Silent as a flower, her face fell in dismay, aware that the ghost of lust ate and left, sensing that there was a different scent of perfume consuming the room, and that she had numbered and counted the he loves me, he loves me not of each petal, where the lifeless dust had settle.

The stranger was as white as a gallon of milk, and I felt the desire to pour his soul into my coffee. I’d drink him like the ghost of my grandpa.

The Idea of Ghost, like the Idea of North. A mere looped whisper, in darkness or in light. And no matter what this person may have been like before he or she died, no matter what they–specifically–might have wanted, ghosts only really want one thing: you, with them.Not to be alone. Not to be trapped....

Fear no more as long as her memory surrounds you like a ghost…cry no more as long as she weeps for you like a willow.

Everybody is equally weak on the inside, just that some present their ruins as new castles and become kings –

Did you ever think about boys?’ I say, staring up into the dark. ‘There wasn’t room,’ she whispers, and her voice is unbelievably sad. ‘At first, after Connor, I was just waiting. I was going to get a new boyfriend soon- as soon as I was prettier or better, more perfect. But after a while...

I began to doubt that I would ever know the truth of what transpired, or who those people really were. But all that changed one rainy August afternoon, when I was surprised by a dead man who had answers.

He does love prophesying a misfortune, does the average British ghost. Send him out to prognosticate trouble to somebody, and he is happy. Let him force his way into a peaceful home, and turn the whole house upside down by foretelling a funeral, or predicting a bankruptcy, or hinting at a coming disgrace, or some...

Martha Ridgley had been a single, working-class woman with no children or close family. Her killer had never been caught, and her case was eventually forgotten.But not by everyone—not by whoever had been paying the rent on Apartment #37 for over two decades until, for one reason or another, the lease was finally up.The Woman...

She’d wanted Randall Parks from the moment her hormones kicked in. Her best friend, her guardian when things got rough, her knight in somewhat-rusted and dinged up armor—he wore many hats in her life and none more important than that of best friend.

I’m very much a bit of a ghost presence.

He fills me with horror and I do not hate him. How can I hate him, Raoul? Think of Erik at my feet, in the house on the lake, underground. He accuses himself, he curses himself, he implores my forgiveness!…He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays at my feet an immense and tragic...

I cried for all of those things that should have just been for us…

If anyone views himself as being totally perfect in the actual sense of the word, he is undoubtedly imperfect in God’s eyes. For the thought alone is one of presumption, impurity and imperfection. One may rightly strive for perfection pertaining to character and spirit, but must bear in mind that he will never reach its...

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seatin this distracted globe. Remember thee?

It’s a shame, when I’m at the checkout line, and the cashier holds up my bill to the light, in search for a ghost president, or slashing a yellow marker to see if counterfeit. Even in money we can’t be trusted. Makes we wonder whats next, will the government make a marker to slash our...

I drink coffee like steam is the ghost of dead water. Ever tried inhaling the afterlife?

I am the ghost in the empty jar. My silence belongs in the cemetery, just like all my ex girlfriends. Long live love!

It was another dark and windy night. Like so many others.

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

Now that’s a ghastly moon, not ghostly.

Every town has ‘THAT house’: the one that once held dark secrets. You know the house… the one no one will purchase? The one whose walls have seen blood? The one that even birds avoid, and the darkened windows resemble empty eye sockets? There are furtive, yet insistent, whispers about ‘that’ house, murmurs that perhaps...

After breakfast the host takes the young man into a corner, and explains to him that what he saw was the ghost of a lady who had been murdered in that very bed, or who had murdered somebody else there – it does not really matter which: you can be a ghost by murdering somebody...

He’d need the woman’s help to set things right; he just didn’t like having to wake the dead.

Work like an angel, dress like a demon, live like a ghost, and dream like a human.

There are tales that rise like the early sun, breathe, and take on a life of their own. There are ones that flow quietly and effortlessly until time forsakes them, but there are others that fight until they find their way to the edge of reality, as if coming straight out of a dream.

There’s a little angel on one of my shoulders saying that this is a wicked thing to do. Then there’s a little devil on my other shoulder, and she looks a lot like you.

One day that’s going to fall on us and spear you through the heart,” he said. I turned to kiss him on the shoulder and closed my eyes.

I figure I basically am a ghost. I think we all are.

Phantoms of thought and memory thinned and fled.

Burning bridges behind you is understandable. It’s the bridges before us that we burn, not realizing we may need to cross, that brings regret.

there grew up around the campfires stories of a great silver stallion seen galloping over wind-packed snow way up on the Ramshead Range; of a ghost horse that drank at the Crackenback River; of a horse that all men thought was dead appearing in a blizzard at Dead Horse hut and vanishing again; of the...

I am haunted by the ghost of my father, I think that should allow me to quote Hamlet as much as I please.

Like most people, my views about ghosts and haunted places were traditional while growing up. I believed ghosts were human spirits. Not that I talked to many people about the subject or my experiences. I assumed people would think I was weird.

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.

Jane sneezed three hundred dollars’ worth of coke into the air.Krishna’s black eyes seem to have mirrors in them. She glances at me with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat’s.

Many people, after spending a long weekend being stealthily seduced by this grand dame of the South, mistakenly think that they have gotten to know her: they believe (in error) that after a long stroll amongst the rustling palmettoes and gas lamps, a couple of sumptuous meals, and a tour or two, that they have...

The popular notion that ghosts are likely to be seen in a graveyard is not borne out by psychical research… A haunting ghost usually haunts a place that a person lived in or frequented while alive… Only a gravedigger’s ghost would be likely to haunt a graveyard.

Come on. Let’s go find some answers.

What happened to you?” she asked.”Ben was feeling artistic. Wanted to rearrange my face.

Two guys, a goat, and a ghost: A love story based on true events that may or may not be false. Who doesn’t love a good goat story?

In my experience, people who want to keep their painful injuries are using them as a crutch. They’re hiding from something.

I turned to him and he reached for my hand. It would have been easier to walk away. But the wind still blew around us and the house still stood.

Mind sees ghost when frightened and hopeless.

Today is an ephemeral ghost…A strange amazing day that comes only once every four years. For the rest of the time it does not “exist.”In mundane terms, it marks a “leap” in time, when the calendar is adjusted to make up for extra seconds accumulated over the preceding three years due to the rotation of...

I kiss her ghost, and sleep with the dust on her photograph, next to my bedside.

Pesticide is meant to deal with pests as passion is to deal with unnecessary loss of interest! Passion kills the ghosts of “I can’t”.

I didn’t sleep well last night because one of my ghosts came back, haunting with his presence, and when I woke up, the others weren’t here, haunting with their memory.

i błądząc, w okno uśpioneliśćmi krwawymi się rzucęi wrócę do ciebie czarnym upiorem,na pewno wrócę.

There are our ghosts,’ Smithers said.It was a word he liked to use, said Brewster. Like most of us Brewster had read a few ghost stories, and to him the word ‘ghosts’ summoned up the creaking floorboards of a haunted house, shrouded white figures gliding silently through darkness, fluttering robes moving of their own bodiless...