Quotes About Corpses

Sometimes she was seized with hallucinations and thought she was buried in some vault together with a lot of puppet-like corpses which nodded their heads and moved their legs and arms when you pulled the strings.

Blame the germs, the unburied corpses, the dust of war, the random circulation of wind and weather, the Lord God Almighty. Blame the stars. Just don't blame the dead, because none of them wished this on themselves.

He had this old southern idea of what a lady should be. A lady should not carry a gun and spend most of her time covered in blood and corpses. I had two words for that attitude. Yeah, those are the words.

Yes, we are corpses. But you are death. Ciri

Collective states are constitutionally incapable of reliably producing anything but corpses.

Myth, on the contrary, is a language which does not want to die: it wrests from the meanings which give it its sustenance an insidious, degraded survival, it provokes in them an artificial reprieve in which it settles comfortably, it turns them into speaking corpses.

The millions and millions of corpses, the wasted lives that communism left behind as testament to its main accomplishment, were enough to give any sane believer pause. There were some true believers left, like the British historian Eric Hobsbawm, but the world generally reacted to them with the incredulity deserved for a person standing on top of a pile of corpses promising that with just a few more deaths he could make the whole thing right.

Yr had a region called the Fear-bog. Lactamaeon had taken her there once to see the monsters and corpses of her nightmares accumulating there from year after year of terrifying dreams. They had swum through the almost solid ground. She had said, What is that awful stench? Shame and secrecy, Bird-one, shame and secrecy , he had answered.

To me there was no catharsis, only an unearthing of rotting corpses of memories, a baring og still suppurating wounds.

But that's war for you. An ugly business that only leaves bad men better off. Why folk insisted on singing about great warriors all the time, Rikke couldn't have said. Why not sing about really good fishermen, or bakers, or roofers, or some other folk who actually left the world a better place, rather than heaping up corpses and setting fire to things? Was that behaviour to encourage?

Aliz sighed. "War is terrible, isn't it?" "It blights the landscape, throttles commerce and industry, kills the innocent and rewards the guilty, thrusts honest men into poverty and lines the pockets of profiteers, and in the end produces nothing but corpses, monuments and tall tales.

Stacked up after the plague came through, spread out after a battle?' 'Aye, I've seen that.' 'Did you notice some of those corpses had a kind of glow about them? A sweet smell like roses on a spring morning?' Shivers frowned. 'No.' 'The good men and the bad, then – all looked about the same, did they? They always did to me, I can tell you that.

Clover strolled past, shaking his head. What a waste. Waste of people, waste of things, waste of effort. But that was war for you. Nothing he hadn't seen a dozen times before. If the Great Wolf wanted to decorate his new land with corpses and have creaking ropes for music, then who was he to complain?

He frowned over at a set of great pots, man high, fires banked underneath 'em, steam pouring from inside. "What the bloody hell are the pots for?" asked Scenn. "Soup or something?" "They're for rendering down the corpses, d'you see." Isern frowned at her spear's bloody head. "So they can get at the bones." Scenn shook his head in disbelief. "What a pack of arseholes.

War is terrible, isn't it?' 'It blights the landscape, throttles commerce and industry, kills the innocent and rewards the guilty, thrusts honest men into poverty and lines the pockets of profiteers, and in the end produces nothing but corpses, monuments and tall tales.

Evil rules, and good men must needs be outlaws—or corpses—if they're to stay good. So

The industrial way of life leads to the industrial way of death. From Shiloh to Dachau, from Antietam to Stalingrad, from Hiroshima to Vietnam and Afghanistan, the great specialty of industry and technology has been the mass production of human corpses.

The angel of the Lord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.So Sennacherib king of Assyria departed.

Other times, the corpses bear no apparent injuries, and it is these that fill Jutta with dread: people who look like they are a moment away from rising up and slogging back to work with the rest of them.

To make sure I learned the etiquette of grieving, Granny took me with her to the many funerals she attended. O Death, where is thy sting? Search me. I grew up looking at so many corpses that I still feel a faint touch of surprise whenever I see people move.

I ought to be able to invent words capable of blowing the odor of corpses in a direction other than straight into mine and the reader's face.

If you look at the history of technology gadget makers, hardware makers, it's littered with the corpses of Palm and RIM and companies like that.

If atheism solved all human woe, then the Soviet Union would have been an empire of joy and dancing bunnies instead of the land of corpses.

Agriculture is now a motorized food industry, the same thing in its essence as the production of corpses in the gas chambers and the extermination camps, the same thing as blockades and the reduction of countries to famine, the same thing as the manufacture of hydrogen bombs.