Best Monsters Quotes

The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.

And we all know love is a glass which makes even a monster appear fascinating.

Oh my dear, idealists are the cruelest monsters of them all.

I’m a logic monster, if things don’t make sense I gotta make sense of them.

An ocean without unnamed monsters would be like sleep without dreams.

There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.

Children are monsters of unbridled egotism and will, for they spring directly from nature, hostile intimations of immorality.

There is no monster more destructive than the inventive mind that has outstripped philosophy.

Our memory is a monster; you forget it – it does not.

The press is like any business. Its a group of really intelligent individuals that ends up being one slathering, one-eyed, drooling monster.

Light had a way of keeping the monsters of my imagination at bay.

Miserere is about redemption, and the triumph of our best impulses over our worst. It’s also about swords, monsters, chases, ghosts, magic, [and] court intrigues. It’s also really, really good.

This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

I have a private theory, Sir, that there are no heroes and no monsters in this world. Only children should be allowed to use these words

If people are portrayed as monsters, we become disconnected from them, and to me that is not remotely interesting.

Art alone develops weaklings, science alone, monsters. Somewhere, somehow, we must combine the two.

How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men–even if there are monsters in it.

My father was a monster. A monster! I cut with my family when I was 23 and I never see them again.

There still remains to mortify a wit The many-headed monster of the pit.

I love this profession, but God, it can just destroy people, and I don’t want that to happen and become some monster.

What a chimaera then is man, what a novelty, what a monster, what chaos, what a subject of contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, yet an imbecile earthworm; depository of truth, yet a sewer of uncertainty and error; pride and refuse of the universe. Who shall resolve this tangle?

What a chimera then is man. What a novelty! What a monster… what a contradiction, what a prodigy

Heavy role in the movies that I’ve done that I have loved and fit my soul; A Simple Plan, Monster’s Ball, Sling Blade, One False Move, Bad Santa even. I mean Bad Santa is a comedy, and it’s a very dark comedy, and it’s become like iconic, you know.

Run for your lives-the computers are invading. Awesomely powerful computers tackling ever more important tasks with awkward, old-fashioned interfaces. As these machines leak into every corner of our lives, they will annoy us, infuriate us, and even kill a few of us. In turn, we will be tempted to kill our computers, but we won’t dare because we are already utterly, irreversibly dependent on these hopeful monsters that make modern life possible.

I was working in the lab late one night When my eyes beheld an eerie sight For my monster from his slab began to rise And suddenly to my surprise… He did the mash He did the monster mash The monster mash It was a graveyard smash.

People like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.

He grinned. Busted. I’m a monster. Jev is my deceptively harmless — and shockingly handsome — alter ego. And I’m on top of it, she announced with witty triumph. Is that a Freudian slip? His bluntness caught her off guard. A self-conscious blush rose in her face.

Villains used to always die in the end. Even the monsters. Frankenstein, Dracula – you’d kill them with a stake. Now the nightmare guy comes back.

The Jehovah of the Jews is a suspicious tyrant, who breathes nothing but blood, murder, and carnage, and who demands that they should nourish him with the vapours of animals. The Jupiter of the Pagans is a lascivious monster. The Moloch of the Phoenicians is a cannibal. The pure mind of the Christians resolved, in order to appease his fury, to crucify his own son. The savage god of the Mexicans cannot be satisfied without thousands of mortals which are immolated to his sanguinary appetite.

Monsters remain human beings. In fact, to reduce them to a subhuman level is to exonerate them of their acts of terrorism and mass murder — just as animals are not deemed morally responsible for killing. Insisting on the humanity of terrorists is, in fact, critical to maintaining their profound responsibility for the evil they commit. And, if they are human, then they must necessarily not be treated in an inhuman fashion. You cannot lower the moral baseline of a terrorist to the subhuman without betraying a fundamental value.

I’m definitely an anomaly, but I’m making things. They’re selling, say, martinis, and I’m kind of making vintage Riesling. People aren’t going to sit there very often, not your average public, and your average music-business monster is not going to take the time to notice the overtones and the undertones inside the flavor. They’d rather just have the martini.

But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

I never set limits or created mental barriers. You may have read that I imagined my biceps as big as mountain peaks when I did my curling exercises. This visualization process was essential if I was to gain the kind of mass and size I needed to win the mr Olympia contest against monsters like Sergio Olivia and Lou ferrigno.

The world reacts very strangely to people they see on TV, and I can begin to understand how anchor monsters are made. If you’re not careful, you can become used to being treated as though you’re special and begin to expect it. For a reporter, that’s the kiss of death.

In vain do we seek tranquility in the desert; temptations are always with us; our passions, represented by the demons, never let us alone: those monsters created by the heart, those illusions produced by the mind, those vain specters that are our errors and our lies always appear before us to seduce us; they attack us even in our fasting or our mortifications, in other words, in our very strength.