Quotes About Blood

My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!" The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip

The Lord's judgment of who you are and what you are worth is more accurate than what you think of yourself because His view is eternal. He doesn't appraise you by investigating temporary issues such as who you know, where you live, your title, your income, or how you look. Rather, He sees you through the blood of Jesus and desires for you to seek Him wholeheartedly.

Friend, you don't have to earn God's love or try harder. You're precious in His sight, covered by the priceless blood of Jesus, and indwelt by His Holy Spirit. Don't hide your heart or fear you're not good enough for Him to care for you. Accept His love, obey Him, and allow Him to keep you in His wonderful freedom.

Salvation has nothing to do with our behavior, but it has everything to do with the grace of God, the love of God, the goodness of God, the mercy of God, and the blood of Jesus Christ.

The hard journalism that covers greed and violence and malevolence — we would almost expect the ink to glimmer red, as does the spilt blood of mankind — but there it is, always staring back at us in cold, fact-black.

I hate mosquitoes. I mean, I know I'm delicious but dang!

come scarlet leaves and falling light this time of year — October-blood runs through the veins of autumn — slowing heartbeat and longer breaths shorter daytimes and chilling nights warm hearts and sanguine thoughts

A pessimist's blood type is always B-negative.

Emily Dickinson's poetry is life — blood — spirit. Her passion fills all the poems, till they are like alabaster filled with flame.

My youth is like a scab: under it there is a wound that every day leaks blood. It disfigures me.

Das Blut allein macht lange noch den Vater nicht.

Communism, my friend, is more than Marxism, just as Catholicism is more than the Roman Curia. There is a mystique as well as a politick. Catholics and Communists have committed great crimes, but at least they have not stood aside, like an established society, and been indifferent. I would rather have blood on my hands than water like Pilate.

I don't care a damn about men who are loyal to the people who pay them, to organizations...I don't think even my country means all that much. There are many countries in our blood, aren't there, but only one person. Would the world be in the mess it is if we were loyal to love and not to countries?

The blood in my veins is frozen but it sings of love.

I cannot attain righteousness by my own merit or good works. It is a grace-based free gift from God, and it comes only through faith in Christ's blood sacrifice on the cross.

Maybe that's what your machine calls infection—all the new information in my blood. Chatter. Tastes of other individuals. Peers. Superiors. Subordinates.

Perhaps, but this Awakening felt very different from those in the past. A peculiar sensation seemed to spread throughout his body, propelled by the very beating of his heart. Within his veins, lycan blood mixed with his own, merging in an unexpected alchemical reaction. He felt a change come over him, a fundamental transformation in his very nature. Power such as he had never known surged through his veins. His eyes snapped open, revealing a pair of jet-black orbs. Hybrid eyes.

He was best known, however, for his instinct. Jade had instinct like a tiger on the prowl; it seemed to come from the very blood running in his veins.

Each night, I knelt on a marble slab and scrubbed at the blood. I scrubbed for years and still it was there. But tonight the bones in my feet begin to burn. I stand up and start walking, and the slab appears under my feet with each step, a white road only as long as your body.

Today you are walking in Paris the women are all steeped in blood It was and I'd rather not remember it was at beauty's decline

Matar a alguien no deja indiferente a nadie. A nadie. No se mata a sangre fría, como piensan los que no han matado. Se mata a sangre caliente. Un avispero recorre las venas de quien asesina. Se siente en el dedo que va a jalar el gatillo. Un aguijoneo que provoca un golpe de sangre en el cerebro.

No se mata a sangre fría, como piensan los que no han matado. Se mata a sangre caliente. Un avispero recorre las venas de quien asesina.

Pedí a las bailarinas que no se abochornaran por la sangre. Era la condición femenina expresándose en forma natural y bastaba de avergonzarse por ello. Debíamos mostrar —según matizaba Lucien— «aquello que nos negamos a ver, pero está ahí».

God is an energy, rather than an anthropomorphic being, and God's language is biology. Red blood cells, the principle of magnetic attraction, neurological synapse: each is a miracle, and in each is the presence and flow of God.