ghosts

If dat ghost have money, I tells him never to haunt you less'n he wants to lose it!

I have no fear of ghosts, and I have never heard it said that so much harm had been done by the dead during 6,000 years as it brought by the living in a single day.

The sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the streets of Rome.

In life one of Midnight__ favourite movies had been It__ a Wonderful Life, a touching story where a man called George Bailey is shown how poor the world would have been if he__ never existed, but now the young ghost of Midnight Merlot was sat imagining himself not as the kind hero of his own narrative, but, - but as the anti-George.

Before she knew it, she was just another set of eyes in a dusty attic, waiting for the stairs to creak.

I__ fading, Bethany, I know it. I think that__ what happened to my dad, that__ why I can__ see him. One day I__l be so see-through that you__l forget I was ever here, just like everyone else has.

It doesn't seem right to throw dirt at you when you're dead...

Vomit began to spill out of me like pea soup, splattering the road with champagne and caviar, long island iced teas, of bacon appetizers and croissants, and a perfectly grilled filet mignonette. It had gone down easy, among the kiss ups of the lawyer world, but spewed out nastily and hard, in the company of a cheater.

She had golden blazing sun kissed hair, which hung down in loose, lazy spirals, a heart shaped pouted mouth, which was pink tinged with violet blushing, wide, spangled blue eyes that glimmered sparks to flicker and ember in the vivid intelligence of the moon__ love, and a yielding body, that seem to tangle in loose rhythm as I walked near to her.

If a tattoo is supposed to make a statement, that kid__ body is just plain babbling.

Between one stride and the next, the herd of reindeer faded away. She felt a last few ghosts go with her, shoulder on shoulder, and then they too were gone and she was back, alone, in the world of humans and ravens.

Laura smiled a little wanly in the twilight. "Far more afraid of flesh and blood than ghosts," she murmured.

Yet man dies not whilst the world, at once his mother and his monument, remains. His name is lost, indeed, but the breath he breathed still stirs the pine-tops on the mountains, the sound of the words he spoke yet echoes on through space; the thoughts his brain gave birth to we have inherited to-day; his passions are our cause of life; the joys and sorrows that he knew are our familiar friends--the end from which he fled aghast will surely overtake us also!Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.

They said she killed herself.Everyone was saying It. What started out as a rumor, quietly whispered among small gatherings of polite people, quickly grew into something that was openly discussed in a large gatherings of impolite people. I was so sick of hearing them talk about It. They questioned me. Over and over again, trying to find out If i knew what happened. But my answers didn't change. Yet It never failed-someone else would ask, as if one day my reply would suddenly be different. I didn't know, but i should have...and I've been haunted ever since.

Psychoanalysis is often about turning our ghosts into ancestors, even for patients who have not lost loved ones to death. We are often haunted by important relationships from the past that influence us unconsciously in the present. As we work them through, they go from haunting us to becoming simply part of our history.

There is no such thing as perfect. But even if there was, I would pick you over perfection any day.

It bothered me that he was right. Without Sir Stuart's intervention, I'd have been dead again already.That's right--you heard me: dead again already.I mean, come on. How screwed up is your life (after- or otherwise) when you find yourself needing phrases like that?

Inching into the room, it__ clear something is wrong here. There__ a tingling sensation up my legs and back before I can even really focus on the parlor__ details. There are silhouettes of people, but I can see through them. It__ like shadows were cast and left behind to do as they please. Lost in the surreal sight of them for a moment, I inch further into the room without noticing that some were now moving behind me.There is no warning. I__ suddenly in the air, and moving backward rapidly toward the wall. It__ almost a full second before my body registers the actual pain of the blow my stomach just took. Being hit by a car doesn't even compare to this, and I didn't even see it coming.__or a shadow, you hit like a sledgehammer!_ The words barely escape before something else slams into the base of my skull embedding most of my upper body in the wall and all but removing my head. These things are like Lucy; the disembodied dead who haven__ moved on. I've never met others that can actually touch things physically, they must be fairly potent.I pull my face out of the hole it had been planted in, letting plaster dust fall, coating my chest and legs like snow. Looking around quickly I try to gauge my surroundings. I can__ see them, but I know they__e there. Is one easy night, without a huge dry-cleaning bill, too much to ask for these days?I only have time to dwell on it a moment before my head is bouncing off the hardwood floor; once, twice, and then a third time in quick succession. Now __ick splinters out of my forehead_ can be added to my Saturday night to-do list. Damn it, this is not going as planned.