Nosferatu Quotes

Who is the beauty icon that inspires you the most? Is it Sophia Loren? Audrey Hepburn? Halle Berry? Mine is Nosferatu, because that vampire taught me my number-one and number-two favorite beauty tricks of all time: avoid the sun at all costs and always try to appear shrouded in shadows.

Nosferatu is the daddy of modern American sex.

She was in love with a vampire. Bela Lugosi. Nosferatu. Vlad the Impaler. Count Chocula . The urge to laugh seized her and she buried her face in her hands and cried instead.

The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil.

The corpses in the wasteland of past and present haunt us. We are still in Eliot's land of the dead, imprisoned in Kafka's penal colony, running from the unexplained rage of the golem, listening to Lovecraft's drumbeat of horror, and shivering in the chilly shadow of Grau and Murnau's Nosferatu. We cannot awaken from history.

Does your license plate mean something?" Bing asked. "En-o-ess-four-a-two?" "Nosferatu," the man Charlie Manx said. "Nosfer-what-who?" Manx said, "It is one of my little jokes. My first wife once accused me of being a Nosferatu. She did not use that exact word, but close enough.

The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide-just as the Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack, and has stood before me in all her size and splendour.

He was so sad he didn't even know it. He was convinced if he could just make meaning, he would have meaning. Not knowing meaning came from the outside.

Cruel is when you can't die even if you want to.

Nosferatu,

There can be no coexistence with monsters'" Glenn said, "be they Nazis or Nosferatu. Excuse me." He

Games are never over because you think them so! Which is why I like you. Are you doing what you want to do...or are you simply another piece of a darkened puzzle? Your own actions predetermined by powers higher than yourself?

Jack had stolen that from Nosferatu: the love of a pure woman had an uncanny power over the things of darkness. Maybe 1964 was the last moment when you could get away with that: try such a thing now and people would only laugh.

And I’m all, “Do you want to get coffee? I have a bag of blood and ten thousand dollars in my messenger.” The nosferatu can totally drink lattes as long as they put some blood in it, unless they’re lactose intolerant. And he stops and looks at me. He’s like, “Really, ten thousand? Think that will be enough?” And I’m like, “Well, you’ll have to drink the cheap stuff, but I like to drink my lattes directly out of the veins of a toddler, and those little fuckers aren’t cheap.

How I met Tyler was I went to a nude beach. This was the very end of summer, and I was asleep. Tyler was naked and sweating, gritty with sand, his hair wet and stringy, hanging in his face. Tyler had been around before we met. Tyler was pulling driftwood logs out of the surf and dragging them up the beach. In the wet sand, he’d already planted a half circle of logs so they stood a few inches apart and as tall as his eyes. There were four logs, and when I woke up, I watched Tyler pull a fifth log up the beach. Tyler dug a hole under one end of the log, then lifted the other end until the log slid into the hole and stood there at a slight angle. You wake up at the beach. We were the only people on the beach. With a stick, Tyler drew a straight line in the sand several feet away. Tyler went back to straighten the log by stamping sand around its base. I was the only person watching this. Tyler called over, “Do you know what time it is?” I always wear a watch, “Do you know what time it is?” I asked, where? “Right here,” Tyler said. “Right now.” It was 4:06 P.M. After a while, Tyler sat cross-legged in the shadow of the standing logs. Tyler sat for a few minutes, got up and took a swim, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and started to leave. I had to ask. I had to know what Tyler was doing while I was asleep. If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could I wake up as a different person? I asked if Tyler was an artist. Tyler shrugged and showed me how the five standing logs were wider at the base. Tyler showed me the line he’d drawn in the sand, and how he’d used the line to gauge the shadow cast by each log. Sometimes, you wake up and have to ask where you are. What Tyler had created was the shadow of a giant hand. Only now the fingers were Nosferatu-long and the thumb was too short, but he said how at exactly four-thirty the hand was perfect. The giant shadow hand was perfect for one minute, and for one perfect minute Tyler had sat in the palm of a perfection he’d created himself. You wake up, and you’re nowhere. One minute was enough Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection. You wake up, and that’s enough

You hunt and catch your own food. Am I correct?" "We are fierce predators of the night," DeChevue said proudly. Edwin tried again, "You hunt and gather your own food?" DeChevue still didn't get it. "Yes, M'sieur. We hunt, proudly." "You know, there is a special name for people who have to catch and kill everything they eat." "And that name has been the terror of the night from the dawn of man. Which name would you like? I can supply many. Nosferatu? Das Vampire?" "Peasant," Edwin said. "A person who has to provide all his own food is a peasant. How is it that you have lived all this time and are still ignorant of the division of labor?" DeChevue's mouth opened and closed several times. Each time he seemed on the verge of saying something, yet each time words failed him.

It is commonplace to say that silent films are more “dreamlike,” but what does that mean? In Nosferatu, it means that the characters are confronted with alarming images and denied the freedom to talk them away. There is no repartee in nightmares. Human speech dissipates the shadows and makes a room seem normal. Those things that live only at night do not need to talk, for their victims are asleep, waiting.

Todos vivimos en dos mundos. Está el mundo real, con todos sus hechos y reglas, una lata. En el mundo real hay cosas que son verdad y otras que no lo son. La mayor parte del tiempo el mundo real es un asco. Pero todos vivimos también en el mundo que tenemos en la cabeza. Un "paisaje interior", un mundo hecho de pensamientos. En un mundo hecho de pensamientos cada idea es un hecho. Las emociones son tan reales como la gravedad. Los sueños son tan poderosos como la historia.

The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger, and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men, he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages, he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown.

You might say the Camarilla is in possession, little brother. They certainly say it. They have a Prince; they keep court, and the same cast of characters plays out the same little comedy as in…oh, Lisbon, let us say. Ventrue says he wields the power. Tremere witches behind his back.Toreador pretends to rise above it all. Gangrel disdains to need the others. Malkav mystifies everyone, including herself. Brujah shakes a fist at Ventrue. And the Nosferatu watch and say nothing. But in Lisbon, of course, Ravnos is a rare and unwelcome visitor. Here I daresay he outnumbers the Europeans.

His head is shaved starkly bald and he has a dark, neat mustache. He’s Nosferatu as a Marine Corps sergeant.

Kiss it on the lips. Slap it on the ass. Throw it on the plate.” The waiter looks shocked, so she clarifies, saying, “Just a little seared on the edges, nothing more.

Resta o entendimento de que o contato com o vampiro potencialmente acarreta um contaminar-se por perniciosa moléstia simultaneamente do corpo e da alma: o contágio não é apenas uma infecção, é também maldição, um contrair impurezas. Essa construção perpassa até mesmo o nível linguístico; entre as acepções etimológicas comumente atribuídas ao vocábulo “nosferatu”, que Stoker apenas popularizou ao se referir ao seu vampiro icônico, estariam “o impuro”, ou também, “aquele que carrega doenças”.

I changed his name after I saw this old movie at the Snark. It's called Nosferatu, and it's the original Dracula story. It's ten times as scary as the version you see on television. The guy who plays the vampire is really bizarre.

He stops to look at a garbage can. He realizes the garbage can will never be his friend and cannot help him. So he wanders away.

Dracula exploits the fear of the unknown, the sense of being vulnerable, the inability to act, and the necessity of banding together for strength.

Raus did not look up at the faces. An officer learned not to look at the faces. It was easier if you thought of them as bodies, as tools, means to an end. But just what the end was Raus could no longer say.

Murnau now inserts scenes with little direct connection to the story, except symbolically. One involves a scientist who gives a lecture on the Venus flytrap, the “vampire of the vegetable kingdom.” Then Knock, in a jail cell, watches in close-up as a spider devours its prey. Why cannot man likewise be a vampire? Knock senses his Master has arrived, escapes, and scurries about the town with a coffin on his back. As fear of the plague spreads, “the town was looking for a scapegoat,” the titles say, and Knock creeps about on rooftops and is stoned, while the street is filled with dark processions of the coffins of the newly dead. Ellen Hutter learns that the only way to stop a vampire is for a good woman to distract him so that he stays out past the first cock’s crow. Her sacrifice not only saves the city but also reminds us of the buried sexuality in the Dracula story. Bram Stoker wrote with ironclad nineteenth-century Victorian values, inspiring no end of analysis from readers who wonder if the buried message of Dracula might be that unlicensed sex is dangerous to society. The Victorians feared venereal disease the way we fear AIDS, and vampirism may be a metaphor: The predator vampire lives without a mate, stalking his victims or seducing them with promises of bliss—like a rapist or a pickup artist. The cure for vampirism is obviously not a stake through the heart, but nuclear families and bourgeois values. Is Murnau’s Nosferatu scary in the modern sense? Not for me. I admire it more for its artistry and ideas, its atmosphere and images, than for its ability to manipulate my emotions like a skillful modern horror film. It knows none of the later tricks of the trade, like sudden threats that pop in from the side of the screen. But Nosferatu remains effective: It doesn’t scare us, but it haunts us. It shows not that vampires can jump out of shadows, but that evil can grow there, nourished on death. In a sense, Murnau’s film is about all of the things we worry about at three in the morning—cancer, war, disease, madness. It suggests these dark fears in the very style of its visuals. Much of the film is shot in shadow. The corners of the screen are used more than is ordinary; characters lurk or cower there, and it’s a rule of composition that tension is created when the subject of a shot is removed from the center of the frame. Murnau’s special effects add to the disquieting atmosphere: the fast motion of Orlok’s servant,

I am madness maddened.

All that is dead carries the echoes of life.

The Octopus was standing, the tips of its arms the only things in contact with the floor of the chamber. As in the video before, it was in the full “Nosferatu pose – tall, its mantle vertical above its head, its arms and web spread. The threat pose. And like before, the octopus, easily as tall as a human being was almost white. Speak to me.

Chi sostiene che "Nosferatu" sia un capolavoro espressionista mi ricorda quegli archeologi che vanno in brodo di giuggiole di fronte alla cruda forza artistica delle incisioni rupestri dell'Età del bronzo. Spiace contraddirli.

they were between the ages of sixty and eight-thousand months. Whatever. Math is stupid. I'm assuming Nosferatu is somewhere around that age, and since these are clearly his offspring, my math is probably right

The movie played to a completely packed house and it was a smash. I was waiting with Bruce and Joe Lansdale up near the screen as the end credits rolled, ready for the filmmaker Q&A afterward, and something incredible happened that cemented it for me. Since the film ended on such a melancholy and downbeat note as Elvis closes his eyes at the finale, to raise the audience’s spirits and give them some hope, I inserted a line in the end credits that read, “Elvis returns in … BUBBA NOSFERATU—Curse of the She-Vampires.” As a kid I always got a thrill watching the James Bond movie end credits where they would announce the next 007 that way, so I figured why not try that with Elvis. As this announcement rolled on-screen, suddenly a guttural roar erupted from the crowd and they burst into riotous applause. Three hundred people wanted a sequel, like, immediately.

The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger, and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men, he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages, he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to destroy him?

Of the great German movie phantoms such as Caligari, Nosferatu and the Golem, only Mabuse inhabits the same world as the spectator; of literary monsters who have become lasting cinematic icons, figures like Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster and Jekyll and Hyde, only Mabuse hails from a twentieth century novel, about the twentieth century.

The sprites of bright lights lovingly play you around. Suckling smooches soak to and up. Ashamed in tension crawls along a brown to black. Sanguine moods of sadly sails overtly beach down and trode. Juristic pure static yawn oh yaws. Shadesque mask masquerade delayed. A boon, yes. - umbra nosferatu poem

I fear that I have wakened a Force which has slept in the tenebrous village of ’Salem’s Lot for half a century, a Force which has slain my ancestors and taken them in unholy bondage as nosferatu – the Undead.