Quotes About Blood

This is your last chance, honey," Brandy says, and her blood is getting all over the place. She says, "Do you love me?" It's when folks ask questions like this that you lose the spotlight.

The handwriting of blood pressure.

You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.

Un'altra cosa è che non importa quanto tu possa amare una persona: ti tirerai indietro quando il suo sangue ti scorre troppo vicino.

Otra cosa es que, por mucho que creas que quieres a alguien, te echas atrás cuando el charco de su sangre se acerca demasiado.

The single-breasted cut is symmetrical except for the hole pumping out blood.

I'm saying HELLO to everybody at work. HELLO! Look at me. HELLO! I am so ZEN. This is BLOOD. This is NOTHING. Hello. Everything is nothing, and it's so cool to be ENLIGHTENED. Like me.

There was always someone like that out there, ready to ride their hate like a horse and gallop right over anybody who wasn't like them, who had what they wanted. Someone always wanted to bathe in blood. Because hate like that didn't stay quiet.

And oh, could he smell them. It wasn't just the stench of body sweat. It was the rancid odor of human meat. With every breath they gave it off. Blood under their tongue. Long pork between their teeth. Eau de cannibal.

Sensible. I'd have done the same damn thing—er, were I not a bleeding-heart liberal. Not that I have a problem with commonsense gun ownership, friend, not at all! I just don't think I could do it. Point it. Pull the trigger. Turns my blood to water, the thought of it. I

You see, the flowers on cherry trees used to be white. Pure white, like snow. So why do you think cherry blossoms turned that pale crimson shade? It's because they drink the blood from the corpse underneath the tree.

What the blood is to our bodies (life), the Blood of Christ is to the Bible. Take the scarlet word out of the Bible, and the Bible is a DEAD book.

Laziness breeds humors of the blood

Simon blurted, Can I put the dead hand in my blood? May I put the dead hand in my blood, Adele corrected. Yes, go ahead.

There was a memory and a promise of blood in the air.

He was to be their page, their book, the vessel for their autobiographies. A book of blood. A book made of blood. A book written in blood.

They will say your doubts shed innocent blood. But I say - what's blood for, if not for shedding?

Everybody is a book of blood; Wherever we're opened, we're red. The Book of Blood The dead have highways.

Every part of the dead kid's anatomy was swaying hypnotically. The tongue, hanging from the open mouth. The head, lolling on its slit neck. Even the youth's penis flapped from side to side on his plucked groin. The head wound and the open jugular still pulsed blood into a black bucket. There was an elegance about the whole sight: the sign of a job well done.

I'm what the botanists call a hybrid, he said the first time Cora heard him speak, A mixture of two different families. In flowers, such a concoction pleases the eye. When that amalgamation takes its shape in flesh and blood, some take great offence. In this room we recognize it for what it is - a new beauty come into the world, and it is in bloom all around us.

The land she tilled and worked had been Indian land. She knew the white men bragged about the efficiency of the massacres, where they killed women and babies, and strangled their futures in the crib. Stolen babies working stolen land. It was an engine that did not stop, its hungry boiler fed with blood.

It was a glorious June morning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the ambulances were screaming, and the daylight falling on last night's crime scenes made the blood twinkle like dew in a green heaven.

I'm what the botanists call a hybrid," he said the first time Cora heard him speak. "A mixture of two different families. In flowers, such a concoction pleases the eye. When that amalgamation takes its shape in flesh and blood, some take great offense. In this room we recognize it for what it is—a new beauty come into the world, and it is in bloom all around us.

That was Sea Island cotton the slaver had ordered for his rows, but scattered among the seeds were those of violence and death, and that crop grew fast. The whites were right to be afraid. One day the system would collapse in blood. An insurrection of one. She smiled for a moment, before the facts of her latest cell reasserted themselves. Scrabbling in the walls like a rat. Whether in the fields or underground or in an attic room, America remained her warden.