Best 54 quotes in «knife quotes» category

He was dropped under a streetlamp, the only person left on the bus. A patch of mauled light. Gritty pavement, scarred with a million cigarette burns. Weeds and spit and oil. Place like this, the only glitter was the knife just before it sank in. Place like this, there wasn't any gold.

He worked at a feverish pace. He experimented with all manner of pies: tortoises, eel, chicken, frog, mushroom, artichoke, apricot, cherry, and his favorite of all, a luscious strawberry pie. He made omelets, stuffed eggs, and poached eggs with rosemary over toast. There were soups galore: fennel, tortellini, Hungarian milk, millet, kohlrabi, pea, and his famous Venetian turnip soup, which this time he made with apples instead. He molded jelly into the shapes of the cardinali crests, colored with wine, carrot, and saffron. He delighted most in the moments when he worked with his favorite knife, carving and slicing roasted cockerel, peacock, capons, turtledoves, ortolans, blackbirds, partridges, pheasants, and wood grouse. Every slice of the knife gave him greater confidence and belief in his power to make the world his.

How do YOU know what God meant? Did he whisper into your ear? Did he put the knife in your heart? Did he put a gun in your hand?

I brought a knife to the gunfight. I am the knife. I am all blade.

I have to think of this as a mental exercise, not a physical exercise. So I spend the first few minutes practicing without a knife, finding the right stance, learning the right arm motion. Eric paces too quickly behind us. “I think the Stiff’s taken too many hits to the head!” remarks Peter, a few people down. “Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?” Ignoring him, I practice the throw again with a knife in hand but don’t release it. I shut out Eric’s pacing, and Peter’s jeering, and the nagging feeling that Four is staring at me, and throw the knife. It spins end over end, slamming into the board. The blade doesn’t stick, but I’m the first person to hit the target. I smirk as Peter misses again. I can’t help myself. “Hey, Peter,” I say. “Remember what a target is?

I knew a kid who stuck a knife in the toaster on a few occasions. He learned it hurt. He grew up to be a great electrician.

I love the French edition with its uncut pages. I would not want a reader too lazy to use a knife on me.

I am sitting here, staring at the dark sky and drunk with memories. laughing like a maniac while crying an ocean. Somewhere it feels like somebody is kissing my lips passionately. While they are continuously pushing a knife, deep into my chest.

I love you the way a knife loves a heart, the way a bomb loves a crowd, the way your mother warned you about, essentially.

I spread my fingers outward, letting the knife tip of my middle finger rip the sky as it tares a rift in the moon.

I’m not immortal. I’m totally killable.” She sucked in a breath as her pitch rose. “And I’m blond. Blonds always die first.

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.

It's a discomfiting thing to have the person you love more than anything in the world toss a knife at your friend's head and walk away.

I tried very hard not to ponder the horrible irony that I was too ugly to love, and too ugly not to violate.

It’s important to hold the knife with the edge down. How important? Well, it depends. How important is your life?

It takes sharper axes to chops bigger trees just as it takes deeper enthusiasm to overcome stronger challenges. Timidity only increases your fears.

I had a dream about you. We were actors in a horror movie and I was hunting you down with a knife. When I finally cornered you the director yelled "Cut".... What? I can't be blamed for following instructions.

I turn off my cell phone and reluctantly slide it down my pocket. My hands are shaking. A large knife appears in his hand.” William Wilson in the short story 'Metro' by Steen Langstrup

My safety rules for eating from the food buffet: 1. Eat the hot food, as it is the least likely to food poison you. 2. Avoid the cold food, as it may have bacterial contamination. 3. Wash your hands, as they may have bacterial contamination from the handles of the food ladles. 4. Do not eat with your hands, use the knife, fork and spoon.

I was terrified of my weakness, of my sharp tongue, of my every flaw. I was terrified that this moment, my chance to live in happiness for however short a time we may have had, would be ruined because I was simply not carved out of the same wood as happiness, and that my grain was too twisted to ever take its form.

Loss is a knife, constantly cutting, but over time the blade dulls, and the cuts aren't as sharp. It's always there in the drawer, but you realize it doesn't cut as deeply anymore.

Lyonesse stared wide-eyed at Lynet’s hand and swallowed hard. Lynet realized that she was still holding the carving knife and had been pointing it at Lyonesse’s breast. She laid the knife down slowly and gathered a few plates of food. “I’ll take the rest of my dinner in my room, I think,” she said.

Mind", can't make differences between real and not..., (OFF NOW THAT..., then that...), you are saying lie after lie..., then believing in false stuff. And thinking in positive sides so to scream not much as the other do, but as always you one moment scream you can't stop it... Now putting against me a knife and saying "Go away... give me my daughter... give me her back"..., don't you see the people laugh at you, don't you see it. Look their faces, with so many smiles, but they aren't people, they are from the army, off, off for god sake they are soldiers which have guns. Have killed few people, have taken your daughter and they are many as a number than you and your whole family... Probably this part as an General I must skip it, because it's logical however look it and from this side, nobody will sacrifice so you to be happy... you will die.. O, o, the poor little girl crying in front of the people, she just saw her mother pointing with a knife against the soldiers and now she is killed by one of the soldiers.

Murphy hakupenda kupoteza muda. Alinyanyuka na kumimina risasi, Mungu akamsaidia akadondosha wawili huku wengine wakipotea kwa kuruka vibaya na kukwepa. Kwa kasi Murphy alikimbia huku ameinama mpaka katika milango mikubwa ya nje, ambayo sasa ilikuwa wazi. Hapo akasita. Chochote kingeweza kumpata kwa nje kama hangekuwa mwangalifu. Bunduki yake ilishakwisha risasi. Aliitupa na kuchungulia nje akaona adui mmoja akikatisha kwenda nyuma ambako ndiko mashambulizi yalikokuwa yakisikika sasa. Murphy hakumtaka huyo. Aligeukia ndani kuona kama kulikuwa na bunduki aichukue lakini hata kisu hakikuwepo. Akiwa bado anashangaa, ghafla alitokea adui – kwa ndani – na kurusha risasi, bahati nzuri akamkosa Murphy. Murphy, kama mbayuwayu, aliruka na kusafiri hewani hapohapo akadondoka nyuma ya tangi la gesi karibu na milango ya nje. Alipoona vile, adui alidhani Murphy alidondoka mbali. Alibung’aa asijue la kufanya. Wasiwasi ulipomzidi alishindwa kuvumilia. Alishika bunduki kwa nguvu na kupiga kelele, "Yuko hukuuu!" Halafu akajificha ili Murphy asimwone. Lakini Murphy alikuwa akimwona.

Nostalgia can be more painful than a surgeon's knife.

She fantasized sometimes too about killing him a little: a little poison in his pudding, a little flick-flick-flick with a fillet knife at his throat.

Night fell, and her husband came to bed, and as soon as they had finished kissing and embracing each other, he fell fast asleep. Psyche was not naturally either very strong or very brave, but the cruel power of fate made a virago of her. Holding the carving knife in a murderous grip, she uncovered the lamp and let its light shine on the bed. At once the secret was revealed. There lay the gentlest and sweetest of all wild creatures, Cupid himself, the beautiful Love-god, and at sight of him the flame of the lamp spurted joyfully up and the knife turned its edge for shame. Psyche was terrified. She lost all control of her senses, and pale as death, fell trembling to her knees, where she desperately tried to hide the knife by plunging it in her own heart. She would have succeeded, too, had the knife not shrunk from the crime and twisted itself out of her hand.

Sex was lovely. Sex was sublime. Sex was flesh and cock and suck and fuck and come. This night sex was starlight. Sex was oxygen. Sex was us, and we were beautiful, beautiful and perfect in each other's arms.

Sometimes I wished I could cut away old memories and let the wind take them. If a sharp knife could pare away the weakness of those days, I would slice until nothing but the hard lessons remained.

She knows what it's like to love someone who cannot love you back. Someone who needs you, holds you, yes, but someone who will never know that love is the knife in your heart.

The knife is more dangerous than the hand and the knife can be in either hand.

The circulation of money is like the sharing of cake. The one that holds the knife controls the portion you get.

That's such bullshit, Mythology repeated by parents because it lets them force their kids into sports and push them too hard by pretending that in the end it will pay off with the holy scholarship. You know how many kids get a free ride? Hardly any. Like, maybe fourteen.' -Finn (165)

The hatred that vibrated beneath the surface of my girl's face-- I think Suzanne recognized it. Of course my hand would anticipate the weight of a knife. The particular give of a human body. There was so much to destroy.

The knife and cheese are connected. But the cake and the contention are rather suspicious.

The patient knife always strikes true.” – Soninke saying

We can’t tell if ever night falls asleep Our slumber veils many secrets: deep The moonlit visage of this city life Shines through the blade from a glistening knife From the poem "City Night

There is nothing more agonising than the memory of good times when you are going through a difficult period in life. Life moves in only one direction - forward, but the memoirs of years gone by keep on haunting one’s soul till the time one is alive. Nostalgia can be more painful than a surgeon’s knife.

There'll be no more music, Father. But there'll be this!" He stepped into the dark, picked up the knife, and held it under their noses. "Go home. Tell your people what you saw and heard here tonight. And tell 'em that anyone we catch on these roads after dark anymore... this is what they'll get. Now that I know we're never to see the face o' God, we have nothing to lose. So, make sure you have your message right, Father, 'cause there'll be no other warning.

The rum transpired from the wound of a perfectly baked cake. By the piercing shining 'touch of crave' 'Crave for the touch'.

Trusting too much can be a knife that makes the heart bleed...

We live like sheep in line waiting to be slaughtered in a slaughterhouse. We eat and laugh and fight as we see those in front of us fall to the knife

You are a cool cemetery. You have the sinner’s grave You have the saint’s earth colliding You have all the beds narrow as a knife; as if a rally of tombstones to defend death. But you can’t really postpone the inauguration of my burial, can you? From the poem - Few Words to Cemetery

When an orange tastes like an onion, the knife takes the blame. But it is the one who handed us the knife that should be questioned.

When I walked into the room, I looked down to the floor and saw that each and every garment I owned had been pulled from its rightful place and had been meticulously sliced into countless pieces. One thing was painfully obvious to me: these clothes were symbolic of me; they represented my body. What you really wanted was to slice me into countless pieces.

You sick fuck. Tear my pants off, prick. See what I got. I'll knock your fucking teeth out with my swinging dick! Last chance... you force yourself into that woman... and I'll force this knife into your dick hole!

What must it be like to have such faith in the world, in plans, in your own ability to control your fate? It was contagious, that's what it was. I could not help it. I caught his hope like a plague.

You're wondering if I really would slit your throat. To tell the truth, I don't know either, but think of the fun we could have finding out.

Cold, harsh laughter, like knives being sharpened.

Any idiot can stand in front of a target. It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying him. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.