Paranormal Ghost Quotes

I should go," I said thickly. "Let me know when you want to start practice again. And thanks for...talking." I started to turn; then I heard him say abruptly, "No." I glanced back. "What?" He held my gaze, and something warm and wonderful and powerful shot between us. "No," he repeated. "I told her no." "I..." I shut my mouth before my jaw hit the floor. "But...why? That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You could have had a baby. And she...she was, you know, into you..." The ghost of a smile flickered on his face. "Yes, she was. Is. And that's why I had to say no. I couldn't return that...couldn't give her what she wanted. Not when..." He took a few steps toward me. "Not when my heart is somewhere else.

I have something I need to get off my chest.” “What’s that?” “This.” He closed his mouth over hers.

It took a pair of ghosts to open my eyes.

At least that left hope for him. Except "Beauty and the Geek" wasn’t exactly the proper translation of the popular fairy tale.

Calm down. Ghosts don’t ring the doorbell.

Maybe pulling her emotions out and inserting in his logic would change this morbid course. But damn if he’d joke about it like she did.

This was sharing office space with wacko and bordering on ludicrous.

What looked like morning was the beginning of endless night

I'd have your back off-site too, if you'd let me." ~Cain, Ghost of You

Weave the circle, tightly sewn, Let nothing evil or unknown Enter within. Stay without On pain of death, we cast you out.

Jack couldn't help but watch Nonie as she left. She looked to be twenty-nine, thirty at the most, stood maybe five foot-four and was slender. She had shoulder-length, curly, walnut-colored hair and the largest most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seem Her nose and ears were small in comparison to her full lips, which he'd give anything to kiss.

She had yet to actually call him by his real name. The psychologist in him had all kinds of theories as to why. The man in him wanted to hear her say it. Just once.

The relater slipped off Zam’s head like mellifluous honey and slid onto the floor deflated and seemingly sated.

The relator is part tardigrade, part fungus and all supernatural. It’s a new species of life bred for one specific reason, to communicate with Time.

Oh, uh-uh," Shaundelle said. "I'm not gonna be no place where no ghost is gonna be knockin' nobody upside the head. I'm outta here. I'm not going to take any chances that some ghost is gonna mess up this pretty face.

Margaret's voice, with its raspy twang, reminded her of magnolias and whiskey.

I think we are all psychotic, the children of the Underworld.

You rented the apartment with a dead guy in the corner?” I shrugged. “I wanted the apartment, and I figured I could cover him up with a bookcase or something.

You could never kill a wyte, child. Instead of thinking of death, you need to think in terms of aging. The old cannot help but become less ambitious and more accepting as each moment ticks on by.

What's he saying?" Buggy asked, her voice shaky. "That there's something up in the attic that we should be careful of because it could be dangerous. "Oh, uh-uh, I'm not going up there," Buggy said, You can send Shaundelle up there, but I'm keeping my little white ass down here.

Nonie chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. She'd told Fezzo so much already yet there wasn't a speck of incredulity in his eyes. His expression was serious, and she had his full attention. "I'm not quite sure about what to do with Helen, the ghost that followed me home.

Two gasps rang out. The first one came from Clara, the second from Fezzo. One moment they'd been looking at a mound of concrete, and now they were staring at two human feet. They were crossed at the ankle so that tops of the feet faced each other and rested toe to toe.

He'd died. Plain and simple. And it pissed him off. Left him frustrated and disappointed. Where had all , the guardian angel crap they'd fed him in catechism gone to? He'd seen no angels, seraphim, archangels or pearly gates. No one to show him the ropes now that he was dead. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Time is the narrator of life. Without Time speaking, nothing would exist.

When Shaundelle turned and looked back at Nonie she had her lips pursed. "The man say wear whatever you want. Wear black, girl. It's slimmin', not that you need any slimmin' with your skinny self, but it makes me look like I've been dietin' for a week. I don't want to be the only one wearin' black, so wear black, okay?

Although this scouting gig sounded like a financial hit, it made Nonie extremely nervous. She feared someone slip--that someone being Buggy--and others would find out Nonie's secret. And if the wrong person caught wind that she could see and speak to the dead, word would spread through Clay Point like ants at a picnic.

When you stop chasing your dreams, your dreams start chasing you.

My name is Zak Bagans. I've never believed in ghosts until I came face to face with one. So I set out on a quest to capture what I once saw onto video....With no big camera crews following us around, I am joined only by my fellow investigator Nick Groff and our equipment tech Aaron Goodwin. The three of us will travel to the some of most highly active paranormal locations, where we will spend an entire night, being locked down from dusk until dawn....Raw...Extreme...These are our Ghost Adventures.

This is what the Problem means,” he went on. “This is the effect it has. Lives lost, loved ones taken before their time. And then we hide our dead behind iron walls and leave them to the thorns and ivy. We lose them twice over, Lucy. Death’s not the worst of it. We turn our faces away.

Sometimes we just have to accept the fact we can't explain everything. Life happens, whether we want it to or not and we don't always have a reason why. Our job is to try and make some good come out of it.

And then it hits me like a fast, open-palmed, stinging smack in the face. Having a ghost boyfriend WAS weird

But you know, mon petite, what you got is a gift. And when de good Lord gives you a gift you have to use it. Dat's why he put you here on dis earth. Sometime it's gonna be to help a soul cross over to de other side to meet him. If dat's whey you gott do, den dat's what you gotta do. You can't just keep collecting de dead. You gonna have to find a way to take what you got and work wit dat.

Allow the power to flow through you. Don’t try to capture it. You wish only to borrow it.

WHEN IN DOUBT, GET THE HELL OUT!

When the power of the shift rips the human body apart and transforms it into its new shape, there lives a second, less than a second, a mere shimmer of time when the mind is without a home, no body to call its own. Existence is painless in there, nothing but formlessness beyond understanding. A secret place, it contains nothing but the essence of self, a lost self. In the fire of pain, Colton found a whisper of that place, its ghost, its echo, and from that echo he withdrew a thread of deepest black.

Are you sure?" His voice was barely a whisper, a ghost in the dark. I nodded, tracing my fingers down his cheek, marveling as he closed his eyes. "We could die tomorrow," I whispered back. "I want to be with you tonight. I don't want to have any regrets, when it comes to us. So, yes, I'm sure. I love you, Ash.

Time’s voice is everything you can physically experience. It is a favourite smell, a first taste from childhood, a vision shared with one you love. Time touches you as if it had fingers that possess infinite knowledge of how to caress with utmost beauty and you in turn can touch Time. You can feel it’s breath as if it was your own sleeping child’s.

Who's the young man beside you?" Helen suddenly asked. "Oh, I see, you're one of us." She turned to Nonie. "And you did introduce us before." She tapped a finger against her right temple. "Every once in a while this old clock up here forgets to click to the next second. I apologize for that.

She smells like spring and flowers and rain, even though it’s winter. Sometimes, he thinks he loves her so much that his mind is unable to distinguish between love and obsession. Which is worse?

It looks like a funeral parlour in here. Am I dead?

He’d wormed his way into Justin’s life like a grub—preying on his weaknesses and his sexual orientation.

What makes us so unique is when TAPS comes in we try to dis-prove a haunting.

Whose are all these ghosts?” she said, smiling at a flustered-looking Geraldine. “Oh,” said Geraldine, “I think they might be mine...?

Reincarnation is the putrefaction of the soul.

And I want to kiss you every day, but not just because I'm saying goodbye.

If we found a ticket to Disneyland would you think we should arrest Mickey Mouse?

Draden drank in his surroundings with both appreciation and sorrow. The beautiful path led to a village that should have been thriving. Instead, it was now a path to certain death.

Rosehill was shady and beautiful, the most serene place I could imagine. It had been closed to the public for years, and sometimes as I wandered alone - and often lonely - through the lush fern beds and long curtains of silvery moss, I pretended the crumbling angels were wood nymphs and fairies and I their ruler, queen of my own graveyard kingdom.

You want the monster," he grated, a foreign wildness in his voice. "You're going to get him.

Stanton probably figured you were going to try to tell him who he could and couldn’t date. I’m sure he choked when you told him he didn’t date women, he fucked them.

A robin’s breast is always red.

I knew we were not alone, but there was something in the air, something good and pure that reassured me. It’s a beautiful energy, and has been with me ever since.

She'd learned to live in the present a long time ago, to enjoy every moment she had. Time was a luxury, something she knew she could run out of very quickly, so she made sure each minute counted for something.

My peony," he emphasized. "And it's only for us, no one else." He liked the intimacy of having a special name for her no one else knew but the two of them.

He was set on having her for the rest of his life, no matter how long or little that was, but he could see, if she agreed, he was going to have his hands full.

I am who I am and always shall be.

Draden was hers. The one. The only. She didn't know how she knew it, but she did know that nothing in her life was truer.

She had to know, soon or later, that he was no saint and never would be. He loved her, but if she was going to stay with him, she had to know the worst of him. He wanted honesty between them.

The spirits of the dead are not among us to entertain us... Assuming the revenants you encounter have simply signed up to play haunted house for the amusement of the living is just plain ignorant.

Faith is a quiet certainty that there is both a higher purpose to life and a higher power that oversees that purpose. Faith is knowing that we do not have to go it alone during our darkest hours and, even when we feel utterly victimized and weak, there is still something brighter, purer, and more potent than anything we can imagine that cares enough to reach out and offer a shoulder for us to lean upon. The object of faith takes many forms and many names, but the universal truth is faith itself.

I know.” The two words ghosted against the skin of her neck, sending goose bumps down her spine. “But I want to touch you. I want to put my hands all over you. I want to kiss every inch of you and taste you as you come apart in my arms. I want to feel you wrapped around me with nothing but my name on your lips and the sheets a tangled mess beneath us. I want…” He exhaled heavily into her ear. “I want. I want. I want!

Mortals were such fickle creatures. They called into the dark, demanded answers and attention from forces they could not comprehend, and yet when they had that attention and those answers, they complained about them.

Alex smiled. Andy was a good mate. “And they'll get a good laugh out of that black eye.” He grinned. Alex glared; Andy was a dickhead

Recognizing the connection to All Things, even in creepy moments, keeps me true to my animistic perspective. Finding growth from them is my choice.

Engaging spirits isn’t an elitist ability or industry, it’s being active in the connection with All Things. It’s innate to us all.

The ego of a god, the wit of a goldfish.

Draden didn't move, staying as still as any predator with his gaze fixed on his prey. No muscle moved.

Just give me a bit, let me pretend you're still alive," Andrei said hoarsely. "Let me pretend that I don't have to give you up." "Andrei," Warm, calloused hands cupped Anrei's face. "Look at me. I'm real. I'm still with you. A part of me will always be with you. Even after I go through that doorway.

Lockwood didn’t speak until everything was quiet again. “I know you’re worrying about me, Luce,” he said. “But you really mustn’t. These things happen when you’re an agent. You’ve been snared by ghosts in the past, haven’t you? There was the one that made the bloody footprints, and the thing in the tunnels below the Aickmere Brothers store. But it’s fine, because I helped you then, and you’ve helped me now. We’re there to help each other. If we do that, we’ll get through.” Which was a lovely thing to say, and it made me feel a little warmer. I just had to hope it was true.

He had the impression of Shylah pouting, and that made him happy. Just talking to her made him happy. The fact that she would circle around, hunt and find the man watching from the forest, was a complete turn-on. He liked that this woman would be his partner.

Every time I had things straight in my head about him, I saw him smile or crook an eyebrow, and all my sensible reasons on why I couldn’t have feelings for him seemed redundant.

Understand this, a hospital is a gateway between the living and the dead. We’ve all had things happen to us here.

His dark eyes sparkled as he looked into mine. In that instant it was as if nothing in the world fascinated him as much as me.

...she knew, with all her heart that running away from the country’s top relationship coach was as good as saying, 'there’s no hope for me, ever'!

Michael had learned the hard way that nothing good came from interfering in the affairs of the afterlife.

I don't think I've actually seen you smile before, " Wyatt observed. "This woman must be the real deal to teach you how to smile.

It was wondrous. Almost unbelievable. Like champagne bubbles, but in her soul. She felt effervescent. And so in love.

Sometimes spirits hold onto emotions for people and things. It’s one way they bind themselves to this world.

If you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day, but if you teach him to fish, he'll eat all the fish you might have caught for yourself.--Advice of Paul Slater, the evil mediator, to Suze

It's a damn shame that when I finally fall in love that it had to be after I died." He dropped his head and shut his eyes. Oh, mylanta. Did he just say what I think he did? He looked back up at me, taking my breath. "What are we gonna do?" I knew what I was gonna do—hyperventilate.

The wolf turned to Rachel. She was afraid to run, afraid fleeing would make it chase her. Somewhere in the stored files of her mind, she remembered one should not look directly at a menacing dog, but she couldn’t take her eyes from it.

He was either right or wrong. Worrying didn't make it any better. She let herself drift off with the scent of him in her lungs, with the knowledge that she was loved in her head and heart.

Like most people, my views about ghosts and haunted places were traditional while growing up. I believed ghosts were human spirits. Not that I talked to many people about the subject or my experiences. I assumed people would think I was weird.

It was loud. It was crowded. I hate crowds. I had to make small talk with a bunch of people I don’t know, and I’m terrible at that. And some guy I’d just met wanted to do perverted things to me with noodles.” - Adrian Broussard, page 15

Seth: "I write of love in my novels, write of it well, if my critics and fans are to be believed, but in all of my years at that typewriter, I never found the combination of words that would convey how I felt about you. You were my everything.

He had never trusted a woman-or anyone, for that matter-to sleep close to him, let alone in the same bed. And yet, already, he was completely relaxed with her. He couldn't imagine being without her, and now, if they survived, it was a very real possibility.

For, from the time that the Bishop of Rome had gotten to be acknowledged for bishop universal, by pretence of succession to St. Peter, their whole hierarchy, or kingdom of darkness, may be compared not unfitly to the kingdom of fairies; that is, to the old wives' fables in England concerning ghosts and spirits, and the feats they play in the night. And if a man consider the original of this great ecclesiastical dominion, he will easily perceive that the papacy is no other than the ghost of the deceased Roman Empire, sitting crowned upon the grave thereof: for so did the papacy start up on a sudden out of the ruins of that heathen power.

I detested that people who already had everything they could possibly want would step on others who had nothing. Would use them and crush them. I'd lived my life mainly in the streets and found out the hard way that people who could have helped just hurt us.

..., imagine a loamy earth that starts with genocide, then adds a mix of further disease, wars, hurricanes, murder, great fires, dueling, insurrection and slavery, just to name a few of the many instances of tragedy. What dark seed would take root in such a disturbed and twisted soil?

Voodoo very old magic - possibly one of the oldest forms of all time. It's often referred to as vodou or voudoun.... Voodoo worships the loa, which are literally spirits - like ghosts - but much more powerful. The priestess can summon the loa, and the spirit inhabits her body. It's called being 'ridden

She was left to beg for mercy only to burn in torment again the next day. She was a weed struggling through cracks of concrete, unwanted, undesired, crushed and abused under trampling feet. She would never see the sun. She would never be free. She would always be a solitary candle in the dark, cold without a flame to warm it, forever peering out at the world through a laminated sheet of glass too thick to penetrate. When she died, if she was ever allowed, no one would ever know. She would pass a faded ghost of a girl abandoned by all.

The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, specter, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding? We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here or there, stand ajar?

I went to the lobby and asked Stan what he knew about the person who lived in 6A. He said 'Never seen anyone go in or come out. Just a lot of deliveries and a lot of trash.' 'Cool'. He leaned down and whispered 'Haunted'. I whispered back 'I don't believe in the paranormal'. He said 'Ghosts don't care if you believe in them'. I walked back up the steps, this time past our floor and to the sixth. There was a mat in front of the door which said 'welcome' in twelve different languages. That didn't seem like something a ghost would put in front of his apartment." ― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Do it, Octavian” She ghosted the tips of her fingers along the hem of his shirt. “Touch me.” He growled low in his throat, his forehead dropping another inch toward her shoulder, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Be my angel, Riley, not my siren. Don’t tempt me.” Moistening her lips with a sweep of her tongue, Riley glided her fingers over his belt, tracing the strip of leather to the silver buckle in the center. She felt rather than heard his deep inhalation and the tremor that raked his powerful body. Driven by his surrender, she used two fingers to walk over the square carvings etched into his abdomen, biting her lip to stop the grin that pulled when he groaned. “I want to be both for you, Octavian,” she whispered, letting her lips brush the curve of his shoulder.

And a soul would run by a living being, touch them softly on the shoulder or cheek, and continue on its way to heaven. The dead are never exactly seen by the living, but many people seem acutely aware of something changed around them. They speak of a chill in the air. The mates of the deceased wake from dreams and see a figure standing at the end of their bed, or in a doorway, or boarding, phantomlike, a city bus.

Many people, after spending a long weekend being stealthily seduced by this grand dame of the South, mistakenly think that they have gotten to know her: they believe (in error) that after a long stroll amongst the rustling palmettoes and gas lamps, a couple of sumptuous meals, and a tour or two, that they have discovered everything there is to know about this seemingly genteel, elegant city. But like any great seductress, Charleston presents a careful veneer of half-truths and outright fabrications, and it lets you, the intended conquest, fill in many of the blanks. Seduction, after all, is not true love, nor is it a gentle act. She whispers stories spun from sugar about pirates and patriots and rebels, about plantations and traditions and manners and yes, even ghosts; but the entire time she is guarded about the real story. Few tourists ever hear the truth, because at the dark heart of Charleston is a winding tale of violence, tragedy and, most of all, sin.

Here it comes,” I say gleefully. “The levelheaded reason for why they stay in the house.” “Watch, the ghost won’t let them leave,” Logan guesses. He guesses wrong. On the screen, the characters argue about whether they should go, and one of the girls announces, “We’re doing important work here, guys! We’re proving the existence of paranormal entities! Science needs this. Science needs us.” I burst out laughing, shuddering against Logan’s rock-hard chest. “Did you hear that, Johnny? Science needs them.” “I fucking hate you,” he grumbles. “Five bucks…” I say in a singsong voice. His hand slides down to pinch my butt, making me squeak in surprise. “Go ahead and gloat. You win the battle by getting five bucks out of me, but I win the war.” I sit up. “How do you figure?” “Because you still have to sit through the rest of this movie, and you’re going to hate every second of it. I, on the other hand, am enjoying it immensely.” The jerk is absolutely right. Unless…

There is a unique bond between the land and the people in the Crescent City. Everyone here came from somewhere else, the muddy brown current of life prying them loose from their homeland and sweeping them downstream, bumping and scraping, until they got caught by the horseshoe bend that is New Orleans. Not so much as a single pebble ‘came’ from New Orleans, any more than any of the people did. Every grain of sand, every rock, every drip of brown mud, and every single person walking, living and loving in the city is a refugee from somewhere else. But they made something unique, the people and the land, when they came together in that cohesive, magnetic, magical spot; this sediment of society made something that is not French, not Spanish, and incontrovertibly not American.

There won’t be any rat brains in Haven. Put that image out of your mind. We’re completely self-sufficient in energy and water and food. The refugees will put some strain on us but we have enormous reserves. Mac, Nick, and I are used to military planning and—well, we planned for a siege right from the start.” Oh no. Her breath blocked in her chest. Her hand slid from his and her back hit the chairback with a thud. “You knew this was coming?” she whispered. The words would barely come out between numb lips. “You knew and you didn’t stop it?” He grabbed her hand back. “No, God no. We didn’t plan for this. For a massive outbreak of a deadly virus, no.

Nothing truly beautiful without its element of strangeness, nothing whole without its own incongruity, these (Jacksonville-area pioneer house) ruins sand up from the earth in sacred conjunction. These ruins conjoin the earth and the manmade, moving from one to the other and back again. The Browards built their house out of shell and limestone, and limestone forms naturally from the shells and skeletons of miniscule sea creatures over great periods of time. The Browards shaped the earth upright toward the sky. THey shaped it with doorframes and windows and chimneys. THey shaped the earth up around them as a shelter. But shaped earth was always the earth. Now the walls fall back down and join once again the ground, taken over by roots of ferns and weeds and small trees. The house was always the ground, only contained in an upward suspension. The house was always the earth, but brought up into architecture, and now the house that was always the earth crumbles back into the earth and nourishes new green things -- dog fennel and morning glories and palmettoes and cabbage palms and cedars. A true symbol of sacredness of the earth is earth's reclaiming of human ingenuity.