Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Macabre. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Macabre Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including S.m. Reine,Thom Yorke,William S. Burroughs,Melissa D. Ellis,H. Raven Rose for you to enjoy and share.
Metaraon, with his unmerciful stare,
I'm horrified of leprechauns. I'm horrified that I might be leprechauns.
Look at these poisonous color maps where flesh trees grow from human sacrifices; listen to these sniggering half-heard words of tenderness and doom from lips spotted with decay
Horror waits in the shadows, even when you are closing your eyes.
The full moon cast an eerie glow through thick ancient dark woods. In the shadows around a tree, the serial killer ran his knife lovingly over Chelsea's trussed dead body. She lay, as if posed for a photo, wearing only bloody pink underpants.
The night is dark and filled with terrors,
It is only by softening and disguising dead flesh by culinary preparation that it is rendered susceptible of mastication or digestion, and that the sight of its bloody juices and raw horror does not excite intolerable loathing and disgust.
We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there - there you could look at a thing monstrous and free. It was unearthly, and the men were - No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it - this suspicion
Mindless, beautiful, and deadly...
Fucking zombies. They're almost as bad as tarantulas.
Awkwardness, thy name is vampire.
I recognize terror as the finest emotion and so I will try to terrorize the reader. But if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out. I'm not proud.
It was barbaric. It was horrific. It was delicious.
In the darkest and strangest of places with the most macabre of company, this music moves her and her life pulses hard... And even for Julie's safety, I can't bring myself to smother it.
UNMARKED is both gorgeous and hideous. A frightening and disturbing tale spun with great beauty. Absolutely riveting.
La Dorada skulked into view. She was half-mummified, but sodden. Gooey.
Regin let out a low whistle. The Mummy Returns meets Dingoes Ate My Face.
IT was the most horrible, the most repellent thing she had ever seen, far more nauseating then anything she had ever imagined with her consious mind, or that had ever tormented her in her most terrible nightmares.
She rounded on me with such ferocity that for a moment I didn't recognize her. A flash of fangs, a dark gleam in her blacker-than-night eyes. It was the most vampiric I'd ever seen her.
A starving child is a frightful sight. A starving vampire, even worse.
The surreal howl wove its way through the cacophony of human voices, a bright, bloody thread in a tapestry of fear.
A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy's body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth.
Never less than bizarrely delightful. The monster is mesmerizing.
Not foliage green, but of a fusk colour,
Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled
not apple-tress were there, but thorns with poison.
The Vampire Masquerade
Mask of jewels across a pale face
Disguise the evil that makes no mistakes
Drops of red blood on delicate white lace
The body lies still and only time awaits.
The horror had begun.
This is the golden age of grotesque.
Darkness brutal, darkness fair at
Maldonado's face was ghastly. 'That' she said, pointing below the bed where the cat lurked, 'and that' - pointing to what lay on the floor - 'prove it was no dream. Do dreams leave marks behind them?' ("I'm Dangerous Tonight")
WARNING: This novel deals with undead and crazy murderous cannibalistic people. There are no depictions of ponies gaily prancing across pastures as cute bunnies nibble on carrots contained herein. BUT there are numerous depictions of violence, murder, blood, mayhem, and yes, even gore.
Pie in a bed of raw onions. Human skull looking put-upon.
Howl
I felt a little like a man reading a very grim book.
With his wife's imperious face peering down at him, Lord Maccon took a moment to wonder why he had thought to crave such a woman in his life. Alexia bent over and nibbled at his chest. Ah, yes, initiative and ingenuity.
Its face crinkled up grotesquely, the eyes narrowing like those of a laughing Buddha, the lips peeling back to expose a sickle of brilliant teeth.
The monster towered ten or twelve feet tall. Its bright green leathery skin was covered in dirt,
moss, leaves, and patches of grass, the stench repulsive. His teeth gleamed brown. Evidently he
wasn't aware of the multitude of whitening products on the market.
The place of the worst barbarism is that modern forest that makes use of us, this forest of chimneys and bayonets, machines and weapons, of strange inanimate beasts that feed on human flesh.
Grinning like a necrophiliac in a morgue.
How do you kill a vampire?"-Mac "Hope hes not"-Barrons
Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. I
Dark, dark! The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.
For better or worse, whether it is a sign of aesthetic complexity or of intellectual indecision, this novel [Frankenstein] offers equally fertile ground to those readers who like their meanings ambiguous and indeterminate and to those who prefer to discern a deeply important doctrine.
I typed in a single word: Vampre. Google asked, 'Did you mean vampire?' I said, 'Yes.
There's a natural depravity in inanimate things that's quite shocking, when you think of it.
Eventually I fall asleep, savoring the melancholy pleasures of victory. I wake with a start to a muffled sound: the wolves could not wait for us to withdraw; they are already devouring the bodies.
Patches of stained red grass. Rotting baby limbs at dusk. The sound of cicadas and laughter; picnics with madmen by the black lake at noon.
'Gillespie and I' is a deliciously morbid, almost smutty story, a compendium of inappropriate wants and smarmy desires.
I think MacGregor might be a genius. Anyone so oblivious to the horror of the human world must be.
The vampire's true appearance was grotesque
but it wasn't as bad as some of the things I had seen in my day. Some demons were a lot worse, and some of the Elder Things could rip your mind apart just by letting you look at them
Wish you were with the cannibals and it was dinner-time.
Between the journeymen, vampires crouched like monstrous gargoyles: hairless, corded with a tight network of steel-hard muscle, and smeared in lime-green and purple sunblock. Bubble-gum-tinted nightmares.
I'm a carnivore, a carnivore, a terrible disgusting carnivore.
No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.
The charm of horror only tempts the strong
dripped down her neck and stained the collar of her shirt. It was a mirror to the wash of blood pouring from her scalp, blinding her left eye and trailing down her cheek like macabre tears.
What can a man read in a library of cannibals?
Bloody books bound by bones in tissues' paper.
The bodies draped down through the leaves like rancid baubles in the locks of a horrible harlot.
I was physically revolted by and secretly frightened of those round moronic eyes, the pancake face, and orangeworms hair.
There are crimes that are truly uncomely. With crimes, whatever they may be, the more blood, the more horror there is, the more imposing they are, the more picturesque, so to speak, but there are crimes that are shameful, disgraceful, all horror aside, so to speak, even far too ungracious ...
Horror operates with complete autonomy. Generating ontological havoc, it is mephitic foam upon which our lives merely float. And ultimately, we must face up to it: Horror is more real than we are.
Vampire, come to me...
MacMurrough shifted his gaze from the thick spittle-wet mouth and stared instead through the garden windows. What a dreary drunk he was. He recalled the Spartan custom of inebriating slaves that young men should see how contemptible was drunkenness. Nowadays we leave it to our leshishlashors.
I felt the strangling tendrils of a cancerous horror whose roots reached into illimitable pasts and fathomless abysms of the night that broods beyond time.
So there I was being strangled by a ranting, half-naked madman in the middle of the woods, with a she-werewolf dangling from a rope snare somewhere nearby.
Blood is pounding in my ears. Lingering smoke and tequila fill my nostrils as adrenaline courses through my veins. My lips curl into a smile. The only thing that would make this night more perfect is if I had killed some zombies.
Once the frontiers of horror have been crossed, one will pass from form to form beyond the human and from metamorphosis to metamorphosis to accomplish, in the anguish of an impossible return, the most terrible journey to the depths of darkness.
An ox carcass by Rembrandt seems so utterly butchered as to be agonisingly still alive. A
Mac blinked. That smile should be registered as a deadly weapon.
A vampire was drinking a bloody Mary, and from the look on her face Mary was really getting into it.
Monster. Help. Popsicle scary
It was no ape, neither was it a man. It was some shambling horror spawned in the mysterious, nameless jungles of the south, where strange life teemed in the reeking rot without the dominance of man, and drums thundered in temples that had never known the tread of a human foot.
The horror! The horror!
Your terror tastes just as I imagined, Elizabeth, Fear whispers into my ear.
I think most of us are fascinated by the macabre and by the weird and even the nastiness that comes along.
What is that?" I ask.
"It's my dog."
"No. No, I have dogs. Dogs are descended from wolves. That's descended from a rat." I look again. "An ugly rat.
I'm just some lunatic macaroni mushroom, is that it?
I scraped my heel against this black claw: I wanted to peel off some of the bark. For no reason at all, out of defiance, to make the bare pink appear absurd on the tanned leather: to play with the absurdity of the world. But, when I drew my heel back, I saw that the bark was still black.
Horror spawns horror
My eyes hurt... but there is something more... I can't stop listening to horror.... now I am going to be in darkkkk.
It's bitten her!' he cried. 'It's Bitten her! It's bitten her! Calm down! Get moving! Call an ambulance! Call the police! Call a scientist! Call my wife! This is terrible! This is awful! This is ghastly! This is phantasmagorical! This is-
The clock struck eleven and cat the vampire huntress was on the loose, except my battle armor was a push-up bra, curled hair, and a short dress. Yeah, it was a dirty job, but I was going to do it. Come one, come all, bloodsuckers! Bar's open!
Morwen had perceived Galadir's lips over every body part and it was like tearing the flesh slowly and savor every muscular fiber. Savoring the man's skin was like drinking a river of blood. But then the blood and flesh were missing. There was only him.
I do not think I had ever seen a nastier-looking man. Under the black hat, when I had first seen them, the eyes had been those of an unsuccessful rapist.
Bite me, Dracula.
It's the Night of the Living Dead. It's scary out here.
Cadavers' intestines hanging like a parade streamers off the sides of tables, skulls bobbing in boiling pots, organs strewn on the floor being eaten by dogs ...
Ghost: Murder most foul, as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Pain was a fascinating horror
Nothing is uglier than the sinner, nothing so leprous or fetid; the scar of his crimes is still raw, and he stinks like the cave of Hell.
resembling in his spectacles and nothing else (from the waist down the table concealed him; anyone entering the room would have taken him to be stark naked) a baroque effigy created out of colored cake dough by someone with a faintly nightmarish affinity for the perverse,
A tongue in a bag. Teeth. A room drenched in blood.
So this fairy tale is a horror story
The dark edge of the moor and the Cow and Calf rock are crisp against the blue-black sky. I can't see anyone outside, watching us. As I shut the door behind me, I hear a noise. It came from the hall. I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Once upon a midnight dreary
I am a thing made of lace and blood. Swathed in silk and dripping with the dark deeds of men.
The ape, vilest of beasts, how like to us.
The darkness amplifies the stench of decaying flesh- Random thought
Spooky wild and gusty; swirling dervishes of rattling leaves race by, fleeing the windflung deadwood that cracks and thumps behind.
Gruesome that nobody wants to go near it. Then you slip away." "But the Canning Master's family,
The night has a capacity for terror that the day can never match.
It's indignity you can't stand, Hannibal, you're like a cat that way.
Beautiful like all the Shadowhunters were beautiful, like moonlight shearing off the edges of broken glass: lovely and deadly. Beautiful things, cruel things, cruel in that way that only people who absolutely believed in the rightness of their cause could be cruel.