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“Your past haunts you
Your present overwhelms you
Your future scares you
Yet you survive”
― Lidia Longorio, Hey Humanity

“Ghosts are the manifestation of the longing of loss.”
― Stewart Stafford

“It all fades. Memories fade. Heartaches fade. But although time makes it bearable and easier to smile, to live, it doesn’t erase the pain entirely.”
― Ella Fields, Bloodstained Beauty

“If ever we two had a soul, let our soul
—keep on walking and leave us behind.”
― Gabriela Mistral, Madwomen: Poems of Gabriela Mistral

“The man himself lay in the bed.

For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and fleshless grin. The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an embrace, but now the long sleep that outlasts love, that conquers even the grimace of love, had cuckolded him.”
― William Faulkner , A Rose for Emily

“Everything that’s loved lives.”
― Mira Grant, In the Shadow of Spindrift House

“By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what it is down there. The rest is weather. Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves, or spring ice thawing too quickly. Just weather. Certainly no clamor for a kiss.”
― Toni Morrison, Beloved

“I'm not sure how you do this
to me. I barely remember you whole,
just the hair or beard,
the legs, arms, all separate,
never as one man who searched
desperately in the dark
for music without words
to make love to.”
― Ruth Ellen Kocher, When the Moon Knows You're Wandering

“The tension between not being let in and not being let go fixes us. Especially when it's the not-being-let-in that won't let you go. You're held at the threshold. You're turned away, but you can't turn away.”
― Randon Billings Noble, Be with Me Always: Essays

“Would You Notice Me" is a beautifully intense read. The imagery is engaging....”the Merlot waterfall�� and “confetti’d parts�� lines for instance, and the the voice of the poem as a whole.”
― Mehnaz Sahibzada, My Gothic Romance

“your smell won't let me sleep,
this is how dead men
haunt their murderer's dreams.”
― Valzhyna Mort, Factory of Tears: A Lannan Literary Selection

“Pick a master and serve. Serve them well and die.”
― Azaaa Davis, Hiss, Rattle and Bite

“Po njerëzit janë të ndryshëm. Ka të tillë, fytyra e të cilëve të rri përherë përpara. E njëjta. E pandryshuar. Ti e sheh dhe s'kupton asgjë. Mendon: "si është bërë kjo fytyrë e tillë indifirente e pakuptim. Dhe këtë unë duhet ta shoh çdo ditë, çdo orë, çdo çast të jetës sime; këtë fytyrë pa jetë... (shih jeta ç'fytyrë pa jetë na paska?!); ka të tjerë që kacavirren nëpër trupin tënd si ata kërmijtë dhe aty nëpër gjethe të ndërgjegjes sate lënë jargët e tyre; ka edhe nga ata, që ti ndofta nuk i ke parë asnjëherë , s'ke biseduar kurrë, se ndofta ata kanë rënë përmbys atje te xhamia e tabakëve, kanë rënë vite të shkuara, po ti e sheh, endjen edhe tani që ata janë përmbysur duke lënë një boshllëk të madh te ti, kanë hapur një zbrazësirë, që edge tani të prek me gishtërinjtë e gjatë e të ftohtë të kujtimit të vet. Dhe ti je i gëzuar, je i lumtur që dikur ata kanë jetuar.”
― Fatos Arapi, Dikush më buzëqeshte

“A eulogy is a life lived with a loved one or friend condensed into a few moments relating poignant and witty stories about them to a hushed congregation. The deceased has then an eternity to ponder the remarks with the possibility of spectral visitations to request a retraction.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Let me warn you again, in case your ghost ever tries to condemn me.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Lifemaker

“For whom dream in darkness dwells before eternal death.”
― D.L. Lewis

“I could live there all alone, she thought, slowing the car to look down the winding garden path to the small blue front door with, perfectly, a white cat on the step. No one would ever find me there, either, behind all those roses, and just to make sure I would plant oleanders by the road. I will light a fire in the cool evenings and toast apples at my own hearth. I will raise white cats and sew white curtains for the windows and sometimes come out of my door to go to the store to buy cinnamon and tea and thread. People will come to me to have their fortunes told, and I will brew love potions for sad maidens; I will have a robin....”
― Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

“Three creaks. She stepped three times.

What is the meaning of it? Three creaks, three weeks? If she comes back for her shoes in three days, then I only need to empty them another three times. If it really is three weeks that were meant, what then. If three months, what then. Three years. That's why I had to write it down now. By then I may no longer believe I heard anything in Miri's room.”
― Helen Oyeyemi, White Is for Witching

“HAUNT: to materialize, appear in, frequent, visit, disturb, torment. None of these captures the contrary nature of hauntedness - to be filled with hollowness, to ache for something not entirely wanted, to have and have not.”
― Randon Billings Noble, Be with Me Always: Essays

“It's not the future you are afraid of. It's the fear of repeating the past that haunts you.”
― Tracy A Malone

“Depression is a ghost haunting tour happiness”
― Amaranthine Poetry, notes from the heart

“A single flame to light the darkness”
― D.M. Siciliano, Inside

“Does it burn in the dark?”
― D.M. Siciliano, Inside

“Please, haunt my dreams tonight.”
― Melanie Sargsian, Lovember: A Collection of Short Love Stories

“Something in me tells me the worst is yet to come, but I don’t want to believe it. How beastly we men have become, but, no, that is too good a comparison. We are worse than the beasts of the field, for they kill to eat, but we kill for much lesser things.--Silver Moon”
― Jenny Knipfer, Silver Moon

“Dawn through the window woke me. I placed an extra pillow over my face to block it. When Amber woke, she panicked that the ghost children were smothering me. She was not going to stop the ghost children, but she was going to observe and record. Even at the expense of my life, she figured I would rather have been a part of the paranormal, particularly if it made for an entertaining story at her murder trial.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

“She can jettison her existence, her plans and her passions at a single stroke. She is only committed to reality through a secret electoral pact, by which she will stand down if she is losing. She never assumes responsibility for her existence, which allows her to wipe out at a stroke and to slide, like a good hysteric, towards another life. A strange life, spun out entirely towards a goal of transaction. Let a man ask her to give it up, to sacrifice the whole of it, and it all ceases to exist.

The Epeda Multispire mattress. Everyone can have their own night, their own sleep thanks to the 3,600 spiral springs which guarantee everyone complete autonomy. The ideal mattress. You can make love to someone on it without them even noticing. As the automaton of his own pleasure, each person’s experience of their sexuality is like their experience of a night on a Multispire mattress. It isn’t even loneliness, since there is someone else there. It’s more something of the order of the independent lunar module. Tristan and Isode each dreaming to themselves, on either side of their sexual console.

That seduction is the seduction of the uterine Mother and that all attraction merely masks the attraction of the primal abyss are platonic ideas. The cavity of the womb has taken over from the Cave in the Realm of Ideas. Once again, the real woman, her anatomy, serves as a sacred referent for a platonic ideology. The vertigo of seduction is here vulgarly phantasized into the hollow of a woman’s womb. This is to move from the most subtle game to the most profound—and hence the most stupid—phantasm.”
― Jean Baudrillard, Cool Memories

“This silence is
to save myself
and now,
I only wish to return
to past and erase
all of our memories
- The haunting nights”
― Jyoti Patel, ANAMIKA: BEYOND WORDS

“The automatic carriage-return on the typewriter, electronic central locking of cars: these are the things that count. The rest is just theory and literature.

Space is what prevents everything from being in the same place. Language is what prevents everything from meaning the same thing.

My hand, separated from me, dreams it is holding a breast. Nothing fills a hand better than a breast. Stereotype of a sadistic tenderness.

This journal develops, as its title indicates, over the course of time. However it is haunted by something which preceded it, the secret underlying event.”
― Jean Baudrillard, Cool Memories

“There is an essay on the language of the dying. The dying sometimes speak of themselves in the third person. I was not speaking that way. I said: I am bleeding. I am going to bleed to death. And I will be lucky if I die before he returns.

Give me my Scallop shell of quiet.

You know, they did not print the whole of the Indian song in the subway. Only a few lines. But I know the poem.

'It's off in the distance. It came into the room. It's here in the circle.'

I know the poem.

She knows the poem.”
― Susanna Moore, In the Cut