Quotes About Violence

Ilse lost her temper at once and went into a true Burnley tantrum. She was very fluent in her rages and the volley of abusive dictionary words which she hurled at Emily would have staggered most of the Blair Water Girls. But Emily was too much at home with words to be floored so easily; she grew angry too, but in a cool, dignified, Murray way which was more exasperating than violence.

You ever hear about how when you stab somebody, it's really personal? ~ Chris Carmichael

A religious war is like killing someone over who has the better imaginary friend.

Monkey John looked at the dead boy. By God, life is cheap up here on the goddamned Canadian River. Cheap, Blue Duck answered. And it might get cheaper.

A man that will go along with six killings is making his escape a little slow.

The thing that Buffalo Hump was most grateful for, as he rode into the emptiness, was the knowledge that in the years of his youth and manhood he had drawn the lifeblood of so many enemies. He had been a great killer; it was his way and the way of his people; no one in his tribe had killed so often and so well. The killings were good to remember, as he rode his old horse deeper into the llano, away from all the places where people came.

He had hit with his closed fist and knocked her sprawling. It took talent to make Wyatt lose his temper, but Jessie knew just how to do it, and did it mainly just to have something happening. Pouring whiskey from bottle to glass was boring work.

Afterwards the members of the little war party felt fine. Torturing whites was a splendid way to spend the afternoon.

Billy the Kid shooting all those people over in New Mexico has made gunfighting real popular with the public.

If we know anything about man, it's that he's not pacific. The temptation to butcher anyone considered undesirable seems to be a common temptation, not always resisted.

What part of a man is it best to shoot at?" asked Sean. "His horse," said Jake.

Allen, it puzzles me that a man can shoot thirty-two full-grown men and women before the sheriff's men gun him down. You're more his time, maybe you can tell me. Why didn't someone just shoot the son of a bitch?

Looking in the dead bird's eye, I realized that these strange, unthought-of connections—sex and death, lust and violence, desire and degradation

Out in Montana you wouldn't be worth dirtying a man's hands on. Or his boots. So we'd handle him this way. Nice and clean.

Prensar, destrozar y despellejar eran algunas de sus actividades favoritas.

Look ma'am, those narcos that mutilate, torture, and kill others are no longer a part of us. They're no longer part of any family or community; they act against everyone. They are worth nothing. But when you bury a narco, you allow him to be a part of you again. He becomes dust, food, our brother once more. His body—dissolved in the earth—now sustains life again, instead of destroying it.

Abruptly, she let go of his wrists and allowed him to push her to her knees. She looked up, waited for his smile. And then she punched him in the nuts.

Most people are afraid of knives. If you show yourself willing to carve someone up, they tend to be afraid of you.

Maybe they know what I know, that the true way to a man's heart is six inches of metal between his ribs. Sometimes four inches will do the job, but to be really sure, I like to have six. Funny how phallic objects are always more useful the bigger they are. Anyone who tells you size doesn't matter has been seeing too many small knives.

He had this old southern idea of what a lady should be. A lady should not carry a gun and spend most of her time covered in blood and corpses. I had two words for that attitude. Yeah, those are the words.

Death, especially violent death, will turn the meanest bastard in the world into a nice guy. Why is that?

The rule is that if they have a weapon and want to take you someplace else, it is so they can kill you slower--Peter

Roland] jerked back too fast to see, and his fist was suddenly connecting with my chin. I didn't pass out, but my body went limp. Part of me was screaming silently. The other part was saying, 'Oh, what pretty trees.

Who hit you? Why, so you can go beat him up? One of the fringe benefits of being my human servant is my protection. I don't need your protection, Jean-Claude. He hurt you. And I shoved a gun into his groin and made him tell me everything he knew, I said.