Best 3417 quotes in «blood quotes» category

If we found a ticket to Disneyland would you think we should arrest Mickey Mouse?

If you find yourself in an interrogation room, you will probably do better if you have not spent a bit of time kneeling on a blood-soaked carpet. And it would be especially good if you didn't have any of that blood smeared on your clothing and your hands. I'm just saying. A word to the wise.

If your doctor relies on blood and urine tests to diagnose and treat you, then you could be in serious trouble.

If you venture to be a sage Let your virtues subside your rage For deep wisdom you’ll be venerated Let cold veins feel blood cells generated

I glared at Christian as the blood smeared around. “You could have at least licked it.” He smirked darkly. “I hear that all too often.

I have no way to properly toast you, my Jane. The appropriate toast for a new Blood Master of a clan is from the jugular of a virgin boy or girl, with the words ‘Long undeath, prosperity, scions, blood, and cattle.’” I looked at my beer. “Yeah. Beer is better. And how about ‘Live long and prosper.

I have seen a lot of ugly things as a trainee and as a nurse, but they don't bother me very much. It's not that the familiarity hardens one; it is rather that one learns the knack of channelling one's emotions around the ugly thing.

I haven’t entirely adjusted to the whole yum, blood, yum aspect of being a vampire. My body wants it, but my head is still like, Ew, that is BLOOD, time to faint.

I have seen an evil thing this night,' he said; 'I have seen how the dead drink the blood of the living. And the blood is the life.

[I] like to be anchored by routine, not shackled by it.

I left the bank because they wouldn’t deposit my cheque of poems. So I went to the store, but they didn’t accept my currency of words. So I boxed all my stories and took them to charity. But they refused my donation and asked me to give blood instead. I opened the notebooks and made them look, 'What do you think I wrote these in?

I’ll find out who’s inside. Wait here and keep alert!’ Hallam rasped. He skirted the main path to skulk towards one of the shuttered windows on the building’s eastern wall. There was a crack in the wood and he gently inched closer to peer inside. There was a hearth-fire with a pot bubbling away and a battered table made of a length of wood over two pieces of cut timber. A small ham hung from the rafters, away from the rats and mice. He couldn’t see anyone but there was a murmur of voices. Hallam leaned in even closer and a young boy with hair the colour of straw saw the movement to stare. It was Little Jim. Thank God, the child was safe. Snot hung from his nose and he was pale. Hallam put a finger to his lips, but the boy, not even four, did not understand, and just gaped innocently back. Movement near the window. A man wearing a blue jacket took up a stone bottle and wiped his long flowing moustache afterwards. His hair was shoulder-length, falling unruly over the red collar of his jacket. Tied around his neck was a filthy red neckerchief. A woman moaned and the man grinned with tobacco stained teeth at the sound. Laughter and French voices. The woman whimpered and Little Jim turned to watch unseen figures. His eyes glistened and his bottom lip dropped. The woman began to plead and Hallam instinctively growled. The Frenchman, hearing the noise, pushed the shutter open and the pistol’s cold muzzle pressed against his forehead. Hallam watched the man’s eyes narrow and then widen, before his mouth opened. Whatever he intended to shout was never heard, because the ball smashed through his skull to erupt in a bloody spray as it exited the back of the Frenchman’s head. There was a brief moment of silence. ‘28th!’ Hallam shouted, as he stepped back against the wall. ‘Make ready!

I’m calling this place the Tardis,” she said, continuing to scan the different locations. “We’re not calling it the Tardis,” I said. Of course, if she knew what it could really do, I’d never change her mind. “Why the hell not?” she asked. “Copyright infringement.

March 20th. It is done. He was guillotined this morning. He made a good end, very good. It gave me infinite pleasure. How sweet it is to see a man's head cut off! The blood spurted out like a wave, like a wave. Oh, if I could, I would have liked to have bathed in it! What intoxicating ecstasy to crouch below it, to receive it in my hair and on my face, and rise up all crimson, all crimson! Ah, if people knew!

I'm a man born to blood and pain, and peace would be a killing blow for me.

Immanuel, God with us-that He would leave the spiritual realm and be present in the flesh and blood in such an act of humility is a staggering notion. As it is, He willingly gave His blood, in the flesh, so that others might find life, for it is written: "He did not come by water only, but by blood," and "Without the shedding of blood there is no remission." Now blood is required to give new life to the dead. I tell you, He did not give only a small amount to satisfy this requirement. He was beaten and crushed and pierced until that blood flowed like a river for the sake of love. It was for love, not religion, that He died. There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel's veins. And those plunged beneath that watery grave to drink of His blood will never be the same.

In the end… he would choose Campisi. In the end… she would choose Abandonato. In the end… there would be bloodshed.

I'm on the edge, Neblin, I'm off the edge - I'm over the edge and falling into hell on the other side.' 'Calm down, John,' he said. 'We can work through this. Just tell me where you are.' 'I'm down in the cracks of the sidewalks,' I said, 'in the dirt and in the blood, and the ants are looking up and we're damning you all, Neblin. I'm down in the cracks and I can't get out.

I’m still alive, I have time to build My blood will outlast the rose.

I never draw blood on a first date.

I never had a childhood. Not like the rest of them anyway. I had a starting point from which I have never stopped running.

In the Black Palace, in the capital city below, the man know as the Patron – Martel the Mighty, ruler of this dark world - had packed his coffers and was now also, presumably, making good his escape. For the Corsair elite and ruling class – those whose hands were literally dripping blood, profiteering from the bloodshed and violence that terrorized dozens of worlds - escape was the only option left and he would not be the only one to mount an escape attempt, nor be the only one to succeed. For years to come, there would be countless bounties offered on missing prominent Corsairs that had slipped through the net, with the occasional report of so-and-so being spotted on some or other rim world, presumably sporting a new beard and a pair of sunglasses – which might have raised a few eyebrows in the case of the many female Corsairs.

In the future, it may turn out that fossil fuels are the blood of the Earth and by extracting them may lead to serious consequences to the Earth's survival, and by association, that of the humans.

In the last photograph of her, the bullet wound looked like a cheerful summer rose arranged just above her left ear. A few petals had fallen on her kaffan, the white shroud she was wrapped in before she was laid to rest.

I’m sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

I'm the old type setter who gets his blood poisoned from the ink.

In high altitude astronomy, it is time for the old guard to be replaced with new blood that fully understands the law, health and safety, and the full range of toxicity that astronomical observatories present to their workers.

Not tea but blood!

In the darkest forest, Where trees bled into the rivers and no light reached the ground. I saw the demon crawling behind me whispering everything I don't want to hear. I screamed and ran to escape it until I lost all my breath and fell on my knees. Until it laughed maniacally and whispered in my ear again "you cannot run from yourself".

In the midst of the battle between rebellion and surrender Bantry was suddenly uncertain what Flynn was starved for. The sensuality of a man’s kiss? Or the rich, iron taste of blood?

In the midst of the heavy, hot fragrance of summer, and of the clean salty smell of the sea, there was the odor of wounded men, a sickly odor of blood and antiseptics which marked the zone of every military hospital. All Athens quickly took on that odor, as the wounded Greek soldiers were moved out of hospitals and piled into empty warehouses to make way for German wounded. Now every church, every empty lot, every school building in Athens is full of wounded, and on the pathways of Zappion, the park in the heart of Athens, bandaged men in makeshift wheel chairs are to be seen wherever one walks. Zappion is a profusion of flowers, heavy-scented luxurious flowers; but even the flower fragrance is not as strong as that of blood.

In united families, they might sleep with half filled stomach but no one sleeps with empty stomach.

In your name, the family name is at last because it's the family name that lasts.

Is that true?” The Boss asked Mace. Without even batting an eye, Mace said, “Yes.” “And you agreed?” The Boss questioned. “Of course. Anything for my queen,” he said, holding his glass up to me in a mock toast.

I saw a painting once where the artist had actually done that--signed his work in blood. ... When I saw that, I thought it was as if the man who had painted the picture wanted to say to me, Well, you did ask what this actually cost.

I should probably start with the blood.

I stared down at my hands and saw the blood coat them, how warm and real something felt when it wasn’t just ink and stains. This was life and I was holding it in my hands. I drew my eyes back up and beneath the flickering streetlight and the throng of drunken cattle, I saw nothing else but the dead girl. Somebody out there had taken her life, her heart, and there I was with her warm, sticky blood. Feeling the most alive I’d felt in years. I had to find him. I just had to.

...I remember that my mother had always said to be polite and finish my meal. At last he gave no more struggles. The deed was done. Now the boat contained four men, not one heartbeat among us. The fate they had destined for another claimed them as well. The irony of it all was more delicious than the blood consumed. -- Quote by Lane DeLuca

Isn’t blood a woman’s ink?

I stumble across the sea of tarmac, finding pavement, concealment and a brick wall. Palms brace against the scrubby surface. My stomach churns and then bubbles over, burning my throat as acrid yellow acid spills from my lips in frothy discomposure. It splatters the pavement like a spray of blood.

I suck their blood, robbing them of life. But each time I do so, it robs me of my soul.

It cleaves our hearts apart but it stitches them back together just as easily. It is the language of the eyes for they speak it more eloquently than words will ever do. You fall in it and it may heave you higher than the seventh sky. Nothing makes sense without it despite its senselessnness. It comes in different shades and colors and if you're fortunate yours would be that of blood but it won't have you bleeding. You're a fool for trying to eschew its hold for it is everywhere but if you don't you may wind-up feeling like a fool. Good luck

It is an interesting truth that the human body, liberated from its head, is in essence a bag of blood with a built-in straw.

I thought with melancholy how an author spends months writing a book, and maybe puts his heart’s blood into it, and then it lies about unread till the reader has nothing else in the world to do.

It is a sea of blood. We come from the sea, Tim; our blood is salt, and strange tides ebb and flow within us all.

It is an undoubted truth that the neck and throat of a highbred woman are incomparably more beautiful than in the woman of lower origin. Blood will tell; there is no disputing it.

It is something that cannot be explained or even understood until you’ve lived it; a man can’t know or fully appreciate his life until he’s been close enough to taste the end of it, and the bonds forged in battle are some of the strongest a man could ever have. We are brothers, the men of ODA 022, and though we didn’t have the same blood running through our veins, we had all shed the blood of others together, and knew that none of us would hesitate to step in the way of fate and take a round or jump on a grenade to save one another.

It is never over until you are greatly rewarded for all your blood, sweat and tears.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established: Alexander's direct heir is Caesar, and not the frail infant born of a Persian princess in an Asiatic citadel; Epaminondas, dying without issue, was right to boast that he had Victories for daughters.

I took a glass retort, capable of containing eight ounces of water, and distilled fuming spirit of nitre according to the usual method. In the beginning the acid passed over red, then it became colourless, and lastly again all red: no sooner did this happen, then I took away the receiver; and tied to the mouth of the retort a bladder emptied of air, which I had moistened in its inside with milk of lime lac calcis, (i.e. lime-water, containing more quicklime than water can dissolve) to prevent its being corroded by the acid. Then I continued the distillation, and the bladder gradually expanded. Here-upon I left every thing to cool, tied up the bladder, and took it off from the mouth of the retort.— I filled a ten-ounce glass with this air and put a small burning candle into it; when immediately the candle burnt with a large flame, of so vivid a light that it dazzled the eyes. I mixed one part of this air with three parts of air, wherein fire would not burn; and this mixture afforded air, in every respect familiar to the common sort. Since this air is absolutely necessary for the generation of fire, and makes about one-third of our common air, I shall henceforth, for shortness sake call it empyreal air, [literally fire-air] the air which is unserviceable for the fiery phenomenon, and which makes abut two-thirds of common air, I shall for the future call foul air [literally corrupted air].