Short Gothic Quotes Novels & Stories

O pray the earth enfold Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust. This poem imagines a modern-day "Goth girl" as a vampire ... Dark Gothic by Michael R. Burch Her fingers are filed into talons; she smiles with carnivorous teeth ... You ask, “Are there vampires?” Get real! (Yet she has my belief.)  Sleep and Liberation―the Opiate World of Elizabeth Siddal Ulalume: A Ballad [excerpt] by Edgar Allan Poe The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere—

His hand continued moving, covering the wall with warnings: "Qui innocentes nocet, ab innocentibus destruetur. Amor matris vincit malitiam. Lux umbram consumet." "Whoever harms innocents will be destroyed by innocents. A mother's love conquers evil. Light will consume shadow." Margaret sucked in a deep breath, assembling all her powers in her hand. "I am the shadow! I am the darkness that shapes the light!" Marcus's cries increase beyond anyone's power. A gust of wind flowed around the whole room, dark waves mixed with light waves. Margaret and Pierce let out a gut-wrenching scream.

The punctuation was marked with a brownish-crimson hue and stood out against the page in its contrast from the script. Luca cleared his throat and began to read out loud, “In order to go forward you have to go back. In order to grow, you have to shrink. In order to succeed, you have to fail. To heal, there must be blood. Payment for entrance is a warrior's death, immortality is priceless but ultimately cursed. Seek thee out, the Hall of the Slain.” He trailed off with the last few words until the others had to strain to hear. He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. As the others stared at him, he shook his head as if to ward off a headache.

Vincent's scream pierced the darkness as he fell, his claws swiping at empty air. His body twisted in mid-air, feeling weightless while shadows tightened around him like chains. The ghost’s voice taunted him, deep and harsh. "You fall, fox. Because you don’t resist gravity. You belong here." Vincent let out a roar, desperately trying to summon fire, but no flames emerged. His golden eyes shone brightly against the dark backdrop. “Camela!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Please respond!”

“Rule one: if I die, bury me sexy. Rule two: if there’s a ghost, we negotiate rent. Rule three: if I find an ex, we salt the earth.” First swing: missed. Hit shin. Second: hit hinge. Then toe. Third: creeeak. Air spilled out, cold and sharp with iron and mold. I raised my bottle. “To poor choices and strong quads.” The chimney groaned softly in disapproval. I smiled at it. “Don’t worry. I’m not scared.” Lie. Great posture.

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die." He stared at her, "How about now? Did I say it well?"

“When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging and try filling it instead” stared at me in big blocky white letters. I stared at the motivation quote with the backdrop of an early morning beach of some crystalline blue ocean and wondered why I thought tacking that up in my locker was a good idea. I wasn’t even sure it made sense. “Robin Douglass, you are an idiot,” I whispered as I shook my head. That would explain why I’d think tacking up some silly quote would somehow change the insignificance and dullness of my life.

"The advent of enlightenment may emerge through sorrow! White Heather" Myrtle, Hemlock I descry once light that a creature who breathes walked in amidst the bars. Such a dainty soul, perhaps it wouldn't be a bother for it to hear my words. It will be the excellent succor, for I know that it is too dainty to be seen. I am indeed relieved for I now realize that I have such succor. As I whisper... "La grülateva nonnäjö yeamäudarre lonätevaei." ("I will need your help.")

I put on a robe and pick up a book at random before going out to the backyard patio. As I stand outside looking at the gray sky, I wonder what is in store for me. Light abounds, yet I can see nothing except the darkness. The fresh air soothes me. I’ve always liked rainy and windy weather. I open the book and read aloud the quote on the first page. “Stay on the edge of the abyss, survey the scene for longer than is tolerable, understand the precise contours of your feelings, the exact distance of their depth, the way the ground pushes against the bottom of your feet. Live!”

Next to it, a quote read: The best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them. “That’s the work of Black Crimson,” I said. “You like it?” “It’s breathtaking,” she murmured. “And the quote sounds like someone famous should’ve written it.” “Someone famous did write it. Ernest Hemingway,” I said. When she glanced at me, I shrugged. “I had to look it up after the first time I saw the painting.” Nodding, she glanced back over her shoulder to take in the last of the masterpiece before we’d driven past it completely. Turning forward again, she asked, “Who’s Black Crimson?”