Quotes About Violence

With his long hair, his hints of violence, and his promise of ecstasy, Dionysus was the first rock star.

Natural selection, as it has operated in human history, favors not only the clever but the murderous.

She had killed literally hundreds of men, usually for business reasons, but had never learned to deal with them in a one-sided amatory situation.

War so conspicuously benefits rich men and kills the poor ones.

Forgive me, O Heavenly Father, according to the multitude of Thy mercies. I have lusted in my heart to break a man's skull and scatter the stench of his brains across several people's back yards.

It's monstrous, what one person will do to another.

He spoke for an hour on the nonviolent road to independence. The crowd loved it so much they rioted and killed twelve people.

Come on, people. Doesn't anybody remember how to take a big old knife, whack open a pumpkin, scrape out the seeds, and bake it? We can carve a face onto it, but can't draw and quarter it? Are we not a nation known worldwide for our cultural zest for blowing up flesh, on movie and video screens and/or armed conflict? Are we in actual fact too squeamish to stab a large knife into a pumpkin? Wait till our enemies find out.

We were not made for this killing thing, I swear. Back up. Big mistake.

But this boy in a French or British factory, standing in his leather overall welding the casing on a metal bomb; what can he see? That thing will fly through the air, fall hundreds of miles away, and kill boys in leather overalls in a German factory. the reports will roar victory or defeat, and boys will never know how alike their lives have been.

I read in a book that they cut off the workers' hands if they hadn't collected enough rubber by the end of the day. The Belgian foremen would bring baskets full of brown hands back to the boss, piled up like a mess of fish. Could this be true of civilized white Christians?

mouthwise, June was an AR-15. Instant reload, engineered to kill.

I tried to explain the whole human-being aspect of everybody needing to dump on somebody. Stepdad smacks mom, mom yells at the kid, kid finds the dog and kicks it. (Not that we had one. I wrecked some havoc on my Transformers though.) We're the dog of America.

There's no more blood here to give, just war wounds. Madness. A world of pain, looking to be killed.

It is possible to establish zero tolerance for murder as a solution to anything

But it was no exaggeration, he'd witnessed this very thing in a market square in Boston: the crude effigy dangling from a noose, the monkey's tail pinned to the stuffed trousers, the murderous crowd chanting Lock him up!

If I got to make just one law, it would be that the men who make the decisions to drop bombs would first, every time, have to spend one whole day taking care of a baby. We were not made to do this killing thing. I swear. Back up. It's a big mistake.

Solitary confinement, where no others are in the prisoner's space, always has a calming effect. Violence from passengers on aircraft increased during the 1990's when the airlines started packing people close together in the seats to compensate for revenue lost as a result of price discounting.

Yer nasty bugger!' she cried passionately. 'It was only an accident. The lass didn't do it on purpose.' She regarded Murgatroyd through blazing eyes. 'If I ever sees yer strike that lass again, yer life won't be worth living. I promise yer that. I won't go ter the Squire. Indeed I won't! I'll tell her

bloody father! And yer knows what's in store for yer if Big Jack Harte gets his hands on yer. He'll make bloody mashed potatoes out of yer!

I will kill you, and I shall do so in such a way, this world will cease its wars. The world shall be unified in its mourning, not because it misses you, but because of the atrocities which I, alone, will have wrought upon your mangled corpse. And even after the cannons fall silent, I will never be caught. New monsters will be born into folklore to explain what I have done to you.

Three guys just tried to kill me in Hong Kong." "What?" "Three guys just tried to kill me in Hong Kong." "I heard you. Are you serious?" I didn't detect anything in his voice, but it was hard to tell over the phone. And he was smoother now than when I'd first met him. "You think I make this shit up to amuse you?" I said.

The second guy moved the gun, trying to track me, the movements overlarge and shaking. Then, maybe because he saw the cool bead I was drawing on him, his nerve broke. He started shooting in a spray-and-pray pattern, his eyes closed, his body hunching forward involuntarily. Pffft. Pffft. Pffft. Small clouds of dust kicked up along the concrete around me, puffing out lazily in my adrenalized slow-motion vision. I heard the sounds of ricochets. Someone screamed.

Saturn Devouring His Son