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dba571c
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Most people don't believe something can happen until it already has. That's not stupidity or weakness, that's just human nature.
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scepticism
weakness
zombie
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Max Brooks |
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3906a6a
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I'd rather die while I'm living than live while I'm dead.
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inspirational
zombie
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Jimmy Buffett |
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24be102
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My dad gave me a present once,' Nico said. 'It was a zombie.' Reyna stared at him. 'What?' 'His name is Jules-Albert. He's French.' 'A... French zombie?
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humour
zombie
reyna
nico-di-angelo
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Rick Riordan |
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b9f7bfb
|
"If you believe you can accomplish everything by "cramming" at the eleventh hour, by all means, don't lift a finger now. But you may think twice about beginning to build your ark once it has already started raining"
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zombie
procrastination
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Max Brooks |
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3b1c142
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He's a restless soul, always looking for another chance to drive,' Nico said. 'The last few years, he's been my driver whenever I need one.' 'You have a zombie chauffeur,' Leila said.
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zombie
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Rick Riordan |
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2aa3f21
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Americans worship technology. It's an inherent trait in the national zeitgeist.
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max-brooks
world-war-z
zombie
science-fiction
zombies
technology
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Max Brooks |
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1d3c16b
|
This was a normal town once, and we were normal people. Most of us worked at the plastics factory on the outskirts of town. Then one day there was an accident... something escaped from the factory, a yellow gas. It floated over the town so fast that we didn't see it, didn't realize... and then it was too late, and Dark Falls wasn't a normal town anymore.
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grief
murder
people
death
dark-falls
factory
living-dead
plastics
townsfolk
yellow
gas
creepy
pollution
small-town
zombie
normal
poison
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R.L. Stine |
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33ad0e1
|
"So, been attacked by any vampires yet?" "Not one." "Zombies? Giant spiders? Water monsters?" It's been really quiet on the supernatural front" "Too bad, 'cause I got attacked by a devil dog. It was not awesome."
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dogs
giant-spider
water-monster
fall-of-night
zombie
supernatural
vampires
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Rachel Caine |
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170943d
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"This is a love story," Michael Dean says, "but really what isn't? Doesn't the detective love the mystery or the chase, or the nosey female reporter who is even now being held against her wishes at an empty warehouse on the waterfront? Surely, the serial murder loves his victims, and the spy loves his gadgets, or his country or the exotic counterspy. The ice-trucker is torn between his love for ice and truck and the competing chefs go crazy for scallops, and the pawnshop guys adore their junk. Just as the housewives live for catching glimpses of their own botoxed brows in gilded hall mirrors and the rocked out dude on 'roids totally wants to shred the ass of the tramp-tatted girl on hookbook. Because this is reality, they are all in love, madly, truly, with the body-mic clipped to their back-buckle and the producer casually suggesting, "Just one more angle.", "One more jello shot.". And the robot loves his master. Alien loves his saucer. Superman loves Lois. Lex and Lana. Luke loves Leia, til he finds out she's his sister. And the exorcist loves the demon, even as he leaps out the window with it, in full soulful embrace. As Leo loves Kate, and they both love the sinking ship. And the shark, god the shark, loves to eat. Which is what the Mafioso loves too, eating and money and Pauly and Omerta. The way the cowboy loves his horse, loves the corseted girl behind the piano bar and sometimes loves the other cowboy. As the vampire loves night and neck. And the zombie, don't even start with the zombie, sentimental fool, has anyone ever been more love-sick than a zombie, that pale dull metaphor for love, all animal craving and lurching, outstretched arms. His very existence a sonnet about how much he wants those brains. This, too is a love story."
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zombie
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Jess Walter |
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8cb902b
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"Feelings of any kind are not known to the walking dead. Every form of psychological warfare, from attempts at enraging the undead to provoking pity have all met with disaster. Joy, sadness, confidence, anxiety, love, hatred, fear--all of these feelings and thousands more that make up the human "heart" are as useless to the living dead as the organ of the same name. Who knows if this is humanity's greatest weakness or strength? The debate continues, and probably will forever."
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human
living-dead
zombie
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Max Brooks |
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2c7b0d6
|
Nowdays, Rosie the Rivetere was a former soccer mom who had just opened her own catering business when Last Night came down and her husband and kids were eaten by a parking attendant at the local megamall's discount- appliance emporium.
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rosie-the-rivetere
zone-one-a-novel
zombie
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Colson Whitehead |
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02101bf
|
These days he was like a zombie, all grim business, just another jerk with an erection.
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erection
jerk
zombie
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Tom Perrotta |
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180c556
|
"The glove comes off, flops loosely over, and there's suddenly horror beating into his brain, smashing, pounding, battering. He reels a little in his chair, has to hold onto the edge of the table with both hands, at the impact of it. A clawlike thing - two of the finger extremities already bare of flesh as far as the second joint; two more with only shriveled, bloodless, rotting remnants of it adhering, only the thumb intact, and that already unhealthy-looking, flabby. A dead hand - the hand of a skeleton - on a still-living body. A body he was dancing with only a few minutes ago. A rank odor, a smell of decay, of the grave and of the tomb, hovers about the two of them now. A woman points from the next table, screams. She's seen it, too. She hides her face, cowers against her companion's shoulder, shudders. Then he sees it too. His collar's suddenly too tight for him. Others see it, one by one. A wave of impalpable horror spreads centrifugally from that thing lying there in the blazing electric light on O'Shaughnessy's table. The skeleton at the feast! ("Jane Brown's Body")" --
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zombie
walking-dead
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Cornell Woolrich |
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1cb3ec4
|
Elizabeth remembered how foolish everyone had felt when they discovered Mr. Mercandy was the victim of a stroke and not a zombie as they'd thought.
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stroke
sweet-valley
zombie
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Francine Pascal |
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b937b3e
|
The night was blustery and raw, with a chill wet wind blowing down the avenues, and when Rose and I met Francoise and her son and a friend at La Lorraine, a glittering brassiere not far from L'Etoile, rain was descending from the heavens in torrents. Someone in the group, sensing my state of mind, apologized for the evil night, but I recall thinking that even if this were one of those warmly scented and passionate evenings for which Paris is celebrated I would respond like the zombie I had become. The weather of depression is unmodulated, its light a brownout.
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depression
state-of-mind
zombie
night
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William Styron |