Quotes About Knife

He picked up his knife and started carving again. He concentrated on the lines and planes of the wood to keep his mind from wandering too far into the past. He had his own wounds that refused to heal.

I think it's just a gash. Hurts like bloody hell, though. Remind me…to never try to rescue you again." "I can't believe the timing, that you stepped in just when I was thrusting. I didn't see you." "I didn't see the knife, so we're even.

I have a gift for enraging people, but if I ever bore you it will be with a knife.

They put on a front that appears accommodating, loyal, and yes, even sacrificial. Then, without warning, they raise their knife, and by the time you see the glint of the blade, it's almost always too late.

Oblige me by taking away that knife. I can't look at the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history.

We drove in silence behind a motorboat being towed by a black pickup. I thought of his remarks about matter and being, those long nights on the deck, half smashed, he and I, transcendence, paroxysm, the end of human consciousness. It seemed so much dead echo now. Point omega. A million years away. The omega point has narrowed, here and now, to the point of a knife as it enters a body. All the man's grand themes funneled down to local grief, one body, out there somewhere, or not.

The armed guard, following Göring by the mandated six steps, suddenly heard something whiz through the air, followed by a sickening thump. Embedded in the wooden planking behind Göring was an eight-inch SS combat knife. The sentry looked up, but was unable to determine who had thrown it or whether he or Göring was the intended target. "And if Göring himself had died who could prove that an American did not do it?

They did not see me as their dinner. They were pious men, honestly lost, and I would feed them, and if there was a handsome one amongst them, I might take him to my bed. It was not desire, not even its barest scrapings. It was a sort of rage, a knife I used upon myself. I did it to prove my skin was still my own.

I was not careful. I was reckless, headlong. He was another knife, I could feel it. A different sort, but a knife still. I did not care. I thought: give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.

He was another knife, I could feel it. A different sort, but a knife still. I did not care. I thought: give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.

It was a sort of rage, a knife I used upon myself. I did it to prove my skin was still my own.

No, I thought. I was not careful. I was reckless, headlong. He was another knife, I could feel it. A different sort, but a knife still. I did not care. I thought: give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.

So temptation is like a knife, that may either cut the meat or the throat of a man; it may be his food or his poison, his exercise or his destruction.

Temptation is like a knife, that may either cut the meat or the throat of a man; it may be his food or his poison, his exercise or his destruction.

There is a moment of surface tension when a knife blade presents its demand and the flesh honors it. An instant of pressure before the puncture, the rip before the slide, a small eternity easy to miss but impossible to ignore if you've felt it before. I lived in that moment a great while for the small sliver of time it was there.

Memory of the knife will be gone when the flesh is gone.

But, when she was alone, someone rapped on the door and she found herself on her feet, knife in hand, before she had time to reason with her fear.

It is hard to deal with someone who smiles and pretends to like you to your face and sticks that eight inch blade in your back when you turn around.

like the thin, fragile rind, then like the fresh quarter of a fruit that an invisible knife had begun to peel in the sky.

Genius will live and thrive without training, but it does not the less reward the watering pot and pruning knife.

Genius will live and thrive without training, but it does not the less reward the watering pot and the pruning knife.

They didn't believe me," I told Jack. "What kind of evidence do you and the police need? The killer to stick a knife in someone's neck in front of you and say, I'm committing murder right now-please video record this so there's evidence, and make sure to focus the camera on my face!

Kero and Rollo stood over it, slick with blood, both holding knives. 'Kero, you came? Why?' asked Naif. 'Maybe I just needed someone to show me how to be brave enough,' he replied with a hint of a dangerous grin.

Take care to chop the onion fine.