Best 396 quotes in «hunting quotes» category

You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when its waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye.

You could ask: Why are people attracted to narratives that justify the terrible things that we're doing to the planet? Why are people attracted to narratives of control and fear and hunting down the terrorists, and this uncaring attitude toward nature? These come from what I call the perceptions of separation and the experience of separation, the experience of alienation, the experience of scarcity and anxiety and competition, and a world in which everybody is out for themselves and nobody cares.

You don't have to be a rocket science to know that if Joe Teti has a rifle, and a round to go with it. I'm going hunting.

You have to go hunting to know the excitement of seeing someone get their first deer. It's a thrill for them. It is.

You know, if you need 100 rounds to kill a deer, maybe hunting isn't your sport.

About a week earlier I had finished a book (on the Hell's Angels, scheduled this fall by Random House) and I felt that I needed about a week of total degeneration to cool out my system. To this end I went down to Big Sur and Monterery and filled my body with every variety of booze and drug available to modern man. For six or seven days I ran happily amok - spending money, sitting in baths, and futilely hunting wild boar with a .44 Magnum revolver. At one point I gave my car away to a man who paid $25 for the privilege of pushing it off a 400-foot cliff. - to Max Scherr editor, Berkley Barb 7/20/1966

You might be a redneck if your momma tore her best dress coon hunting.

You might be a redneck if your favorite hunting dog has a bigger tombstone than your grandfather.

You might be a redneck if you saved lots of money on your honeymoon by going deer hunting.

You're not allowed to step out of whatever the rules are, politically, or socially, and they'll get you for it, they'll hunt you down. That's the really frightening thing.

You see I'm against hunting, in fact I'm a hunt saboteur. I go out the night before and shoot the fox.

A lion does not become king of the jungle hunting mice.

A lioness will use all of her strength even when hunting a rabbit.

Are you prepared then, to shoot a human being?" he asked, trying not to let Jenny sense his own internal unease. "It's not the same as shooting a duck or gazelle." Jenny's violet eyes met his straight on. "If that human being was about to harm any one of us, I'd feel worse about shooting the duck. It, at least, would have done nothing to deserve a bullet.

Aloha Oukou. It looked like your soul was escaping so I put you in a tree.

Although justifications for wild meat harvest in terms of food for impoverished communities must be weighed seriously, it is critical to acknowledge that the terms ‘protein’ and ‘meat’ are not synonymous.

And one by one, driven to exhaustion, trapped by fence and horses and bewilderment, under an immaculate sky the mythic creatures died. They died not in mercy, not in the majesty which was their due, but as the least of life, accursed of nature. They died in the dust of insult and the spittle of lead. There was more here than profaned the eye or ear or nose or heart. There was more here than mere destruction. The American soul itself was involved, its anthropology. We are born with buffalo blood upon our hands. In the prehistory of us all, the atavistic beasts appear. They graze the plains of our subconscious, they trample through our sleep, and in our dreams we cry out our damnation. We know what we have done, we violent people. We know that no species was created to exterminate another, and the sight of their remnant stirs in us the most profound lust, the most undying hatred, the most inexpiable guilt. A living buffalo mocks us. It has no place or purpose. It is a misbegotten child, a monster with which we cannot live and which we cannot live without. Therefore we slay, and slay again, for while a single buffalo remains, the sin of our fathers, and hence our own, is imperfect. But the slaughter of the buffalo is part of something larger. It is as though the land of Canaan into which we were led was too divine, and until we have done it every violence, until we have despoiled and murdered and dirtied every blessing, until we have erased every reminder of our original rape, until we have washed our hands of the blood of every other, we shall be unappeased. It is as though we are too proud to be beholden to Him. We cannot bear the goodness of God.

At the core of the wild is the idea that we must seek, stalk, kill, and haul our prey home to feed our young. It was a right of passage for young men for generations – to get that first kill. To take the life of an animal, and to learn that our life depends on the life of another. I understand that there are some that don’t eat meat -but don’t think for a minute that you aren’t still killing SOMETHING when you pluck that carrot out of its dirty ground! Our cultured and shiny environment now doesn’t require people to get their hands dirty. If you go to the store to buy meat, you buy meat. You don’t see the beating heart, the twitching nerves, or the cold stare left behind by the animal that gave its flesh for you

Because I am, just as you are you. We don’t always get to pick who we are, Shelly Wynn, but we can choose to celebrate it.

Before hurting an animal, feel her pain and see her tears. Then question your conscience.

Coyote hunting can't be justified on the basis of the damage they do. Shooting coyotes is really just fun, a man with a high-powered rifle trying to see if he can kill a frightened creature that can't shoot back.

But it isn't hunger that drives millions of armed American Males to forests and hills every autumn, as the high incidence of heart failure among the hunters will prove. Somehow the hunting process has to do with masculinity, but I don't quite know how.

Cerise! Come and kiss me, you red haired harpy,” Izrayl bellowed. She smiled and moved to kiss his stubbly cheek. He held her tight and squeezed. “How goes it Old Dog,” Cerise said fondly to her temporary captor. “Still alive,” he grinned salaciously at her. “And still young enough to learn some new tricks if you are the one doing the teaching.” “Try it and I will neuter you,” Cerise threatened and tugged on his braid. “You dogs, all you think of is hunting, fighting and fucking.” “What else is there?” Izrayl growled in the back of his throat and raised an eyebrow at her suggestively.

Du grumme Søe-Konge, du Trold i det Vand, Hvad driver dig til, at du render paa Land, Og lader godvillig dig slagte.

He's a man," Themla said. "I guess that explains it." "Hairy, Neanderthalic," Thelma said, "perpetually half-crazed from excessive levels of testosterone, plagued by racial memories of the lost glory of mammoth-hunting expeditions - they're all alike.

Finding a soulmate is an easy adventure, but the difficult part admist the game is finding your kind of person.

Her var ey at tøve, den Hane blev spendt, En gloende Kuule hen venlig forsendt Den skind-klæde Skolt bag sit Øre; Det smaget ham ligesom nye-smeltet Bly, De andre hans Grander begyndte at flye, Vil Selskab der længer ey giøre.

Hunting was a crucial part of humans' survival 100,000 years ago, but today hunting is now nothing more than a violent form of recreation.

Hunting, works for conservation like slavery works for economic growth. A guaranteed but morally awful way to achieve a goal.

Hunting animals is not a wildlife or environmental management solution. Why should anyone spend money to protect an animal that a wealthy trophy hunter can then pay to go kill?

I like to see the people arriving. I like to imagine their lives. It keeps me from thinking too much about my own. A man shouldn't be too introspective. It weakens him. That is the difference between Tennessee Williams and Ernest Hemingway. I'm a Hemingway man myself although I don't believe it is right to hunt lions.

If everyone in nature were too talented not to be hunted by others, everyone would starve!

I had this dream about you. We went hunting up in the mountains and I caught a unicorn. You told me now I know how it feels to be you.

If everyone was cognizant of their purpose on earth, we would only need weapons for hunting and nothing else.

I’m afraid they’re not coming.” Abby said fearfully. “Our parents, our teachers – everyone! They’ve disappeared. That’s it. Lights out, Shelly. We’re on our own.

In the field of business, you are a hunter. For sure you will not be successful all the time when you go hunting. However, there is the potential that you can have a bumper harvest one day that can turn your life around. It is better to live an unexpected life than to live a life of expectation. Pursue your dream today.

In a werewolf pack, you cannot interfere with the mate choice of a clan fellow. You cannot intentionally harm that werewolf’s chosen mate. You are not, however, required to help that person should he find himself in a life - threatening situation. Somehow, Zeb had managed to stumble into several such situations in the few months since he ’d been engaged to Jolene. He’d had several hunting “accidents” while visiting the McClaine farm, even though he didn’t hunt. The brakes on his car had failed while he was driving home from the farm—twice. Also, a running chainsaw mysteriously fell on him from a hayloft. He would never get that pinkie toe back.

It came to him that he had turned away from the buffalo not because of a womanish nausea at blood and stench and spilling gut; it came to him that he had sickened and turned away because of his shock at seeing the buffalo, a few moments before proud and noble and full of the dignity of life, now stark and helpless, a length of inert meat, divested of itself, or his notion of its self, swinging grotesquely, mockingly, before him. It was not itself; or it was not that self that he had imagined it to be. That self was murdered; and in that murder he had felt the destruction of something within him, and he had not been able to face it. So he had turned away.

It’s no big deal. It’s kind of like a tattoo. It won’t hurt, not too much, just a few stitches and it’ll be all over. It’s really interesting how it’s done. You won’t believe where your soul hides. Go on, take a guess. Where do you think it is?

Look through the heavy pine forest and see a fire glowing. Beside it sits a bear of a man, knife in one hand, a clay bowl on the ground in front of him. It has been a long time since he last shed blood for his Gods. Tonight would satisfy them a little while longer. The screech of a doomed animal is cut short and the bowl fills with its steaming blood. He puts it on a flat stone by the fire. He cuts his scarred wrist to let his own blood drip into the warming mixture. For many days he has thrown his runes and has had no clear sight. He has marked each one with his blood and still they reveal nothing. A tune starts deep in his gut. It stretches and twists like an unborn child, travelling up like a snake through his chest, setting his bones to shake. He grinds his jaw shut to keep it from escaping as it creeps up his throat. His lips start to vibrate with the tune as it tries to push its way out. The man is well learned in the ways of the song and knows how to control it. The bowl is steaming heavily and he leans over it to breathe in the blood fumes that will give his visions. This man’s name is Vasilli and he is trying to find his brother.

I've never really learned how to do this. When we hunted, we had people to take care of what we caught." "I thought you hunted with birds." "We did." "So the birds caught the animals, other people cleaned them... When you say 'hunting,' do you really mean 'going for a walk'?

I’ve heard this sound before, she realized, her entire body tingling. She’d caught glimpses of it, like a distant haunting refrain, in her deepest moments of silence in the wood. When the long days stretched timelessly on, and her mind emptied of thoughts until there was only her footsteps in the snow, only the feel of the bow in her hand, the bite of cold on her cheeks. When everything else faded away, this sound was what was left.

I will always look for what my eyes cain’t see.

Nothing like gunpowder to get a girl going.

Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.

Murphy's face went through several mutations as he spoke, as if small animals were scurrying about just beneath his skin.

My companions ate the bear. I found I had no appetite.

None of the characters in (the story) were distinguished ones -- not even the lion. He was an old lion, prepared from birth to lose his life rather than to leave it. But he had the dignity of all free creatures, and so he was allowed his moment. It was hardly a glorious moment. The two men who shot him were indifferent as men go, or perhaps they were less than that. At least they shot him without killing him, and then turned the unsconscionable eye of a camera upon his agony. It was a small, a stupid, but a callous crime.

Lydia displays her right hand and instantly bathed the room with a blinding light. It lasted only a moment before it drew back into her palm. “I can fix you if you’re ever broken.

Modern life conceals our need for diverse, wild, natural communities, but it does not alter that need.. if you want to feel what it is like to be human again, you should hunt, even if just once. Because that understanding, I believe, will propel a shift in how we view and interact with this world that we eat in. And the kind of food we demand, as omnivores, will never be the same.