Quotes About Blood

Death was here. The showdown wouldn't occur with the darkness of Halloween. It had come at dawn, and it bathed them in blood.

Fiction is a branch of neurology: the scenarios of nerve and blood vessels are the written mythologies of memory and desire.

Destiny is the prison and chain of the ignorant. Understand that destiny like the water of the Nile: Water before the faithful, blood before the unbeliever.

Blood is a destiny. One's genius descends in the stream from long lines of ancestry.

I used to read a lot of books and magazines about Dracula.

Blood in the water I sing, and one who shed it: deadliest hunger I sing, and one who fed it- weaving the ancient-most tale of the Sea's sending: singing the tragedy, singing the joy unending This is our shame- this is the whole Ocean's glory: this is the Song of the Twelve. Hark to the story! Hearken, and bring it to pass: swift lest the sorrow long ago laid to it's rest devour us tomarrow!

Man's guilt in history and in the tides of his own blood has been complicated by technology, the daily seeping falsehearted death.

Grass: I've invested heavily in blood futures. I have a direct line to the trading floor for polyester blood. There's a heaving mass of men crying out their bids. The blood arrives at the warehouse in the form of double-knit suits. It's the only kind of suit I wear. When I collapse in the street, paramedics rush me to the hospital, liquefy the suit and inject it in my veins.

The tremendous bruising force of history, sometimes random, often without logic or resolution, may produce a work of fiction that leans for its effectiveness on structure and pattern, on a detailed unraveling of some old perplexity or anxiety, some lingering confusion out there, in three dimensions, where the blood is thick and real but the gunshots can go uncounted.

I know a little of why there is blood in my body, pumping life into my limbs and thought into my brain. I am wanted by God.

For a moment, as his arm touched mine, he was a creature of flesh and blood, but the next he was a hallucination again, a figment of the imagination stalking down the hallway as heedless of me as ghosts, in their shadowy

In the water, a dark plume of blood blossomed by her foot; as I blinked, a thin red tendril spiraled up and curled over her pale toes, undulating in the water like a thread of crimson smoke.

Love will have its sacrifices. No sacrifice without blood.

On the great Day of Atonement when Aaron took the blood into the Holy of Holies, he laid aside all of his garments of beauty and glory and wore only the simple linen garments that the other priests wore.

Christ has suffered for sin, the just for the unjust. God can now be just, and yet the justifier of the ungodly. It tells us that there is now a complete remedy for the guilt of sin, even the precious blood of Christ; and peace, and rest of conscience for all who believe on Christ, "Whosoever believeth on Him shall not perish, but have eternal life".

Terribly black must that guilt be for which nothing but the blood of the Son of God could make satisfaction. Heavy must that weight of human sin be which made Jesus groan and sweat drops of blood in agony at Gethsemane, and cry at Golgotha, "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?

Terribly black must that guilt be, for which nothing but the blood of the Son of God could make satisfaction. Heavy

The anesthetic was amazing. His eyes flickered down and he could see his own organs beneath the film of welling blood, his lungs, his heart, and below them his diaphragm, stomach, liver. Yet there was no pain. He felt only an itch around his collarbone and a strange cold feeling, like drinking crushed ice in a tall summer drink-so cold you could feel it all the way down inside you.

The warrior in your heart says stand your ground. Feel the survival of a thousand years of ancestors in your muscles and your blood. You have all the support you need in your bones.

All that mattered was the blood. She had to bleed out the badness, bleed until she could breathe again.

And, if I said my love for you is like the hare's breath, would you feel it to be transient? So slight a thing? Or would you see it as life-giving? Wild? A thing that fills the blood, and sets the hare running?

Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel.

The caseworkers told her she was too young to remember being there, but they were wrong. She remembered the floorboards, sticky with blood, the terrifying sound of the fridge, the unstoppable thirst, and the endless blackness that came and lasted so long as she sat with her mother who would not waken.

Poetry proceeds from the totality of man, sense, imagination, intellect, love, desire, instinct, blood and spirit together.