Best 193 quotes in «guns quotes» category

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.

Daily mass killings are a uniquely American problem, because in America every halfwit can get his hands on a gun. You know what angry halfwits do in other countries? They throw potatoes.

Evan stares at me. I try to hug him. He takes a step back. I pause, my heart in my throat. I’ve got to reach out to him, let myself be vulnerable. I find the courage, but he backs up again. “You can’t go to Iraq anymore.” “I know.” He looks up at Deanna, then back to me. “Did you fight bad guys? You told me you weren’t.” His voice is suspicious, full of accusation. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t blame him for that. “No, Evan. I didn’t fight bad guys.” I can’t bring myself to tell him the complete truth. I want so desperately to go back into this fight. I miss it every day. I always felt I could change the world with a rifle in my hands and our flag on my shoulder. “Did you get shot?” he looks me over, apparently searching for bullet wounds. I grin a little. “No, Bud, I didn’t get shot.” “People get shot in Iraq.” “Yes, they do.” It strikes me then that Evan for the first time has a grasp on the dangers that are faced over there. He’s six now, and the world is coming into focus for him. “People get shot, Daddy. They die. Bad guys kill them.” I think of Edward Iwan and Sean Sims. “Yeah, I know they do, Evan.

Every time there is a mass shooting in the USA, I wonder if the shooter was an insane masturbator.

Everything bad gets shot at in America, says John Cole, and everything good too.

FICTION is a series of unintended coincidence,confabulation,and quasi-lucid lying made plausible enough for an author and a reader to cohabitate for a secret, brief and sinful affair. Nothing is real.Except imagination~with a pinch of perception, and a dash of collusion used as the Clabber. Be So Advised.

Firearms, if you think about it, are power tools. They drill holes in things and chew things up. That’s their purpose. The purpose of the user is, quite simply, to puncture and destroy the right things and not the wrong things.

Forget 'pray the gay away.' I you're more turned on by an AR-15 than a pair of tits, time for some serious therapy. Time for all you gun-humpers to come out of the closet. Is this really about the 2nd Amendment and self-defense -- or just a pathetic fetish for guys with tiny pee-pees?

Forget the National Debt Clock. We need an electronic billboard to track all the daily shootings in this country. I'm really sick of listening to all the mouth breathers who soil their camouflage pants every time someone suggests we might have a gun problem. Other countries have crazy, violent people. What they don't have is 300,000,000 WMDs and a gun show loophole that allows any psycho with a valid credit card to own 'em.

Four people, six guns. That’s a much better equation than we ever could have hoped for. There are, I guess, more guns floating around in Australia than most people would imagine. But there still aren’t that many, and I reckon we’re doing better than most survivors. On the other hand, maybe the only reason we're survivors at all is because we have guns. If we hadn’t found that Glock, what might have happened as we ran for Liam’s truck in Manjimup? If we hadn’t traded the Kawasaki for the Winchester, what might have happened the night we met Ellie, when I fired a warning shot to scare off her attackers, and they left without a fight? I don’t need to ask what might have happened the night in Albany, when the soldiers were chasing us over backyard fences. I know exactly what would have happened.

Do you have protection?" "Sure do." Durbin flipped up his jacket to reveal the M9 in his shoulder holster. "You people can keep your superstitious mumbo-jumbo. I have all the protection I need.

George grinned. 'A pity you're perfectly dreadful at shooting.' Aubrey shrugged. 'I've had all the lessons. I'm adequate.' 'Adequate? I suppose it depends on what you mean. If you mean that you haven't actually shot yourself by accident, then by all means describe yourself as adequate.' George laced his fingers together and placed them on his chest. ''I'll come, then I might be able to spare you some embarrassment.' 'I'm honoured.

Give a man a gun, and let nature expose his weakness

Good ideas never require guns; and if an idea requires guns, it is not a good idea!

Guns are a product of their time. An American long rifle, stock smooth and silky, frame lightweight, barrel long and sleek—the man who made this gun worked in the dim light of a small forge, and chose carefully the wood to use. His fingers went raw as he honed the stock, and the iron from a nearby mine stained his hands and the water he used to cool the parts as he finished. Take the gun up now, and the smell of black powder and saltpeter sting the air. Raise the rifle to your shoulder and look into the distance. You see not a target but a whole continent of potential, of great things to come, a promising future . . . but also toil, trial, and hardship. The firearm in your hands is a tool to help you through it.

Guns don't kill people. People kill people.' 'But guns make it so much easier. Shall we go?

Guns make small men feel big.

Guns are like thermometers, only instead of measuring body temperatures they measure our fear.

Guns neither initiated nor enabled larger changes. Economic, political, and social development preceded and laid the foundation for the invention and use of the gun, not the other way around.

Guns are like cars: you can trust a good used one better than one that's brand new.

Guns kill far more quickly and efficiently than knives, or crossbows, or toenail clippers; and, unlike bombs, you don't need to build one in your basement -- they come ready-made! There's a reason why guns are the overwhelming weapon of choice among mass murderers.

Gurathin turned to me. "So you don't have a governor module, but we could punish you by looking at you." I looked at him. "Probably, right up until I remember I have guns built into my arms.

Hell, any game that gives its players guns is probably not the kind that'll ever really let you go free.

He's a moron being an asshole. You don't shoot people for being assholes, or the human race would be extinct.

His fear-inflamed mind sent the control-signal to his finger-joint to fold back. The trigger sliced back. The blast seemed to lift the booth clear off the floor, drop it down again. A pin-wheel of vacancy appeared in the glass, flinging off shards and slivers.

I aim at the middle one first. I squeeze the trigger. And the metal weapon does what it does best. It jams.

I always win.

I believe that in the battle between guns and ideas, ideas will, eventually, win. Because the ideas are invisible, and they linger, and, sometimes, they can even be true. Eppur si muove: and yet it moves.

I can kill a bad guy, but I can't save anyone. I'm not a hero. All I am is a killer. A dead killer who shit his pants.

I can see the little girl, the face of the little girl. And as much as people say that they don't care about these people and all that, I don't care about these people - but I do, at the same time, if that makes any sense. They don't want to help themselves, they're blowing us up, yeah, that hurts, but it also hurts to know that I've seen a girl that's as old as my little brother watch me shoot somebody in the head. And I don't care if she's Iraqi, Korean, African, white - she's still a little girl. And she watched me shoot somebody.

I don’t make to-do lists, but if I did, today’s would have gone something like this: 1. get drunk, 2. get laid, 3. go surfing (not necessarily in that order.) Noticeably absent from the list: get arrested. And yet here I am, spending my eighteenth birthday with my back against the wall of the Colonel’s hunting cabin, two FBI agents prowling the dark with their guns drawn, both trying to get me to confess to the murder of my friend Preston DeWitt.

If a Martian were watching our television shows, he'd conclude that guns were more common than hammers. They're not evil themselves--they're tools--but everywhere you go, bad people have them. It behooves the righteous to at least know how they work.

I felt like Dirty Harry, only, my weapon wasn’t as big as his! I don’t know what it is with guns, but once you’ve got your hand on one, you think you’re one of the untouchables.

If we really are saying rap is an art form, then we got to be more responsible for our lyrics. If you see everybody dying because of what you saying, it don’t matter that you didn’t make them die, it just matters that you didn’t save them.

If you both own a gun and a swimming pool in your backyard, the swimming pool is about 100 times more likely to kill a child than the gun is.

Fucking GUNS are fucking AWESOME and when you SHOOT them at SHIT, they fucking KILL it!

Guns give Evil a means to expression.

Guns make losers feel like winners. That's why people who suck at life don't want to give up their guns.

Guns are not the problem. The species is the problem.

If you need a gun to do it with, you aren't doing it right." Sheriff Bud Smith.

If you survive, you've got to live with the guilt, and that's more difficult than looking someone in the eye and pulling the trigger. Trust me. I've done both.

I hate guns," replied the Doctor. "Which isn't to say that a bit of fantasy violence can't be therapeutic.

I keep wondering what would have happened if his unquiet mother had hoarded books instead of semiautomatic weapons.

In the debate over guns, both sides are angry. The pro-gunners are angry at the ignorance, lies, and distortions of the anti-gunners, and the anti-gunners are angry with the pro-gunners for presenting facts.

If you're afraid to leave the house unless you're armed, you don't need a gun, you need a psychiatrist.

In the end, the focus on safety should be credited to the entire firearms-owning community, the “gun culture” if you will.

I often think we should have tattooed on the back of whatever hand we use to shoot or write, 'I might be wrong.

I screamed but he couldn't hear me over the blast of the gun or the explosions that followed. I wish I had never touched the damn thing. Guns cause more problems than they're worth.

I snapped the crossbow into the top of the mount, took a canvas bundle from the cart, and unrolled it. Crossbow bolts, tipped with the Galahad warheads. “This is my baby.” I petted the stock. “You have a strange relationship with your weapons,” Roman said. “You have no idea,” Raphael told him. “This from a man with a living staff and a man who once drove four hours both ways for a sword he then put on his wall,” I murmured. “It was an Angus Trim,” Raphael said. “It’s a sharpened strip of metal.” “You have an Angus Trim sword?” Kate’s eyes lit up. “Bought it at an estate auction,” Raphael said. “If we get out of this alive, you are invited to come to my house and play with it.” It was good that Curran wasn’t here and I was secure in our relationship, because that totally could be taken the wrong way.

He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. (Unless the other guy has a gun!)