Quotes About Blood

The doctor from the mainland came and went. Silence settled over the island again, like a displaced curtain falling back in thickened, heavier folds. For there was a different quality in the silence now. It had tasted something, rich food on which it had long been thinly rationed. Shadowy things were trooping up, called by that scent of blood, like flies that smell carrion. They were not strangers to the old house; they had been ill-fed and at a distance, now they were hungry and avid and near.

Our live experiences fixed in aphorisms stiffen into cold epigram. Our heart's blood, as we write with it, darkens into ink.

Epidermis, epidermis! How could it mean so much, when underneath, all blood was red?

The bluff on which Natchez sat was huge, and the road zigged and zagged and curled and twisted and dropped— like something Dr. Seuss might have imagined in a book titled The Cat in the Hat Drinks Blood.

Your hands are clean. Not stained with blood. You need not carry the blood of your men. Only their memories." Eli

Dang ninja vamp. Eli

I have no way to properly toast you, my Jane. The appropriate toast for a new Blood Master of a clan is from the jugular of a virgin boy or girl, with the words 'Long undeath, prosperity, scions, blood, and cattle.'" I looked at my beer. "Yeah. Beer is better. And how about 'Live long and prosper.

Blood brothers in desperation Oath of silence for the voice of a generation

La luna deja un cuchillo abandonado en el aire, que siendo acecho de plomo quiere ser dolor de sangre.

You have the blood of a poet. You have that and always will. You show, in the middle of savage things (that I like), the gentleness of your heart, that is so full of pain and light.

Sangre que ve la luz se la bebe la tierra.

Siete gritos, siete sangres, siete adormideras dobles, quebraron opacas lunas en los oscuros salones.

Ya suben los dos compadres hacia las altas barandas. Dejando un rastro de sangre. Dejando un rastro de lágrimas. Temblaban en los tejados farolillos de hojalata. Mil panderos de cristal herían la madrugada. Now the two friends climb up, up to the high balconies. Leaving a trail of blood. Leaving a trail of teardrops. Tin bell vines were trembling on the roofs. A thousand crystal tambourines struck at the dawn light.

Siete gritos, siete sangres, siete dormideras dobles, quebraron opacas lunas en los oscuros salones.

This isn't a strange place for the dance, I tell you. The mask will dance among columns of blood and numbers, among hurricanes of gold and groans of the unemployed, who will howl, in the dead of night, for your dark time.

Pero ya habrán mezclado sus sangres y serán como dos cántaros vacíos, como dos arroyos secos.

Angel and Muse approach from without; the Angel sheds light and the Muse gives form (Hesiod learned of them).  Gold leaf or chiton-folds: the poet finds his models in his laurel coppice. But the Duende, on the other hand, must come to life in the nethermost recesses of the blood.

The light is buried under chains and noisesin impudent challenge of rootless science.Through the suburbs sleepless people stagger,as though just delivered from a shipwreck of blood.

I will not see it!Tell the moon to comefor I do not want to see the bloodof Ignacio on the sand.

We have enjoyed so much freedom for so long that we are perhaps in danger of forgetting how much blood it cost to establish the Bill of Rights.

Militant nationalism needed regular transfusions of young blood to keep it alive, because it led a kind of vampiric half-life, imaginatively and emotionally draining but not visible in any mirror held up to contemporary Irish reality.

Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.

Sião ressurgiu dos crematórios e ossuários. A nação judaica ressuscitou desses milhões de mortos. É através deles que ela está viva outra vez. Não sabemos o preço de uma só gota de sangue, de uma única lágrima. Tudo é graça. Se o Eterno é o Eterno, a ele pertence a última palavra sobre cada um de nós.

She wanted there to be more blood and screeching. She wanted each death to detonate before her like a little black firework. She wanted it to matter. There was bellowing all around her, but the killing itself was soft and quiet and matter of fact. Life to death, life to death, with no more drama than turning over a counterpane.