Blood Quotes - Page 2

Love in your heart is good medicine for long live. Hatred in your blood is the major cause of heart failure! Love people, get transfused with a fresh blood and you'll live long!

Firstly, though we have to clean this blood up off the tiles before it dries. It is far easier to clean the blood up while it's still wet.""How do you know this stuff?" Grace said completely baffled."Dexter," Angela said shrugging and thinking that was as good an explanation as any.

She continue kissing me with that ferocity, so much so that her lips lightly scraped my teeth. It was only a few drops, but as the sweet metallic taste of her blood touched my tongue, a blinding ecstasy flooded my body.

Blood always excites me.

I wanted to thank Trent, but all I could do was give him a faint smile before I lost consciousness. Everything had worked flawlessly. I had planned the perfect murder - my own.

she...let the blood spill down instead of tears.

Some of us can live without a society but not without a family.

Krystal flung herself violently off the chair, away from her mother. She was surprised to feel warm liquid flowing down her cheeks, and thought confusedly of blood, but it was tears, only tears, clear and shining on her fingertips when she wiped them away.

Blood still stains when the sheets are washedSex don't sleep when the lights are offKids are still depressed when you dress them upAnd syrup is still syrup in a sippy cupHe's still dead when you're done with the bottleOf course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradleKids are still depressed when you dress them upSyrup is still syrup in a sippy cup

The book did not say anything about a statue, valuable or otherwise, and so I stopped reading about the Bombinating Beast and got interested in the chapter about the Stain'd witches, who had ink instead of blood in their veins. I wondered what they kept in their pens.

He who writes in blood and aphorisms does not want to be read, he wants to be learned by heart.

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

Blood was flowing – in Bluebeard’s house, in the abattoirs, in the circuses where God had set his seal to whiten the windows. Blood and Milk flowed together.

It's when we kiss that I feel your blood within my veins and your heartbeat within my soul.

I don't know whether to be proud or appalled that danger, blood and death inspire you so.

Every sword that was dripping the blood became a pen. Every word that was written in it became a poetry.

The thick baffling blades of false world customs rip off my views and ideas,like breaking every string of my aesthetic thoughts in disdain and jealousy;pain pain enough your tigrine roars before I die.

Can I dwell on what I scarce remember? I held a castle on the Marches once, and there was a woman I was pledged to marry, but I could not find that castle today, nor tell you the color of that woman's hair. Who knighted me, old friend? What were my favorite foods? It all fades. Sometimes I think I was born on the bloody grass in that grove of ash, with the taste of fire in my mouth and a hole in my chest. Are you my mother, Thoros?

The pig was soon dissected and its blood filled the bucket in the bottom of which a patch of sky was reflected darkly. It had surrendered to the vortex of life and his breathing.

Josie, like Gretchen, isn't afraid of blood. What woman would be?

Poetry without truth, is like a rose without thorns.Still pretty,But sometime the real beauty comes from the things that can make us bleed.

When I speak of God, I mean that god who prevented man from putting forth his hand and taking also of the fruit of the tree of life that he might live forever; of that god who multiplied the agonies of woman, increased the weary toil of man, and in his anger drowned a world—of that god whose altars reeked with human blood, who butchered babes, violated maidens, enslaved men and filled the earth with cruelty and crime; of that god who made heaven for the few, hell for the many, and who will gloat forever and ever upon the writhings of the lost and damned.

Some men drink the blood of other men, all I drink is wine.

Death moved in the night, in search for blood, and when it found Life, it passed on by, like a cloud that moves by the face of the moon. When he found those dead without the red, he took the life before them born first, and the mourning emptied itself till the morning.

A human has seven litres of blood. This they had taught him in the army. Seven litres, which, with an arterial cut will vent a fountain two or three metres, and take three to four minutes to bleed out.

Dreams are achieved by blood, sweat, tears, and an iron-will!

The men stop coming after Hunt goes missing. We learned from the last brave soul to visit that they whispered all sorts of stories to answer his disappearance. My favorite is that we ate him. We cooked him up with our whore-earned corn, a dozen rats’ eyes, and a bat wing. Even I couldn’t have thought of anything more perfect.

Blood, sweat, and tea, sister! That's what it takes to achieve all great and terrible things.

When Jesus said “Whoever eats my flesh & drinks my blood has eternal life” John 6:54 He was CLEARLY talking to Zombies & Vampires

A man of your valor deserves not another breath.

Fresh is better. But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?"Simon raised his eyebrow in response."Well, aside from mine of course," Jace said. "And I'm pretty sure my blood is fan-tastic.

I should probably start with the blood.

At the W.M. Keck Observatory on the very high altitude summit of Mauna Kea, there was no routine monitoring of mental functioning, blood oxygen levels, blood pressure or heart rate of workers.

We need to eliminate the concept of division by class, skills, race, income, religion, and nationality. Every human requires food and water to survive and every human has a heart that bleeds, loves, and grieves.

I know the theological answers, but do my blood and my pulse?

The day I became a writerit wasn't the day a whore paid me in sexin exchange for one of my bookswhich happened often and more and moreas time went onit wasn't the first time someone actually paid for one of my bookswhich happens less and less as time goes onIt was the day I realizedthat everything is created by manGod, Satan, Judas, phobias, excrement, even deatheven womeneverything is created by manSo I said to myselfshit, let me make something let me tape together some words and sentencesand proseand predicatesand the residual shit that sticks to my ass after I wipeand compose a new kind of thingBut then I realized that others had discovered thisfor themselves as wellAnd suddenly the world became a jungleWhere everyone eats each other aliveAnd shits out the same shit

I closed my eyes then but it was too dark to clearly see that vision that my body would conjure out of blood and the inside of skin when light hit it, but I'd seen it so often, examined it so carefully, that it wasn't hard for me to call to mind.

Death drives desire.

I glared at Christian as the blood smeared around. “You could have at least licked it.”He smirked darkly. “I hear that all too often.

Fear is the short road to death and this world, Changed by the flux of decay: Survival is the exception for weary men.From the new book The Waning

In your name, the family name is at last because it's the family name that lasts.

I suck their blood, robbing them of life. But each time I do so, it robs me of my soul.

Its culture: the fruit of its life, the product of its own efforts in thought and art. This culture is not international. It is the expression of the national genius, of the blood. The culture is international in its brilliance but national in origin. Someone made a fine comparison: bread and wheat may be internationally consumed, but they always bear the imprint of the soil from which they came.

THAT you abstain from things offered to idols, from blood, from things strangled, and sexual immorality. If you keep yourselves, from these you do well." Acts 15:29

Our people... blood is the only language we speak. I'm all out of words.

the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.