Gothic Quotes

And what if you try to kill me? Or worse: to kiss me?

Even I don’t know myself... In fact, I don’t know if I really have a self at all, as I’m constantly playing different roles and pretending – not so much on stage as in real life...

I envy people that know love. That have someone who takes them as they are.

Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –

Oh, he did look like a deity – the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.

Emotions don’t interfere in my acting, nor in my life.

And I wasn’t playing a role – I was trying to be myself.
But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that ‘myself’ somewhere between two perfectly performed roles...

He who writes is the martyr, seen through the eyes of the unsuspecting doll.

The utter unbroken silence was more appalling than any ominous noise, than the loudest yells of anguish, than the most piercing screaming...
Dead silence.
Literally dead.

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.

All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.

My heart, for unknown reasons, seems to freeze in motion in my chest. I can see he senses it and he holds his pause to enjoy my suffering, prolonging my ignorance. “Viktor, what?

One hand was behind his back, and he held it out, presenting a bouquet of white and smoky purple lilies.

“They’re straight from the underworld, by the way. They are everlasting. They won’t die.

Can you look at this brilliant wound?

You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.

Strength and victory... What he would never praise himself for, but whose loss was his most obsessive fear.

You don’t need a sad soul
to feel the beauty of a dead grave
Just stay with the pale moon
when darkness wants the night to be brave

Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lost
memories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreams
play when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?