Robert Bloch
Robert Bloch
Robert Albert Blochwas an American fiction writer, primarily of crime, horror, fantasy and science fiction, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He is best known as the writer of Psycho, the basis for the film of the same name by Alfred Hitchcock. His fondness for a pun is evident in the titles of his story collections such as Tales in a Jugular Vein, Such Stuff as Screams Are Made Of and Out of the Mouths of Graves...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth5 April 1917
CityChicago, IL
CountryUnited States of America
The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else he can blame it on.
Hutchison's Law:Any occurrence requiring undivided attention will be accompanied by a compelling distraction.
Then she did see it there - just a face, peering through the curtains, hanging in midair like a mask. A head-scarf concealed the hair and the glassy eyes stared inhumanly, but it wasn’t a mask, it couldn’t be. The skin had been powdered dead-white and two hectic spots of rouge centered on the cheekbones. It wasn’t a mask. It was the face of a crazy old woman. Mary started to scream, and then the curtains parted further and a hand appeared, holding a butcher’s knife. It was the knife that, a moment later, cut off her scream. And her head.
Magic--that's just a label, you know. Completely meaningless. It wasn't so very long ago that people were saying that electricity was magic.
I always carry a pistol when I go [to the New York Public Library]. Never did trust those stone lions.
Norman Bates heard the noise and a shock went through him.
Mothers sometimes are overly possessive, but not all children allow themselves to be possessed.
People hear that I am a horror writer and they think that I must be a monster, but actually I have the heart of a small child - I keep it in a jar on my desk.
Henderson sighed. There was a time, he reflected, when the coming of this night meant something. A dark Europe, groaning in superstitious fear, dedicated this Eve to the grinning Unknown. A million doors had once been barred against the evil visitants, a million prayers mumbled, a million candles lit. There was something majestic about the idea, Henderson reflected.
I haven't had this much fun since the rats ate my baby sister
So I had this problem -- work or starve. So I thought I'd combine the two and decided to become a writer.
Everything in this business makes sense, because it serves a real purpose, fills a need that's a part of living. Even a single nail, like this one, fulfills a function. Drive it into a crucial place and you can depend on it to do a job, keep on doing it for a hundred years to come. Long after we're dead and gone, both of us.
We're all not quite as sane as we pretend to be.
That's the way girls were--they always laughed. Because they were bitches.