Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark - spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving.
And the terror itself is an example of the world's uncontrollability.
I am always driven by the terror of humiliation.
All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it? - I don't know.
My feeling about fiction, regardless of the genre, is that it is meant to be a representation of life. I want my books to give a whole spectrum of experiences to my readers. Not just fear or terror or revulsion, but excitement, laughter, pain, sorrow, desire, etc.
I cannot give a single concert at which I do not play one piece after the other in an agony of terror because my memory threatens to fail me. This fear torments me for days beforehand.
The slaves who were ourselves had known terror intimately, confused sunrise with pain, & accepted indifference as kindness.
The trauma of 911 stimulated infinite possibilities for worry - some quite plausible, but most inspired by remote what-if fantasies. A society bingeing on fear makes itself vulnerable to far more profound forms of destruction than terror attacks. The "terrorism war", like a nostalgic echo of the cold war, is using these popular fears to advance a different agenda - the re-engineering of American life through permanent mobilization.
It is necessary - secretly and urgently to prepare the terror.
Everyone became brave from excess of terror.
A fully equipped duke costs as much to keep up as two Dreadnoughts, and dukes are just as great a terror - and they last longer.
Lord knows what incommunicable small terrors infants go through, unknown to all.
Once there was The People - Terror gave it birth.
Revolt and terror pay a price. Order and law have a cost.
The aim is to balance the terror of being alive with the wonder of being alive.
There's no better way to learn something than to learn it in front of an audience. Your terror drives you.
He possessed the power. He held it in his hand. A power stronger than the power of money or the power of terror or the power of death: the invincible power to command the love of mankind. There was only one thing that power could not do: it could not make him able to smell himself.
The ocean is an object of no small terror.
Blind terror drove me on, with my flying stirrups whipping me into a frenzy. With no rider to carry I reached the kneeling riflemen first and they scattered as I came upon them.
There are patterns because we try to find them. A desperate attempt at order because we can't face the terror that it might all be random.