Quotes About Blood

I felt the faith of being, when my sins were washed by blood of holy Lamb, Jesus Christ, holy sacrifice.

The greater the kindred is, the lesse the kindnesse must bee.

The fanged shadows boiled out behind them, howling for blood, their voices creaking with the sound of snapping bones. The fallen of Hethor's own party seemed to be swept up in the pursuit, dead correct people on their trail, keening, crying, blaming. Rivers of red flowed rapidly across the stone dock in the twilight, slippery sticky blood overtaking their flight to make them trip and slide headfirst into stone bollards or pitch screaming into the sea.

Germania hitlerist? dresa ?i domina instinctele s?lbatice ale omului ?i punea în slujba ei toat? magia pe care o pot genera noaptea, t?cerea ?i fr??ia de sânge.

I leave you free to imagine any dialogue you please. Choose whatever may charm you. Have it, if you like, that they hear the voice of the blood, or that they fall in love at first sight... Conceive the wildest improbabilities. Have it that the depths of their beings are thrilled at accosting each other in slang. Tangle them suddenly in a swift embrace or a brotherly kiss. Do whatever you like.

Je vais te dire le secret; c'est tout sucré, comme un mort. « II y a trop de sang, autour de nous. « Il y a dix trous, il y a cent trous, dans des chairs, dans du bois vivant, par où le sang et la sève coulent sur le monde comme une Durance. « Il y a cent trous, il y a mille trous que nous avons faits, nous, avec nos mains.

In 1950, at Orange, a train full of Far East wounded had been stopped by the Communists who had insulted and struck the men lying on the stretchers. A Paris hospital advertising for blood donors had specified that their contribution would not be used for the wounded from Indo-China. At Marseilles, which could now be seen looming over the horizon, they had refused to disembark the coffins of the dead.

Whenever possible, at least 10 to 15 mL of blood should be withdrawn and inoculated into 2 or 3 bottles or tubes at a ratio of 1 mL of blood per 5 mL of medium.

And now I am about to live this truth, because my whole life is going to become a carefully constructed lie. Why? Because I write these words with my brothers' blood on my face. Oh, I washed the stains off weeks ago. No remnant of their loss remains on my skin for anyone to see. But their blood is there. Always, an invisible mark on me.

Thomas Jefferson had once written: "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.

Oh, well," the chief of police would say, "that's what you get for ignoring a sign written in blood.

Admittedly, there was an element of counting chickens before they hatched involved in my "next couple of minutes" prediction, since there were still plenty of places that bodies could be hidden. Or, for that matter, sitting out in the open with "Surprise!" written on the floor in their blood. But like I've always said, it's easier to count eggs that are just lying there in the nest than baby chickens that are running all over the place.

I don't have any blood?" "Not a drop. It's being stored in jars in a freezer somewhere in the facility. Do you want to see it?

He was walking toward the lighthouse along the trail, but the moon was hemorrhaging blood into its silver circle, and he knew that terrible things must have happened to Earth for the moon to be dying

But there would come a terrible and obliterating day when beauty was the only thing that mattered, and it mattered little if the pure part of beauty was blood. And on that day, the globes embedded in the walls hurt to look upon because the price paid for the wonders displayed within was too high. It had become a death cult, under a veneer of what was inevitable and necessary, and anything else was illogical.

The boy in war is, to an extent found in almost no other form of work, inextricably bound up with the men and materials of his labor. … He is a fragment of American earth wedged into an open hillside in Korea and reworked by its unbearable sun and rain. … He is a light brown vessel of red Australian blood that will soon be opened and emptied across the rocks and ridges of Gallipoli from which he can never again become distinguishable.

Como él, millares de inocentes en el mundo viajaban en coches oscuros, con los ojos vendados, tragando su propia sangre, hacia un destino inicuo. El destino de la víctima es siempre el mismo: ¡terrible!

Why should I be afraid? No one has hurt me. Winter nights are quiet here. If some stars are soaked with blood, it is because the sun has penetrated the dark sweet body. Night is screaming, and its screams become stars, don't you see? But that has nothing to do with US; so why should I be afraid of Night?

We do not know the worth of one single drop of blood, one single tear. All is grace. If the Almighty is the Almighty, the last word for each of us belongs to him.

Só quero Deus. Quero Deus dentro de mim. Quero que Deus brinque na minha corrente sanguínea da mesma forma que a luz do sol se diverte na água

Oi'm always noble, sir; it's in my blood. 'As been ever since Oi ate that knight a few years back. Why?

Perhaps the wine had mingled with the blood in his veins, and now he was part grape.

History it seemed could be something entirely different a splash of blood whose agony didn't fade overnight or over centuries.

Didn't Catholicism deal with blood and resurrected flesh on a daily basis? Wasn't it expert in superstition?