Blood Quotes - Page 125

Brother will kill brother, Spilling blood across the land...

I'm told that my blood sugar level was twelve times the legal limit - I was sweating honey.

She blinked at me, then realized I was panicking. Honestly, it was like admitting to murder before being interrogated. “Ms. Davidson,” she began, but I decided to trip her up, to throw her off the trail of blood I’d left like an injured animal. “I don’t speak English.

I sucked blood from one of my best friends

I might have to drink the blood of animals to stay alive, but I would never feast on one of my own kind, no matter what Mr.Crepsley said, or hows much my belly growled.

If I'd known how wrong I was - if I'd had any idea of the awful night that lay ahead - I'd have run after him and never returned to that disgusting circus of blood, that revolting circus of death.

Keeping stationary drains your brain, but moving around shows you new things, new inspiration, and keeps the blood moving.

A lot of modern horror can leave me cold, and I'm not good with blood and gore and all that stuff. It's not fun for me. There's nothing entertaining about watching a film like that.

If it's needed for me to have a drop of Filipino blood, I am willing to get it from Makati Med. My heart really belongs here.

America is not an ethnostate. We are not rooted in blood and soil.

The bicycle is a vehicle of revolution. It can destroy the tyranny of the automobile as effectively as the printing press brought down despots of flesh and blood. The revolution will be spontaneous, the sum total of individual revolts like my own. It may have already begun.

We come into this world naked, covered in our own blood, screaming in terror - and it doesn't have to stop there if you know how to live right

I need a sample of your blood,' said Kira. Marcus raised an eyebrow. 'I didn't know we'd reached that stage of our relationship.

The history of each and every territory is written in the blood of those who died trying to fulfill the aspirations of their ambitious leaders.

It's terrible, once you've got a man into your blood!" she said.

The mind is "ashamed" of the blood. And the blood is destroyed by the mind, actually. Hence palefaces.

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.

Sex is our deepest form of consciousness. It is utterly non-ideal, non-mental. It is pure blood-consciousness.... It is the consciousness of the night, when the soul is almost asleep.

I think if you would have cut Houdini with a knife, blood wouldn't come out, PR would.

We do have a big kind of history in literate tradition of Vikings and we have a lot of Viking blood in Scotland, I mean especially up north wherever you go you see a plastic Viking sitting outside a shop and Viking calendars and - because they - you know they came down and stole all our chicks and then some of them didn't quite get back and ended up settling down here. So there's a lot of Viking blood in Scotland.

Here's a tip for all you aspiring young comics: Don't beat up the customers. It is very difficult to get laughs from an audience when you've actually drawn blood from one of their number. It kills the mood.

The tent in which she first met him had smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had thought of it all as a game. She had promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of his enemies. And much too late had she realized what he had sown in her. Love. Worst of all poisons.

They rode like men invested with a purpose whose origins were antecedent to them, like blood legatees of an order both imperative and remote. For although each man among them was discrete unto himself, conjoined they made a thing that had not been before and in that communal soul were wastes hardly reckonable more than those whited regions on old maps where monsters do live and where there is nothing other of the known world save conjectural winds.

He said that men believe the blood of the slain to be of no consequence but that the wolf knows better. He said that the wolf is a being of great order and that it knows what men do not: that there is no order in this world save that which death has put there.

He looked at a world of incredible loveliness. Old distaff Celt's blood in some back chamber of his brain moved him to discourse with the birches, with the oaks. A cool green fire kept breaking in the woods and he could hear the footsteps of the dead. Everything had fallen from him. He scarce could tell where his being ended or the world began nor did he care. He lay on his back in the gravel, the earth's core sucking his bones, a moment's giddy vertigo with this illusion of falling outward through blue and windy space, over the offside of the planet, hurtling through the high thin cirrus.