Best 3417 quotes in «blood quotes» category

...people who don't live at least a little bit in fear, have nothing left to live for.

People will drive by their high school ten years down the road, just so they can pretend that thinking "not much has changed" is actually true. When really, everything has changed. The air smells the same, but the roads have cracked more. The roads have cracked so much they now look like the skin on a crocodile's back. And all the fields, green in the summers, golden in the autumns, have all been paved over with new reasons to never come back.

Perhaps there had been joy for them in finding that sugar could be made from blood.

Pick a leader who will make their citizens proud. One who will stir the hearts of the people, so that the sons and daughters of a given nation strive to emulate their leader's greatness. Only then will a nation be truly great, when a leader inspires and produces citizens worthy of becoming future leaders, honorable decision makers and peacemakers. And in these times, a great leader must be extremely brave. Their leadership must be steered only by their conscience, not a bribe.

Poetry without truth, is like a rose without thorns. Still pretty, But sometime the real beauty comes from the things that can make us bleed.

Potassium Cyanide si hatari inapokuwa nje. Ni hatari inapojichanganya na asidi za tumboni ambapo hubadilika na kuwa gesi ya 'hydrogen cyanide'. Gesi ya 'hydrogen cyanide' ni miongoni mwa sumu hatari zaidi ulimwenguni. Mtu akimeza kidonge cha 'cyanide' atapata madhara makubwa. Kichwa chake kitamuuma hapohapo na atachanganyikiwa akili. Ngozi yake itakuwa nyekundu, kwa sababu damu yake itakuwa nyekundu zaidi – kutokana na kuzidi kwa oksijeni katika damu. Mwili hautakuwa na uwezo tena wa kuchukua oksijeni kutoka katika damu ili uitumie, kwa hiyo damu itazidi kuwa na oksijeni zaidi. Atapumua kwa shida. Mapafu yake yatafanya kazi vizuri lakini mwili wake hautakuwa na uwezo wa kutumia oksijeni yoyote – hivyo atadhani ana matatizo katika mfumo wake wa kupumua. Atazimia. Yaani, oksijeni haitafika kwenye ubongo. Atapata kifafa na atatapika nyongo. Ubongo wake utashindwa kufanya kazi na atakuwa mahututi ndani ya sekunde kumi! Baada ya hapo moyo wake utasimama kufanya kazi, na atafariki dunia.

~Posters with torn edges hanging from rotten walls~ The doctor told me something once she said STOP DRINKING I slapped her across the face with this NO I walked right out of that office went right down to the hole I told the bartender WHISKEY, MOTHERFUCKER he poured and he poured and I slapped my money down on that bar the man I had been driving around with he just sort of sat there next to this hooker she probably had something rotten way down there between her legs her eyes told of no soul I emptied the bottle down my throat and ordered some chips the bartender told me THEY'RE STALE and I give him a I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE, GIVE ME SOMETHIN' He slid me a ham sandwich dripping with cheap low-fat mayo and said ENJOY I went back to my room and talked all night so much conversation it turned the toilet bowl pale

Preguntaréis por qué su poesía no nos habla del sueño, de las hojas, de los grandes volcanes de su país natal? Venid a ver la sangre por las calles, venid a ver la sangre por las calles, venid a ver la sangre por las calles!

Profit should never come at the cost of human blood. Any government that places profit before people is pure evil.

Raped at age nine by a relative and pregnant at 14 Oprah Winfrey, like many others have experienced the wickedness and brutality of our society. Sadly, it’s an environment where blood lines no longer hold.

Religion, which was obviously created to give meaning and purpose to people, has become part of the oppression. This is true in both Eastern and Western religious traditions. The Buddha, Jesus and Muhammad were all revolutionaries who critiqued and attempted to dismantle the corrupt societal traditions of their time. Yet their teachings, like most things in human society, have been distorted and co-opted by the confused and power-hungry patriarchal tradition. What were wonce the creation myths of ancient cultures, have become doctrines of oppression. More blood has been spilled and more people oppressed in the name of religion than for any other reason in history.

Reaction time Touch the underside of a penny you find on the street Doesn't feel any different unless you close your eyes I can taste the copper in my mouth now seeping from between my teeth There's an explanation I'm sure all this blood it's from all the times I held the glass too close And forgot to tip the dancer A storm just passed and like every other one that came before it I was left unharmed The dogs are all barking and the cats hiding in the basement And the sky is colored that bright yellow glow makes it feel like you're wearing sunglasses that you can't take off Wherever you are now it's not here because I missed it I missed the show I missed the curtain call And forever more I am cursed like a blanket without a body to keep warm

remember / they love their blood / even as they retch / at the smell of it

ROSA MET ME at the door with a shotgun. Strictly speaking, not aimed at me, but you don’t really have to aim a sawed-off shotgun. She swung it toward me. “You, get in there.” She turned her attention to the crowd. “The rest of you will take a number and have a seat.” Her paperwork skills might have been lousy, but her personal touch was something I aspired to.

Sex is usually cleaner than a blood sacrifice.

Seeds, blood. How could you fight such hopeless ideas?

Sealing your lips makes your eyes talk Truth creeps beneath your lame feet’s walk Knees stiffen when blood vessels stalk A pounding heart’s lies hard as rock

Shame on the misguided, the blinded, the distracted and the divided. Shame. You have allowed deceptive men to corrupt and desensitize your hearts and minds to unethically fuel their greed.

She came towards me with a juicy gash between her legs that smelled like my best friend's sister" Just when I thought I'd escaped them all She comes reeling herself in pulling at my strings her hand quick to find my zipper She moaned the way a drunk old lady does And I wasn't even inside her yet "You don't have anywhere else to be," she managed to say... "My wounds have been reopened tonight already," I muttered I caught wind of the gully ...the part of her she once kept sacred as a Christian I smelled the information I lifted my hand into the air and hailed a cab He rolled down his window and saw her "Find another cab," he said, and sped off into the night I took her home because she said she was lonely really she was drunk off something some memory or some choice she walked funny... -one of her heels had broken On the couch I left her, Before I could go, she grabbed my cock I slapped her across the face and she pulled harder Her eyes stayed closed Her lips dripped Her grip clenched I wasn't getting out of this one unscathed "If I take my pants off, will you let me go?" I asked "If you take your pants off, I'll be suckin' that cock till you pass out from all the screamin'..." I slapped her again, because she needed it She laughed Saying her cousin beat her harder Saying her father knew how to really... ...make things happen I asked her what her father's number was Let's get his motherfucking self up here to take you away, that's what I said She said he died, or killed himself "What's the difference really," she said, chewing on her hair She let go of my cock on her own accord And she opened her eyes for a moment She closed them again And I could tell she was sleeping Her eyes opened once more Her face red where I'd hit her She tasted the blood on her lip "Do you think if we remind ourselves enough, we can make up for all the pain we've caused others?" I said to her, "We can't. All we can do is keep ourselves from all those who don't deserve it.

She continue kissing me with that ferocity, so much so that her lips lightly scraped my teeth. It was only a few drops, but as the sweet metallic taste of her blood touched my tongue, a blinding ecstasy flooded my body.

Shed not recklessly the blood of another with thy sword, Lest the Sword on High falls upon thy neck.

She raised a brow as she inspected the blood bag. "I wouldn't exactly call it my favorite. Somewhere along the lines of a V8 is more toward my favorite." Chloë grunted in protest. "So my file didn't mention my fondness for cheeseburgers? Because that's a big miss from The Bureau. Makes me kinda question the accuracy of my dossier." - From Tall, Dark & Deadly

She hated money! though she knew it was like blood and you needed it. Still, it was also like blood in that she often couldn't stand the sight of it.

She once told me of a night that fumed with escapes and was filled with bedsides reeking of ecstasy; she told me the stars cast not judgments, but blessings, knowing full well the disastrous outcomes of the deeds they cradled with the strings of their young hearts. She’d inhaled the night itself, those around her doing the same, and so all become one. No disharmony. No discordance. Nothing to shatter the cause; nothing to unearth the beauty. So as we together ascended that front porch, allowing the glow behind the blown-out windows and the odious steams plunder us from through the cracks...time forgot to distill us, and our steps became as silver as glass. I could no longer deny the boiling words of my blood: tonight would be the beginning of a very long road indeed.

She took another step. The simple motion of her moving leg was like a dance, the unexaggerated shifting of her hip entrancing as a fire. The arch of her bare foot said more of sex than anything I'd seen in my young life.

She smiles even as she bleeds.

Shetani anapenda damu kumtumia Mungu kwa faida yake kama vile Mungu anavyomtumia Shetani kwa faida yake. Mungu anamtumia Shetani kama wakala wake wa kutoa adhabu kwa binadamu, na Shetani anamtumia Mungu kama wakala wake wa kutoa adhabu kwa binadamu. Mungu anaishi ndani ya damu na damu ina nguvu kuliko Shetani.

She was decidedly attractive, he saw, but in an ill-natured, ungracious way. Because of his connection with Fitzgerald, Carstairs & Scott, Johnnie had an extensive knowledge of the external appearance and different modes of behavior of a great variety of attractive women: they came up to the office in shoals, with their nails dipped in blood and their faces covered with pale cocoa. And some were charming and simple beneath their masks, and some were complex and arrogant. This girl belonged to the latter type, the type which would ignore or stare surlily at him if he spoke to them, until they learned that the actual money came through him, when their manner sweetened wonderfully. This girl wore her attractiveness not as a girl should, simply, consciously, as a happy crown of pleasure, but rather as a murderous utensil with which she might wound indiscriminately right and left, and which she would only employ to please when it suited her purpose. They were like bad-tempered street-walkers, without walking the street.

She would roll up her sleeves and dispense with sentimentality, and do whatever blood-soaked, bad-smelling thing had to be done. She would become adept with axes.

She swallowed his blood, a dark vintage from some forgotten cellar. She felt like Persephone in Hades, pomegranate seeds bursting against her teeth, juice rolling on her tongue, and the more she had, the more she hungered.

She stood above the sink and broke the Swarovski glass frame – a wedding gift – with her hands. Her thumb got cut. As blood drops fell into the sink, like mercury balls she thought, she lit the photo on fire. Ashes fell into the sink. Fire and vermilion. Ashes and blood. Her marriage from start to finish.

Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

shouldn't a god have blood to lose

Some men drink the blood of other men, all I drink is wine.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up with sweat drenching my chest and think it’s the blood and muck I was covered in that night.

Some of us can live without a society but not without a family.

Sometimes it is easier to feel the veins wilted and empty than to sense the coldness of blood in fear

Sometimes my helpless blood runs numb and, if only for a second, I forget how frail bones can be.

Sometimes you try to fly and you fall. Remember your falls are not fatal, they're just a little painful. Endure the pain, clean the blood stain, you'll surely gain! Get up and fly again!

Sooner or later every war of trade becomes a war of blood.

So…there’s blood all over your kitchen, and it’s not my fault.” Oh, fuck.

Still, for what Androma did to him, he should hate her, should want her dead. But seeing her before him, melting into rage and riot, her glowing grey eyes reflecting the electricity that swam around her swords... Godstars, she was magnificent, a creature that deserved to release her wrath on the world. It would be worth every drop of blood about to be shed to bring her to Cyprian's feet.

So--what's it like, being a vampire?" "Aline!" Isabelle looked appalled. "You can't just go around asking people what's it like to be a vampire!" "I don't see why," Aline said. "He hasn't been a vampire that long, has he? So he must still remember what it was like being a person." She turned back to Simon. "Does blood taste like blood to you? Or does it taste like something else now, like orange juice or something? Because I would think the taste of blood would-" "It tastes like chicken," Simon said, just to shut her up. "Really?" Aline looked astonished. "He's making fun of you, Aline," said Sebastain

Spleen Je suis comme le roi d'un pays pluvieux, Riche, mais impuissant, jeune et pourtant très vieux, Qui, de ses précepteurs méprisant les courbettes, S'ennuie avec ses chiens comme avec d'autres bêtes. Rien ne peut l'égayer, ni gibier, ni faucon, Ni son peuple mourant en face du balcon. Du bouffon favori la grotesque ballade Ne distrait plus le front de ce cruel malade; Son lit fleurdelisé se transforme en tombeau, Et les dames d'atour, pour qui tout prince est beau, Ne savent plus trouver d'impudique toilette Pour tirer un souris de ce jeune squelette. Le savant qui lui fait de l'or n'a jamais pu De son être extirper l'élément corrompu, Et dans ces bains de sang qui des Romains nous viennent, Et dont sur leurs vieux jours les puissants se souviennent, II n'a su réchauffer ce cadavre hébété Où coule au lieu de sang l'eau verte du Léthé // I'm like the king of a rain-country, rich but sterile, young but with an old wolf's itch, one who escapes his tutor's monologues, and kills the day in boredom with his dogs; nothing cheers him, darts, tennis, falconry, his people dying by the balcony; the bawdry of the pet hermaphrodite no longer gets him through a single night; his bed of fleur-de-lys becomes a tomb; even the ladies of the court, for whom all kings are beautiful, cannot put on shameful enough dresses for this skeleton; the scholar who makes his gold cannot invent washes to cleanse the poisoned element; even in baths of blood, Rome's legacy, our tyrants' solace in senility, he cannot warm up his shot corpse, whose food is syrup-green Lethean ooze, not blood. — Robert Lowell, from Marthiel & Jackson Matthews, eds., The Flowers of Evil (NY: New Directions, 1963)

Stop fighting me!" he said, trying to pull on the arm he held. He was in a precarious position himself, straddling the rail as he tried to lean over far enough to get me and actually hold onto me. “Let go of me!” I yelled back. But he was too strong and managed to haul most of me over the rail, enough so that I wasn’t in total danger of falling again. See, here’s the thing. In that moment before I let go, I really had been contemplating my death. I’d come to terms with it and accepted it. I also, however, had known Dimitri might do something exactly like this. He was just that fast and that good. That was why I was holding my stake in the hand that was dangling free. I looked him in the eye. "I will always love you." Then I plunged the stake into his chest. It wasn’t as precise a blow as I would have liked, not with the skilled way he was dodging. I struggled to get the stake in deep enough to his heart, unsure if I could do it from this angle. Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one. "That’s what I was supposed to say. . .” he gasped out. Those were his last words.

Tell them that you weren't hungry, tell them you followed the pomegranates seeds because hey tasted like blood, like love.

Sweat seems to bleed / like pride from their bones.

Take your hands off my sentences, asshole. I sweat blood for that shit.

Tears are infinitely more precious than blood. Blood spurts from the body; tears stream from the soul.

That is what the taste of blood does. It takes away the gap between thought and action.To think is to do. There is no unlived life inside you as the air speeds past your body, as you look down at the dreary villages and market towns...