Category Archives: FRIGHT

The skeletons in my closet carouse and party all night, When one opens the door to pee, gee, I get such a fright.

Smartass Rabbi

Feb 23

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No matter that my heart sinks,
sighs, with the weight of skeletons-

paths I forgot to follow
have slowly sealed

rooms go unrecognised
for fear of change

and I cry at the uncertainty of rainbows.

All the daydreams I stole,
refusing to give them back

are stored as silver dust
and each day is a small breath.

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“Saw a little girl touch a big bug and shout, “I conquered my fear! YES!” and calmly walk away. I was inspired.” ― Nathan Fillion

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Now there spreaden a rumour that everich night 
The rooms is haunted been by many a Sprite, 
The Miller avoucheth, and all thereabout 
That they full oft hearen the Hellish Rout, 
Some faine they hear the gingling of Chains, 
And some hath heard the Psautries straines, 
At midnight some the headless Horse i meet, 
And some espien a Corse in a white Sheet; 
And other things, Faye, Elfin and Elfe, 
And shapes that Fear createn to itself." 

GUERNSEY

Hope is the last thing to leave a human being.

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 tango, the relationship between lead and follower, man and woman, is so intense and all consuming, that there is simply no time for small talk. The last man I danced with, I know more intricately in many ways than his lover: I know that he perspires in a tiny spot above his brow; that when the dance slows and our connection is tight, his breathing almost stops; that when my leg sweeps his, he arches his neck imperceptibly upwards; that when another couple got too close he subconsciously enclosed me in a protective embrace; and that his hand rested so delicately on the flesh of my back. Yet all I know about him are his name and his country of origin. Small talk is a luxury not afforded to us tango addicts.

Anastasia Demaggio

http://www.verytangostore.com/quotes.html

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LOST IN THE BUSH

I’d left the camp, and lost my way,

‘Mid tangled vines and ferns;

And puzzled was which way to take

From out the many turns;

 

When presently I saw some smoke

Through swamp oaks wreathing up,

And close beside me soon I heard

The yelping of a pup.

 

A forked stick, two sheets of bark,

A low, small fire in front,

And on the ground there sat a black, –

He’d just returned from hunt.

 

And on the coals a sumptuous meal –

A ‘possum roasting whole –

Among the ashes two corn cobs,

Which he that morning stole.

 

I told him I had lost my way,

Was weary, and footsore.

He pointed to a log, and then

Was silent as before.

 

I questioned him – Why all alone?

Where piccaninny, gin?

He sullen looked, and then replied:

“White fellow bin take him.

 

And he bin promise gib it me,

Clothes, blanket, and white bread,

Bacca, and rum, and budgery things;

Baal gib it though,” he said.

 

“And many moons I’ve trabbled bin

With white man long a dray;

But now me going back to tribe;

Baal me now with him stay.

 

“Almost all gone, blackfellow, now;

Baal plenty kangaroo;

Whitefellow sit down everywhere,

Him take it all land, too.”

He led me on, I’d wandered far,

For now ‘twas almost night,

Then pointing to my camp, he turned,

And soon was lost to sight.

 

I thought ‘tis late now to begin,

At this the eleventh hour,

Yet still a something might be done

By those who have the power,

 

For those once owners of the soil,

Neglected thus so long;

I would I had the poet’s gift,

I’d plead their cause in song.

(Kiama Independent, March 28, 1884)

MELINDA KENDALL.

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“Worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.”

A.S. Roche

http://www.marinal-anon.org/pages/welcome/quotes-and-sayings.php

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A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

― Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that won’t believe. The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbeliever’s fright. William Blake

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“Owls are wise. They are careful and patient. Wisdom precludes boldness. That is why owls make poor heroes.”

― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

Fear is an insidious and deadly thing. It can warp judgement, freeze reflexes, breed mistakes. Worse, it’s contagious. ― Jimmy Stewart

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“After great pain, a formal feeling comes —
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs —
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round —
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought —
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone —
This is the Hour of Lead —
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow —
First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go —”

― Emily Dickinson