and pop. Claire grabbed the pot and moved it. Eve turned down the burner. “Right, pasta makes foam, good to know. Too hot. Way too hot.” “Who? Michael?” Claire asked, and they dissolved in giggles.

Aliens struck me as being rather goth. Luckily, in the daylight, there could be no more effective goth repellent than our home’s hideous furnishings. We had 1970s green and yellow linoleum floors. Neon orange and brown, scratchy, wool plaid furniture. And on the living room wall, a huge, earnest painting of two raccoons someone had made while serving a prison sentence.

I won't let myself be used or manipulated. I won't let myself be a hypocrite. I am foe me. I am not weak. For anyone.

Dr. Kennedy talked me out of killing myself--for now--without saying a single words or even knowing what was going on. Which, I've decided, is the mark of a totally kick-ass therapist.

Here's the thing. Here's the thing I hate: His concern is like a really warm drink when your body is cold, and you feel it go all the way down your throat and then into your stomach, where it pools and spreads out. But the problem is, that cold is good. Cold is numb. And when you're numb, you can't feel pain. You can't feel pain until some stupid warm drink makes you not numb anymore and then you can feel again.

You really do just barrel into situations without any regard for your own safety, don't you?' She grinned, displaying white, slightly overlapping teeth and the two dimples on her cheeks. 'I have my murderous goth to protect me.

Thanks to the very best in Microsoft/Intel engineering, it crashes every time you exhale too hard in its general vicinity. --Fanboy on his computer

Hell is being alone.

Liquid heat blasts into me and I can feel it all the way to my navel, feeling him so deep inside me it’s almost like he’s poking at my heart. He

Silly Millie, Chilly Millie, the ice-cold Goth girl who’s always dreaming of Death. Am I right?

Even among the other nerds who majored in folklore, Sleeping Beauty is nobody's favorite. Romantic girls like Beauty and the Beast; vanilla girls like Cinderella; goth girls like Snow White. Only dying girls like Sleeping Beauty.

I kinda looked like a wanna-be Goth chick, or an unfortunate Persian girl in a Gothic romance who was wasting away from Tuberculosis. But that was alright. Oz had mentioned he wasn't human. He was probably into that sort of thing.

Home is where the heart is, and he had mine with one meeting of our gazes, when our souls touched, when they fondled across a crowded room, burning love’s haze into the gloom. Pressing

A guy next to me sees the massive bruise on my arm. "God, what a wuss! You got bruised from playing dodge ball?" I look at him, and I realize that I don't know him. I don't even recognize him from walking through the halls or assemblies. I couldn't tell you what grade he's in or what classes he takes. So why does he even bother? Why does he even bother being mean to me?

Mom's already dead!" I yelled at him. "Who the hell do you think you're saving?" And he just gave me his Sad, Tired look. It's one of the three he's got, the other two being Pissed Off and Blised Out on ESPN.

Lord Goth spent his time riding his hobby horse around the grounds and taking potshots at the garden ornaments with a blunderbuss. Before long he had acquired a reputation for being mad, bad and dangerous to gnomes.

Shame upon him who can look on calmly, and exclaim, 'The foolish girl! she should have waited; she should have allowed time to wear off the impression; her despair would have been softened, and she would have found another lover to comfort her.' One might as well say, 'The fool, to die of a fever! why did he not wait till his strength was restored, till his blood became calm? all would then have gone well, and he would have been alive now.

have no idea who she was,” Brandell said, “although I did recognize her from somewhere—I had the feeling that it was something bad. She was tattooed and pierced and all that crap and looked like a heavy rocker or goth or punk, plus she was as thin as hell.

Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask, leaning to look round and up him to see his face, hoping to release some of the pain in my fingers from his brutal hold. “Didn’t have the heart. You drank a lot last night and I nailed you like your name was Jesus, I had to let you rest.

even though she’s considered reasonably attractive (as in not 100% ugly), with her own unique style (part 90s Goth, part post-hip hop, part slutty ho, part alien), she’s having to compete with images of girls on fucksites with collagen pouts and their bloated silicone tits out

I realized how much it must suck to be a parent. You devote everything to your kids, who just end up growing up and disliking you. I felt bad for them briefly, but at least they had each other. In that moment I decided I wouldn't have kids. I don't think I could handle the level of betrayal I'd feel once I realized they weren't interested in me anymore.

Mrs. Peters in the seventh grade accused me of being a goth and my dear parents (Dear Mother and Dearest Stepfather, I’ll probably have forgiven you by the time I’m dead, perhaps) sent me to the Catholic girls’ school in Kent to retrain me, and really, is there anything more inclined to train someone to think exclusively of death—manner and method of, and What Lies Beyond—than a Catholic school education?

The blonde was staring at herself in the mirror, taking on a thoughtful, reflective tone. “Well, it isn’t easy. And his mood changes in an instant. But he collects different girls for different flavors – so one girl doesn’t have to be everybody and everything.” “Oh.” I splashed water on my face and stared for a moment at the mask in the mirror. “You’re just his type, totally. With all the tattoos, you are utterly monstrous, if you don’t mind my saying so. Punk-Goth gone mad.” She swung around to take a close, direct look. “I never saw the point of tattoos, mind you, just fad and fashion. But,” she focused on me, stared, grinned, and rolled her eyes. “My God, darling, you really are perfect! How could you do that to yourself?” She licked her lips. “I think you will be a success. As I said, Sergei loves tattoos. He’s totally into the weird and the monstrous. He adores freaks – and kid, you are about as freakish as they come.” “You think so.” I turned my mask towards her and gave her an extra big smile – I was even more grotesque, Martine told me, when I smiled. “Oh, Gwen, how totally utterly horrible!” she declared and then kissed me to console me for having become a monster. As I grinned at Sergei’s girl, the metal rings in my ears clanked against each other. I could feel the large ring nose, warm, smooth steel, against my curled upper lip. “Yes, you look like a masterpiece of self-loathing.” “It’s called body art,” I said, “It’s a statement.” “A statement?” “Absolutely,” I hiccupped. Everything was fuzzy; I forced myself to focus. “Whatever it is, you’ll be a big success. Sergei collects waifs who suffer from extreme self-hatred. Self-destructive and self-hating girls are one of his hobbies. You can do so much with them.

If AP English via Miss Sweeney had taught Flannery anything, it was that life was brimming with various traumas and tragedies—the great novels didn’t lie—and that there was no need to court sorrow by writing Goth poetry in a black spiral notebook or listening to death-rock because sorrow was always, always looming, sorrow would be thrust upon you, and, as the foot-stomping song from the junior year musical went—everyone was a girl who couldn’t say no, everyone was in a terrible fix. But

If they do something like that, maybe a Freddy Krueger fan, a girl, a really sick goth girl starts killing kids herself and Freddy has to put a stop to it, or they have to fight it out.

Just remember that we are not standing on a corner 'trick or treating' for the wrong kind of 'tricks and treats' okay?" Cassie said as she stepped out of the car. Elora rolled her eyes, but then added, "That was actually a pretty good analogy". "So glad I meet your approval," she responded, shoving the door closed.

Fane took deliberate steps down the aisle of the bench, straight to the edge. He jumped from the bleachers, causing them to rock in his wake. I swore I felt a thud inside the pit of my stomach when he landed. Mr. Mooney nodded at Fane. “You two are playing Clayton and Tyler.” Fane walked past me and took two rackets off the floor. He handed me one. I took it from his outstretched hand then followed several steps behind. Part of me was relieved he didn’t say anything. All I could think about was the obscene gesture he’d made right before my world turned up-side-down. I hardly noticed his hair. I was too distracted by his lips. And now his abs. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to look at either while we played side by side. At the far court, Clayton and Tyler bounced birdies up and down on the strings of their rackets. Clayton nudged Tyler as we approached. “Oh great. Goth boy and zombie girl. This should be fun.” I took my place beside Fane. He held his racket loose and lazy. I barely held mine at all. Clayton pelted the birdie at me. I tried to shield my face and ended up dropping my racket. “Oh, come on!” Clayton shouted. I picked up the birdie and threw it over the net. Clayton served the birdie to Fane, who smacked it over the net with the flick of a wrist. Tyler launched the birdie at me. It hit me on the shoulder, but I swung anyway as it bounced to the floor.

Ada skipped lightly over the seven little chimney post in her elegant black tightrope-walking slippers.

And you're quite sure about this video game thing?" Jay looked and sounded skeptical. "She is a princess." Sylvie snorted. "So her personal hobbies ought to be---what? Practicing ribbon-cutting? Swanning around St. Giles unveiling makeshift plaques? The girl walks her pit bull in a Metallica T-shirt, and showed up to the Easter service at the Abbey wearing a skull necklace. Gamer princess seems entirely on brand.

Good Goth girls knew these things. Good comparative religion grad students knew them, too.

Another subculture that freely intermingles past and present: e-girls and e-boys, whose style combines aspects of Japanese kawaii culture, goth, skater, and punk, all remixed in classic bricolage tradition and heavily mediated by internet culture.

There’s always a den mother in LSD groups, and in my experience it’s usually a Goth girl.

I grab my old black fleece to pull impatiently on over my black tank top, tugging it down over my butt encased in black leggings, and I dream of a day when I’m not constantly cold. Yeah, I like a lot of black. Does it make me Goth? According to my mom and half the girls at my high school, yes, it does. It might even make me a witch.

Part of me was relieved he didn’t say anything. All I could think about was the obscene gesture he’d made right before my world turned up-side-down. I hardly noticed his hair. I was too distracted by his lips. And now his abs. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to look at either while we played side by side. At the far court, Clayton and Tyler bounced birdies up and down on the strings of their rackets. Clayton nudged Tyler as we approached. “Oh great. Goth boy and zombie girl. This should be

perhaps because of the way he dressed, I thought of a goth girl named Rachel who had really transformed herself by playing Dance Dance Revolution (DDR),

Justin Case and women do not mix. Man boobs, a love of Kings and Castles, and being tight with the "nerd" crowd certainly don't win him any points either. After rescuing Katie, his crush, it turns out she might not be the girl he thought she was, while Elyssa, the school's Goth Girl, turns out to be more. Can high school get any more confusing? Determined to improve himself, he joins a gym and meets a sexy girl that just oozes a "come hither, Justin" vibe. Until she attacks him in the parking lot, and Justin realizes she's no ordinary girl but a being with supernatural speed and strength. After a narrow escape and an excruciating migraine headache, he wakes up with supernatural abilities all his own: speed, strength, and the ability to seduce every woman he sees. While that might sound like the perfect combo for any hormonal teen, Justin is a hopeless romantic who wants his first time to be special. Is that too much to ask for? But he doesn't know what he is or how to stop his carnal urges. One thing is clear: If he doesn't find answers there are other more sinister supernaturals who would like nothing better than to make him their eternal plaything and do far worse than kill him.

Into the center—Queen’s Square. This is the heart of Wolverhampton’s youth scene—our Left Bank, our Haight-Ashbury, our Soho. To the right, five skaters. To the left, three goths, sitting around the Man On ’Is ’Oss—a statue of a man, on his horse.

You’re still my Ghost Girl Goth, honey, no matter what you do with your hair,

Even among the other nerds who majored in folklore, Sleeping Beauty is nobody’s favorite. Romantic girls like Beauty and the Beast; vanilla girls like Cinderella; goth girls like Snow White. Only dying girls like Sleeping Beauty.

Nothing is impossible when it comes to love.

Goth Girl

IS THAT A FAINTING GOAT?” Apparently Goth Girl has only one volume setting. Extra loud.

do you want Zuckerberg’s algorithms telling you what to think as they tailor your timeline to their predictions of what will prompt a response? Do you trust him? Did you even see his haircut while he was testifying in front of Congress? Why did no senator ask him to explain the ’90s goth-girl baby bangs?

someone named D. K. Bolt. The description says it’s the fifteenth book in the Gruesome Goth series. “Gruesome Goth?” Savannah says. “That sounds dreadful.” Willa says, “I should have gone on Great Morning USA. I’m sorry. I just didn’t feel up to it.” Savannah pulls the bottle of Veuve Clicquot out. “Let’s drink this anyway,” she says. “I know Vivi would want us to.” “You guys enjoy,” Willa says. “I’m

Briana would hit the locker room, change into her New Goth Girl disguise/costume, and then try to find a seat at Elyssa Shapiro’s table. It shouldn’t be hard. Nobody much wanted to sit with Elyssa except her nose- and eyebrow-studded friend with the purple hair, Charlotte Edelman.

On the other side of the park, two goth girls leaned against the chain-link fence, eyeing me warily. Their cigarettes burned in the near-dark like distant jet engines.

I hesitate for a moment, pondering which mask I’ll wear. I can go with the Ghostface one that I’ve covered in pink gems, or maybe the goth girl version of Mike Myers, or the little LED one. I opt for the pink Ghostface mask. “Very cutesy… very demure… very mindf⁠—” Shut the fuck up, Tylisha, I scold myself. TikTok has fucking ruined me.