Quotes About Blood

The child turned to look at Elizabeth, then stood up. The head was more disproportionately large than that of a human baby. Upon some reassuring noises from the adults, the the young saur ran across the grass and tumbled into Elizabeth's lap. She crooned over it, tickling and stroking; it reached up its clawed fingers to her hair and whistled. "Her name is Blathora," said Salasso. "She is two years old." . . . "Sharp teeth," warned Salasso. "And a taste for mammal blood.

The Bible is a legal document, sealed by the blood of Jesus. However, it is your believing it and your confessing it which makes it a reality to you.

What do you make of him?" I asked Elizabeth. "Apart from the fact he's clearly insane?" "What can he learn from Konrad's blood?" I said. "Except that he needs it in his body to live!" "There is something ghoulish about it." "He's like a vampyre

Rudeness, abruptness, gory tales of blood and thunder, and coarse language usually show up the greenhorn or counterfeit, and certainly the ill-bred. "The bravest are the tenderest; the gentlest are the daring.

In war time women turn to red swivel-up scarlet and carmine not in solidarity with spilt blood but as a badge of beating hearts.

The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel.

Blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.

But first, on earth as vampire sent, Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent, Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corpse.

Ah, vice! how soft are they voluptuous ways, While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape The fascination of thy magic gaze? A cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape.

At the same time the act of sacrifice is a fertilization of the mother: the chthonic serpent-demon drinks the blood, i.e., the soul, of the hero. In this way life becomes immortal, for, like the sun, the hero regenerates himself by his self-sacrifice and re-entry into the mother.

nou? tuturor ne merge ca fratelui Medardus din Elixirele diavolului a lui E.T.A. Hoffman: exist? undeva un frate neliniÈ™titor, groaznic, adic? o replic? a noastr? în persoan?, legat? de noi prin sânge, care conÈ›ine È™i adun? cu r?utate tot ceea ce noi am vrea din toat? inima s? dispar? sub mas?.

I never much cared for religion. I don't think God does, either." I was struck by how he had unwittingly described my own opinion. I, too, often wondered if one faith was any better than the other, considering how much blood had been spilled, but I kept my doubts hidden, for it was never safe to speculate aloud about religion.

When we see what blood we spill, we call out to the gods, but they have forsaken us. We shout to the ancestors; only the sound of the waters answers back. We are left to the mercy which we have for each other.

Personally I wasn't one but surprised to walk into that theater and see Jo O'Connor's ghost. I knew as soon as I put my hand on the door handle that something funny was going on. I got all sort of lightheaded." Probably the blood trying to find its way through the labyrinth of your brain.

Çünkü ayn? kan? ta??yan?n kininden beteri yoktur; çünkü insan hiç kimseden, benzediÄŸi ve benzerliÄŸinden iÄŸrendiÄŸi kiÅŸi kadar büyük bir ÅŸiddetle nefret edemez.

I'm not made to philosophize, I don't have the heart for it. My heart is more like a machine for making blood to be spilled in a knife fight...

Que no hay peor odio que el de la misma sangre, [...], porque a nadie se odia más con más intensos bríos que a aquello a que uno se parece y uno llega a aborrecer el parecido.

la insospechada furia destructora, la incesante ola de mentiras y la incapacidad de los hombres para contener al demonio de la sangre, son los estímulos más adecuados para poner con vivacidad ante los ojos del hombre pensador el problema de lo inconsciente caótico, que dormita inquieto bajo el mundo ordenado de lo consciente.

head lulled to one side, a trickle of blood dripped down the front of her dress, and her eyes stared at the ceiling, wide and unseeing. And totally dead.

Blood spurted from his nose. Okay, I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing.

Our mediator claims all of our sins and has paid for them with His blood. He provides all of the good works we need, clothing us in His—not our—righteousness. This is what it means to be saved.

I'm not the hero of this story. I'm a man who's been corrupted by his own unbearable pain. I'm a man who has too much blood on his hands to be called good.

By blood we live, the hot, the cold,To ravage and redeem the world:There is no bloodless myth will hold.

Purple cloud covered his head so that he silently attacked his own blood and likeness, a lunar countenance; stonily sank away into emptiness, when in a broken mirror a dying youth, the sister, appeared; the night engulfed the cursed race.