Quotes About Violence

Male privilege is, in a word, violence.

She wanted to destroy something. The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear.

the story is not a pretty one. there is violence in it. And cruelty. But stories that are not pretty have a certain value, too, I suppose. Everything, as you well know (having lived in this world long enough to have figured out a thing or two for yourself), cannont always be sweetness and light.

Men and boys always want to go fight. They are always looking for a reason to go to war. It is the saddest thing. They have this abiding notion that war is fun. And no history lesson will convince them differently.

Typhon da?? kald?r?p bize f?rlatt?.

American culture is torn between our long romance with violence and our terror of the devastation wrought by war and crime and environmental havoc.

After the woods our good cheer was quelled by the faint first whiff of a real battlefield, a gagging combination of shit and gunpowder, gas and blood, decaying flesh and muddy rot.

Well, first murder, then shopping.

War is only a cowardly escape from the problems of peace. Thomas Mann, German-American author (1875–1955)

Once a restless or frayed mood has turned to anger, or violence, or psychosis, Richard, like most, finds it very difficult to see it as illness, rather than being willful, angry, irrational or simply tiresome.

Violence, especially if you are a woman, is not something spoken about with ease.

It is not an illness that lends itself to easy empathy. Once a restless or frayed mood has turned to anger, or violence, or psychosis, Richard, like most, finds it very difficult to see it as illness, rather than as being willful, angry, irrational, or simply tiresome.

It is well that war is so terrible: we should grow too fond of it.

They fought as though the most important thing was to damage each other as much as possible.

I tried to imagine me and Rosa getting so angry with each other we would start to fight like that, actually trying to damage each other's bodies. The idea seemed ridiculous, but I'd seen the taxi drivers, so I tried to find the beginnings of such a feeling in my mind. It was useless, though, and I'd always end up laughing at my own thoughts.

Abusive?" Jackson screwed up his face. "I ain't never abused a woman a day in my life." "Pòp, you just socked Desiree in the face a few weeks ago." "Aww shit. I forgot all about that. She was talking shit about your mother. What did you expect?

Pretty soon he would be stronger than she was, and bigger, some real violence in his fist. The day was coming when the ordinary demons of adolescence would wrestle with his private devils, and it could be a hell.

Then he reached up and tore my shirtfront open. Not much to see, is there? I said, struggling to talk with a crushed windpipe. I know, I know, they can fix things like that these days. Call me a feminist, but I think a woman's worth should be defined not by the size of her bust, but - I rammed my fist up into his Adam's apple. He grunted and stumbled back. - by the strength of her right hook.

Speaking of death, LeBlanc boasted he could kill me in the waiting room. I broke his wrist. He wasn't impressed.

Before we left town, Antonio pulled into a strip mall and went in to get subs and salads, leaving Clay and me half naked and bleeding in the car, and Cain unconscious in the trunk. No wonder I was anxious to get back to Toronto. Spend too much time around these guys and you become a little too nonchalent about blood-soaked clothes and bodies in the trunk

I'm not a shrink. Never been to one. Shot a couple. Don't think that counts.

Switchblade, I said. Nice. I could use one of those. That's not enough? He whispered, pointing at my gun. It does the job, if the job us to kill. I need a backup that's not always so lethal. You could try getting yourself into fewer situations where you need a weapon.

My foggy brain slid away and— And I was still dressed in only my bra and panties. Well, at least it's a nice set of bra and panties. Yep, these were the thoughts going through my brain as I looked at a photo of a decapitated head on my bed.

Nothing says 'I love you' like 'I tracked down this guy for you to kill