Best 15 quotes in «school shooting quotes» category

It was an oddly satisfying idea to feel bereft as I left my mother this time. We only feel bereft when we’re deprived of something meaningful.

What I know is my music gets blamed for school shootings.

His fingers gouged into my leg harder. "My sister was in that cafeteria," he said. "She saw her friends die, thanks to you and that puke boyfriend of yours. She still has nightmares about it. He got what he deserved, but you got a free pass. That ain't right. You should've died that day, Sister Death. Everyone wishes you would have. Look around. Where is Jessica, if she wants you here so bad? Even the friends you came here with don't want to be with you." "Let go of me," I said again, pulling on his fingers. But he only pinched tighter. "Your boyfriend isn't the only one who can get his hands on a gun," he said. Slowly he eased himself up to standing again. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out something small and dark. He pointed it at me, and when the moonlight hit it, I gasped and pressed myself against the barn wall.

I could’ve gone on and on but the truth was all that mattered. “My brother died because someone was jealous.

I finally understood what could drive kids to show up with guns and shoot up their schools.

Despite its contentious content, 'The Anarchist Cookbook' is such a darkly humorous title for a 19-year-old author to have concocted. Today, it would probably be called 'The Angry Young Man's Portal' or 'IEDs for Dummies.

I strongly believe that non-violence should be taught at school levels as an important subject. Specially experiments with non-violence should be taught with due importance. I urge the United Nations to play its role to spread the value of non-violence in the school levels across the world.

Life isn't fair. A fair's a place where you eat corn dogs and ride the ferris wheel.

Selena was born in a generation that had grown up on the edge. She’d grown up knowing that the little child starlet who voiced Anne-Marie on 'All Dogs Go to Heaven', Judith Barsi, had been murdered and set on fire by her own father. She’d grown up knowing that school shootings were more common than winning the lottery. She’d grown up in an age of terror.

Naked flights of art unshackled and incandescent songs of poetry undiluted return to the soul what hate, ignorance, fear, and violence steal from the heart.

No one had fought back. His friends had not retaliated and morphed into monsters. They had fallen like flies. Perhaps such evil did not lurk in the others. Perhaps he's been wrong. The thought came to him suddenly, stopping his heart as if he'd been yanked from the dance hall and flung countries and time-zones away only to crash into arctic waters. It marked the end of something, as revelations often do. He was the monsters.

We bumped into other silent lines of kids going in the same direction. We looked like we were much younger and our lines were headed to the cafeteria or recess or the carpool line. Or it could’ve been a fire drill. Except for the stone-faced police officers weaving between us with rifles.

Something still exists as long as there's someone still around to remember it.

Take a little thought experiment. Imagine all the rampage school shooters in Littleton, Colorado; Pearl, Mississippi; Paducah, Kentucky; Springfield, Oregon; and Jonesboro, Arkansas; now imagine they were black girls from poor families who lived instead in Chicago, New Haven, Newark, Philadelphia, or Providence. Can you picture the national debate, the headlines, the hand-wringing? There is no doubt we’d be having a national debate about inner-city poor black girls. The entire focus would be on race, class, and gender. The media would doubtless invent a new term for their behavior, as with wilding two decades ago. We’d hear about the culture of poverty, about how living in the city breeds crime and violence. We’d hear some pundits proclaim some putative natural tendency among blacks toward violence. Someone would likely even blame feminism for causing girls to become violent in a vain imitation of boys. Yet the obvious fact that virtually all the rampage school shooters were middle-class white boys barely broke a ripple in the torrent of public discussion. This uniformity cut across all other differences among the shooters: some came from intact families, others from single-parent homes; some boys had acted violently in the past, and others were quiet and unassuming; some boys also expressed rage at their parents (two killed their parents the same morning), and others seemed to live in happy families.

With a damp palm, I turned the knob and cracked open the door. She was asleep in her freshly made bed. I can’t explain how relieved I felt for this simple mercy. She was here and safe on clean sheets.