Vampires Garlic Quotes

I'm gonna kill him," Eve said, or at least that was what it sounded like filtered through the pillow. Stake him right in the heart, shove garlic up his ass, and-and-" And what?" (Michael) When did you get home?" Claire demanded. Apparently just in time to hear my funeral plans. I especially like the garlic up the ass. It's...different.

Poppy: Um, can we cross running water? James: Sure. And we can walk into people's homes without being invited, and roll in garlic if we don't mind losing friends.

If stakes and garlic were the top two things that could kill a vampire, ninth grade gym was a close third.

There is a crucifix, a few cloves of garlic, a wooden stake, a hammer, a blob of Silly Putty, and a pocketknife. “You do realize these people aren’t vampires, right?” I say when Sam walks back in. “Yeah, but you never know. They’re probably crazy, like you said.” “And even if we were hunting vampires, what the hell is the Silly Putty for?” He shrugs. “Just want to be prepared.

Cass had a few points but, really, a vampire? Who believed in such a myth? What was Cass suggesting anyway? That I grab my rosary and head for the nearest church begging for holy water? Line my door and windows with salt? Sleep with a wooden stake under my pillow? Hang garlic bulbs from my bedroom door? Why was I even considering these options?

You are much braver than you think.

I'll keep it," she said. "Then, when you get back, after you and the dark one are done making out and planning a future filled with blond-haired, green-eyed, pigment-challeneged rug rats, I'll bring it over and you can add it to your scrapbook, right before you start cooking me dinner. I like vegetarian lasagna with cottage cheese instead of ricotta." "Gwen?" "And don't forget the mushrooms. Garlic bread, too, please. That is, as long as your vampire lover doesn't object." "I want to say thank you," Isobel said. "For... everything." "No," Gwen said. "Thank you for the delicious dinner. I can almost taste the baklava you and Darth Vader will be making for dessert. Something tells me you're gonna have to look that one up, though.

Myth: Garlic repels vampires. Truth: Try telling that to my dad.

Oh God, now she couldn’t remember why she’d ever left him. She needed him. More than air or sunlight and beaches, definitely more than garlic.

Everything you have ever read about vampires - most of it is inaccurate or downright false. We are not beautiful, we don't turn into bats, we don't shrivel up in the sunlight and we are most definitely not afraid of something as fickle as garlic.

Since we're into witches, let's swing by and check out this Isis at Spirit Quest." She slid her eyes right. Well, maybe she'd rag just a little. "You can probably buy a talisman or some herbs," she said solemnly. "You know, to ward off evil." Peabody shifted in her seat. Feeling foolish wasn't nearly as bad as worrying about being cursed. "Don't think I won't." "After we deal with Isis, we can grab a pizza sub -- with plenty of garlic." "Garlic's for vampires." "Oh. We can have Roarke get us a couple of his antique guns. With silver bullets." "Werewolves, Dallas." Amused at both of them now, Peabody rolled her eyes. "A lot of good you're going to do if we have to defend ourselves against witchcraft." "What does it to witches, then?" "I don't know," Peabody admitted. "But I'm damn sure going to find out.

Oh, fish sauce! How we missed it, dear Aunt, how nothing tasted right without it, how we longed for the grand cru of Phu Quoc Island and its vats brimming with the finest vintage of pressed anchovies! This pungent liquid condiment of the darkest sepia hue was much denigrated by foreigners for its supposedly horrendous reek, lending new meaning to the phrase "there's something fishy aroud here," for we were the fishy ones. We used fish sauce the way Transylvanian villagers were cloves of garlic to ward off vampires, in our case to establish a perimeter with those Westerners who could never understand that was truly fishy was the nauseating stench of cheese. What was fermented fish compared to curdled milk?

How do you kill a vampire? "Silver bullets?” “That’s werewolves.” “Cloves of garlic?” “That’s French bread.

Jewish vampires: Garlic? As a weapon? No its a spice silly human

Older sisters are far more powerful than vampires. Not even garlic or a crucifix will keep us away when we’re determined to meddle in your affairs.

Despite 4,000 years of proven usefulness, quarantines seem to be to modern international public health experts as garlic is to a vampire.

[In an interview when asked about becoming a fantasy creature] You know, it might be fun to be Sanguinarius Meyerii (better known as “sparklers”). They have all of the vampire superpowers and almost none of the weaknesses: no burning up in sunlight, no vulnerability to garlic, etc. As for my demise, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Once I get this kind of power, I’m planning to live forever. It’s the only way I’ll catch up on my reading!

You hold up a cross to protect yourself from Satan and he laughs in your face; you serve a vampire a roasted garlic appetizer and he comes back for seconds...on your neck. If this were Hollywood, the priest would be the culprit. He’d turn to his congregation, hold out his arms as if to embrace them, and smile a demon’s smile before pulling them all down to hell.

And the vampires. You used to know where you stood with them – smelly, evil, undead – but now there are virtuous vampires and disreputable vampires, and sexy vampires and glittery vampires, and none of the old rules about them are true any more. Once you could depend on garlic, and on the rising sun, and on crucifixes. You could get rid of the vampires once and for all. But not any more.

Love tip # 29: Increase your chances of getting to second date by not having stinky garlic breath during the end of the first date. Especially if you’re dating a vampire.

Chester continued, “The Mark of the Vampire says garlic renders vampires immobile.

Then, once the window was open, it would have been easy to forget to close it. There was still the garlic, after all, still the holy water on the lintels. Things like this happened in Europe, in places like Belgium, where the streets teemed with vampires and the shops didn’t open until after dark. Not here. Not in Tana’s town, where there hadn’t been a single attack in more than five years.

Really, in a lot of ways being a cyclist is like being a vampire. First of all, both cyclists and vampires are cultural outcasts with cult followings who clumsily walk the line between cool and dorky. Secondly, both cyclists and vampires resemble normal humans, but they also lead secret double lives, have supernatural powers, and aren’t governed by the same rules as the rest of humanity—though cycling doesn’t come with the drawbacks of vampirism. Cyclists can ride day or night, we can consume all the garlic we want, and very few of us are afflicted with bloodlust or driven by a relentless urge to kill.

I was ready when Quentin approached me after school the following day. “Genie,” he said. “Please. Let me expl—moomph!” “Stay away,” I said, mashing the bulb of garlic into his face as hard as I could. I didn’t have any crosses or holy water at home. I had to work with what was available. Quentin slowly picked the cloves out of my hand before popping them into his mouth. “That’s white vampires,” he said, chewing and swallowing the raw garlic like a bite of fruit. “If I was a jiangshi you should have brought a mirror.” I wrinkled my nose. “You’re going to stink now.” “What, like a Chinese?” He pursed his lips and blew a kiss at me. Instead of being pungent, his breath was sweet with plum blossoms and coconut. Like his body magically refused to be anything but intensely appealing to me, even on a molecular level. I tried to swat away his scent before it made me drunk.

She was in a coma, and had been unresponsive for years. Every Tuesday I’d visit her and read to her, and as I’d leave I’d always say, “I love you,” as I’d kiss her on her forehead. One day as I was leaving, I said my normal I love you and kissed her, when her eyes popped open, she looked directly into my eyes, smiled, and then she said, “Spaghetti for brains albino idea weasel.” And that was when I stabbed her with a piece of garlic toast. It seemed like the most appropriate response. The police didn’t seem to agree, and I could tell by the way they bagged the evidence in a To Go box that they thought I was the lowest of the low, lower perhaps than even a politician. Well, not quite that low, but certainly with the cockroaches, vultures, and aids-infested vampires.

He opened the door, and his smile faded as his eyes went to the DUNKIN’ DONUTS emblazoned on the flat cardboard box in Paul’s hands. Perlmutter recoiled like a vampire being offered garlic, and would have fled into the house if Trout had not lifted the box’s lid.

Too bad the Nazis aren't vampires, Ollie thought. At least with vampires, they could be deterred with holy water, crosses, and cloves of garlic. But with Nazis, we need antiaircraft guns, Hurricanes, and Spitfires. Ollie glanced back at the lofts. And maybe pigeons.

That done, I sank into an uneasy sleep wherein I dreamed of an assembly line of pale, bloodless girls walking down an endless dark street and moaning softly for help. Somewhere, toward the edge of my inner vision, a shadowy figure pursued them with long, beckoning arms. Goddamn booze! Somewhere in the midst of this ghoulish girl parade Cairncross materialized and hung a garland of garlic around my neck, glaring at me with his good eye and intoning, 'Go and sin no more.' Vincenzo appeared at Cairncross' side and together they laughed insanely, then vanished in a puff of sulphurous smoke. I made several high-minded resolutions, muttered half-heard but sincere-sounding prayers to all the recently deposed saints, thrashed and rolled clean off the bed. I might just as well have stayed up.

One of the windows was open, she noticed, curtain fluttering. The party must have gotten too warm, everyone sweating in the small house and yearning for the cool breeze just outside. Then, once the window was open, it would have been easy to forget to close it. There was still the garlic, after all, still the holy water on the lintels. Things like this happened in Europe, in places like Belgium, where the streets teemed with vampires and the shops didn't open until after dark. Not here. Not in Tana's town, where there hadn't been a single attack in more than five years. And yet it had happened. A window had been left open to the night, and a vampire had crawled through.

Things are getting out of hand: Tony finds herself channeling this opinion at least once a day. The crazed weather. The vicious, hate-filled politics. The myriad glass high-rises going up like 3-D mirrors, or siege engines. The municipal garbage collection: Who can keep all those different-coloured bins straight? Where to put the clear plastic food containers, and why isn't the little number on the bottom a reliable guide? And the vampires. You used to know where you stood with them--smelly, evil,undead--but now there are virtuous vampires and disreputable vampires, and sexy vampires and glittery vampires, and none of the old rules about them are true any more. Once you could depend on garlic, and on the rising sun, and on crucifixes. You could get rid of the vampires once and for all. But not any more.

An hour would be enough. An hour with my head on the pillow beside yours, foreheads touching, eyes locked with eyes (just the two of us, mind you, minus that sodding cat); an hour to smell the smell of you - garlic and all, I wouldn't mind, no, I wouldn't mind. An hour to press you close the whole length of our bodies and feel the shudder of your laugh. An hour to tell you I'm so glad I knew you. An hour, just an hour. I have time now like hedgehogs have fleas: I an lose it, waste it, squander it, kill it, and there will still be more to follow, but that hour I'll never have. Never.

how to protect oneself from the creatures (hawthorn and wild rose, in addition to garlic) and how to kill them soundly with staking or decapitation or by placing bits of steel in their mouths. Or even a lemon! Their vulnerability to sunlight and the inability of a vampire to cross running water. Tillie nearly laughed at the advice on how to identify a vampire’s coffin: a virgin boy, riding a black virgin horse over a cemetery, would balk at the proper grave. She was particularly intrigued by what vampires looked like. Bloated; reddish or purplish; blood seeping from the eyes, nose, or mouth when it was resting in its coffin; some were living beings, and some were the dead come alive. Fangs, however, were not always mentioned and were scant in the earlier literature.

Dollars to doughnuts there’s no fruit dip,” he murmured behind me. Would Mo do that to me not five minutes after I asked her not to push me at anything? Fucking A. Of course she would. I was the fruit dip, apparently. I backed out of the fridge, hanging my head with a sigh. “For Mo, that was extremely subtle.” “She’s got a gift.” Jace leaned against the counter beside the fridge and crossed his arms over his chest, looking me over. “How are you, Topher?” “Good. Good. Fine. How have you been?” I retreated a few paces, mirroring his posture against the island chopping block opposite him. “I’ve been good. Really good, in fact, though I’m wondering if you would rather I weren’t here.” “What?” I blinked rapidly. “Why would I— Why would you think that?” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “Because this is the first time you’ve met my eyes since I arrived, and if I were a vampire, you’d be thrusting garlic and a cross at me right now.

So what can we generalize about Victorian vampires? They are already dead, yet not exactly dead, and clammy-handed. They can be magnetically repelled by crucifixes and they don’t show up in mirrors. No one is safe; vampires prey upon strangers, family, and lovers. Unlike zombies, vampires are individualists, seldom traveling in packs and never en masse. Many suffer from mortuary halitosis despite our reasonable expectation that they would no longer breathe. But our vampires herein also differ in interesting ways. Some fear sunlight; others do not. Many are bound by a supernatural edict that forbids them to enter a home without some kind of invitation, no matter how innocently mistaken. Dracula, for example, greets Jonathan Harker with this creepy exclamation that underlines another recurring theme, the betrayal of innocence (and also explains why I chose Stoker’s story “Dracula’s Guest” as the title of this anthology): “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will.” Yet other vampires seem immune to this hospitality prohibition. One common bit of folklore was that you ought never to refer to a suspected vampire by name, yet in some tales people do so without consequence. Contrary to their later presentation in movies and television, not all Victorian vampires are charming or handsome or beautiful. Some are gruesome. Some are fiends wallowing in satanic bacchanal and others merely contagious victims of fate, à la Typhoid Mary. A few, in fact, are almost sympathetic figures, like the hero of a Greek epic who suffers the anger of the gods. Curious bits of other similar folklore pop up in scattered places. Vampires in many cultures, for example, are said to be allergic to garlic. Over the centuries, this aromatic herb has become associated with sorcerers and even with the devil himself. It protected Odysseus from Circe’s spells. In Islamic folklore, garlic springs up from Satan’s first step outside the Garden of Eden and onion from his second. Garlic has become as important in vampire defense as it is in Italian cooking. If, after refilling your necklace sachet and outlining your window frames, you have some left over, you can even use garlic to guard your pets or livestock—although animals luxuriate in soullessness and thus appeal less to the undead. The vampire story as we know it was born in the early nineteenth century. As

Some vampire literature is accurate, particularly concerning garlic. Vampire hunters have relied on it for centuries. Emeril LaGasse is not just a famous television chef, but also a modern Van Helsing whose obsession with garlic and pork fat is legendary. Not that bacon kills vampires. What a travesty that would be. --“Vampire Foibles,” Dexter Bloodgood’s Survival Guide for Modern Vampires, 19th Edition

Yes, so that people will know what it means,” he said. “So they’ll know you’re taken.” I’d never thought of a diamond’s sparkle like that before, like it was magic and it would ward off other penises the way garlic vanquishes vampires. Humoring him, I picked it up and slipped it on the left hand ring finger. He put his arm around my shoulder and we looked down at the ring with pride, as though we’d just made an embryo.

We don’t have any garlic bulbs, so I bring the cauliflower, and hope that any vampires I encounter will be of the myopic, easily duped variety.

In an article published in 1998 in the normally staid pages of Neurology, the Spanish physician Juan Gómez-Alonso pointed out other, less obvious parallels between vampires and rabid animals. According to folklore, the lifespan of a vampire was forty days, which coincides with the average time a victim lives after being bitten by a rabid animal. And just like rabid people, vampires were repelled by light (hence their nocturnal habits), strong smells (the odor of garlic, according to folktales, could ward them off), and water (pouring it around graves was recommended to keep them in their underground vaults).

We vampires are just so sick of misinformation. We’re not undead. We don’t have a problem with sunlight. Or garlic. Or silver and crosses and holy water. The only thing we have a problem with is eating

Are you a vampire?” Tiernan blinked, then tried to bite off a hard, choking laugh that exploded from his lips. He seemed as surprised as I was by the show of humor. “No, I am not a vampire.” Brando continued to look at him askance. “Prove it.” Laughter rumbled through his tone, but he managed to keep a straight face. “How does one prove they aren’t a vampire?” My little brother considered this seriously for a moment, then looked at me. “Do you have any garlic, Anca? Or maybe a cross?” I rolled my lips under my teeth to keep from laughing. “No, Brandy Boy.” “Dang,” he muttered, rubbing his chin.

What on earth are you doing?” said Conina, not taking her eyes off the ghastly figure. “I’m looking up the Index of Wandering Monsters,” said Nijel. “Do you think it’s an Undead? They’re awfully difficult to kill, you need garlic and—” “You won’t find this in there,” said Rincewind slowly. “It’s—it’s a vampire hat.” “Of course, it might be a Zombie,” said Nijel, running his finger down a page. “It says here you need black pepper and sea salt, but—” “You’re supposed to fight the bloody things, not eat them,” said Conina.

Igor’s weapon of choice was a little different. It was tipped with silver (for werewolves), hung with garlic (for vampires) and wrapped around with a strip of blanket (for bogeymen). For everyone else the fact that it was two feet of solid bog-oak usually sufficed.

The French vampires started that rumor about carrying garlic so their victims would arrive already seasoned.

they (the insects) are an essential link in the Great Food Chain, wherein all life forms are dependent on each other via complex and subtle interrelationships, as follows: Man gets his food by eating cows, which in turn eat corn, which in turn comes from Iowa, which in turn was part of the Louisiana Purchase, which in turn was obtained from France, which in turn eats garlic, which in turn repels vampires, which in turn suck the blood out of Man. So we can see that without insects there would be no … Hey, wait a minute! I just noticed that there are no insects in the Great Food Chain. Ha

I fought the sudden urge to scream ‘I don’t want to fuck you’. And I sure as hell didn’t want to fuck her later that night either. I wanted to tell her she was about to consume a massive amount of garlic and onions and those foods made her bloat up like a Dr. Seuss character and made her vagina smell weird and gross, not to mention she was a manipulative cunt and had ruined my life by getting knocked up on purpose, and fucking her for sexual pleasure was the furthest thing from my mind. I would hate fuck her with my fist at the drop of a hat if she wanted but that was about the extent of my affection at the moment. Instead I said, “It smells like you’re trying to kill a vampire.

Actually, garlic is an anticoagulant. Eating garlic to ward off vampires is propaganda by my kind to make humans bleed more efficiently.

The concept of using less of anything is about as popular in the contemporary industrial world as garlic aioli at a convention of vampires. Nobody wants to be reminded that using less, so that our grandchildren would have enough, was the road we didn’t take at the end of the seventies. Still, the road we did take was always destined to be a dead end, and, as we move deeper into the twenty-first century, the end of that road is starting to come into sight.

If you taste as good as you smell, I'm afraid you'll have me wrapped around your finger in no time." Apollo inhaled the air by my neck. "I highly doubt that," I whispered. He chuckled. Apollo's soft touch was gentle with me as he tilted my head to have better access to my neck. "It will only sting for a moment, my dear." His fangs pierced my neck and I bit back a scream. They were sharp as they dug into my flesh, pulling painfully at my skin, worse than any cut, any needle that had touched me in all my life. Thankfully it was over in an instant, and the pain was replaced by a warm sensation. Very warm. It traveled from my neck down into my chest, and from there it flowed down even farther into my... "Oh you... fucking... cheater," I gasped as I clenched my thighs together. I had completely forgotten why powerful vampires had no problem finding blood supplies. It felt good. Stupidly good. It was the bottom of a top-shelf bottle and the smoothest drug all wrapped in the needy high of sex. It was consuming, pulsing heat. Apollo drew back for a moment to give me a wicked grin. Swimming, everything was swimming, but I didn't hate it. Not that I didn't want to, but nothing had ever messed with my head in this way before. My own blood reddened his lips, but it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. "Everything okay, my dear?" "Go lick a garlic bulb.

His nose brought him back to his senses. As he opened the door to the apartment he was greeted by aromas from the kitchen: something roasting, perhaps pork; and garlic, so pervasive it suggested that an entire field of garlic had been seized and tossed into the oven along with the pork. He hung up his jacket, remembered that he had left his briefcase in his office and shrugged off the thought. He paused at the door to the kitchen, hoping to find his family already seated at the table, but the room was empty, except for the garlic, the odour of which seemed to be coming from a tall pot boiling over a low flame. Devoting his entire attention to the smell, he attempted to remember where he had smelled it before. He knew it was familiar, as a melody is familiar even when a person cannot remember the piece from which it comes. He tried to separate the scents: garlic, tomato, a touch of rosemary, something fishy like clams or shrimp – probably shrimp – and, perhaps, carrots. And the garlic, a universe of garlic. He summoned up the sensation he had experienced in the office, of his spirit being steeped in misery. He breathed deeply, hoping that the garlic would drive the misery out. If it could drive away vampires, then surely it could work its herbal magic against something as banal as misery.

He looked like he probably disliked garlic and sunlight a lot, and his idea of a tasty snack was something he sucked out of someone’s neck in the middle of the night.

It is also a known myth that garlic repels vampires. While we have never seen a vampire in real life, one thing is known – the smell of garlic does repel mosquitoes. Close enough, right?

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. "The rats were supposed to frighten you animator. They don't seem to have done their job." "Maybe I don't frighten that easily." I met her eyes without any effort They were just eyes. Theresa grinned at me suddenly, flashing fang. "Nikolaos will find something that frightens you, animator. For fear is power." She whispered the last as if afraid to say it too loud. What did vampires fear? Did visions of sharpened stakes and garlic haunt them, or were there worse things? How do you frighten the dead.

There are a hundred or more myths about how one might go about killing a vampire. A stake through the heart, sunlight, you’ve heard all the stories. Oh, and garlic. We mustn’t forget garlic. Whoever came up with that silly little rumor never saw me laying the smack down at Mama Leoni’s All-You-Can-Eat Trattoria. I’ve eaten so much garlicky clam sauce in my time that I’ve sweated the stuff for days on end.

Let’s rewind ten seconds to when my cute, sweet, amazing boyfriend was leaning in to kiss me for the first time ever. I was excited and a little nervous but I wanted him to kiss me so badly. I wanted my first ever kiss to be at that moment with him. In my mind, it was going to be perfect. The perfect kiss with the perfect boyfriend. One that I’d never forget. Now, let’s go forward ten seconds. He hadn’t kissed me yet. Instead, we were both sitting on the boardwalk wall, soaked through. I wanted to cry, but I stopped myself from doing it. Tears began to well in my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away. How could everything have gone from perfect to a disaster so quickly? We both screamed out when the water bomb exploded on us and then we were exchanging awkward looks. Worse still, I remained Remmy James, the girl who had never been kissed. What if I never had my first kiss? What if something always happened to mess it up? Or someone? I looked to see who had thrown the water bomb and spotted four girls wearing black baseball caps running up the boardwalk. I couldn’t see them clearly, but I knew exactly who they were. I mean, who else could they be? They had to be the vampires and their newest member…Sydney! My first near kiss was definitely something I’d never forget, but not for the right reasons. Vampires, I don’t like them at all. Maybe I should have stocked up on garlic or something. Then again, Charlie wouldn’t have wanted to kiss me if I smelled of garlic.

I can assure you, milady, that the sign of the cross does not deter me, and the worst I have suffered from garlic is bad breath.

World domination ? Why would anyone ever think that'd be a good idea ?