Quotes About Blood

Plant life instead of animal food is the keystone of regeneration. Jesus used bread instead of flesh and wine in place of blood at the Lord's Supper.

I smell blood and an era of prominent madmen.

One never tires of what is well written, style is life! It is the very blood of thought!

A repeating refrain I wrote for Bones & Ash, the theatrical adaptation of this novel, is the spine upon which the story rests: "We take blood, not life, and leave something in exchange." In order to answer any of the questions the book raises we must take blood—metaphorically speaking. That is, we must learn how to break through the surface, find the deep dangerous place where blood flows without hurting one other, and share all that we know and love in order to survive.

I hadn't thought to bring anything to wash down the blood. I wondered if they had a font for holy water, and whether anyone would object to me using it as a drinking fountain. Though given that I was trying to absorb vampire magic, using holy water as a chaser probably wasn't a great idea.

I sleep on a tar roof scream my songs into lazy floods of stars… a white powder paddles through blood and heart and the returns pure and easy… This city is on my side.

Since people are animals—especially ones who've been encouraged their entire lives to view you as a natural predator who's constantly seeking to kill, maim, defame, and oppress them—they tend to smell blood with every escalating gesture of compassion. It emboldens them to bite the hand that meekly holds out the olive branch.

Our family is involved in our life's journey long before we are born and long after we die. Some of our family is connected by blood and others only by love.

Those who lament the dissolution of the American family-kids with no way to get to Girl Scouts, aging parents put into nursing homes-should remember what it was that kept the American family together: women's blood.

Tell it, I pray thee. And let me cow'ring stand, and be my touch The valley's ice: there is a pleasure in it. Yea, when the cold blood shoots through every vein; When every pore upon my shrunken skin A knotted knoll becomes, and to mine ears Strange inward sounds awake, and to mine eyes Rush stranger tears, there is a joy in fear.

This book is written in blood. Is it written entirely in blood? No, some of it is written in tears.

Oturma odas?nda kan görmekten herkes korkar, 'Ac? çeken birini görmeye dayanam?yorum,' derler, 'Onun için git, d??ar?da öl!

Yo le quería decir que el azar se parece al deseo que un beso es sólo un asalto y la cama es un ring de boxeo, que las caricias que mojan la piel y la sangre amotinan se marchitan cuando las toca la sucia rutina.

The sunrise was the colour of bad blood. It leaked out of the east and stained the dark sky red, marked the scraps of the cloud with stolen gold. Underneath it the road twisted up the mountainside towards the fortress of Fontezarmo - a cluster of sharp towers, ash-black again the wounded heavens. The sunrise was red, black and gold. The colours of their profession.

There are few men with more blood on their hands than me. None, that I know of. The Bloody-Nine they call me, my enemies, and there's a lot of 'em. Always more enemies, and fewer friends. Blood gets you nothing but more blood. It follows me now, always, like my shadow, and like my shadow I can never be free of it. I should never be free of it. I've earned it. I've deserved it. I've sought it out. Such is my punishment.

The man is a monster. The worst I have ever seen, in fact, since I last looked in the mirror. The truth? I am rotting too. I am buried alive, and already rotting. If I was not such a coward I would kill myself, but I am, and so I must content myself with killing others in the hope that one day, if I can only wade deep enough in blood, I will come out clean.

The lowly squabble over trifles. The great wage secret wars for power and wealth, and they call it government. Wars of words, and tricks, and guile, but no less bloody for that.

The man screamed, and screamed behind his mask, and the Bloody-Nine laughed, and twisted the blade. Logen might have pitied him, but Logen was far away and the Bloody-Nine had no more pity in him than the winter. Less even. He stabbed, and cut, and cut, and smiled, and the screams bubbled and died, and he let the corpse drop to the cold stones. His fingers were slick with blood and he wiped it on his clothes, on his arms, on his face—just as it should be.

Where d'you get the knife?" He wished he had one. "He gave it to me." There was a crumpled shape in the shadows by the wall, the matting all around soaked with dark blood. "This way.

You are lucky, Thorn. You are very lucky." "Doubtless. Not every girl gets to be stabbed through the face." "And by a duke of royal blood too!

Pilate also became, in a way, the first priest of the Eucharist of Christ. Christ offered the bread and wine as symbols of his body and blood, but Pilate offered Christ himself. He took him, showed him to the people, proclaimed him and broke him.

You will not live again. You will not rise from the snow Twenty-eight holes from the bayonet Five from the gun. I have made a shroud for my friend, Sad cloth. She loves, loves blood This Russian earth.

Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold - smells of nothing. Mignonette smells of water Love smells of apples And now we know Blood smells of blood.

The early chills are most pleasant to me. Torment releases me when I come there. Mysterious, dark places of habitation -- Are storehouses of labor and prayer. The calm and confident loving I can't surmount in this side of mine: A drop of Novgorod blood inside me Is like a piece of ice in foamy wine. And this can not in any way be corrected, She has not been melted by great heat, And what ever I began to glory -- You, quiet one, shine before me yet.