Quotes About Violence

Rake was an atmosphere, a heart-thudding, terror-threaded presence no-one could ignore, much less escape. Violence, antiquity, sombre pathos, and darkest horror – the Son of Darkness was a gelid eddy in immortality's current, and the Mhybe could feel, crawling beneath her very skin, every Rhivi spirit awakened in desperation.

This was the lure of violence, and violence did not begin at the moment of physical assault; it began earlier, in all the thoughts that led up to it, in that storm of vehemence and venom. Rage beckoned violence

And why would a monk slit my throat, Stillwater?' She shrugged. 'Who can figure out the mind of a monk?

War is not a natural state. It is an imposition, and a damned unhealthy one. With its rules, we willingly yield our humanity. Speak not of just causes, worthy goals. We are takers of life.

The gentler and kinder the god, the more harsh and cruel its worshippers, for they hold to their conviction with taut certainty, febrile in its extremity, and so cannot abide dissenters. They will kill, they will torture, in that god's name.

I sometimes think we only invented war when we ran out of animals to kill.

Oh, we take you into slaughter without a moment's thought. And yes, some of you come to enjoy it, to lust for that cacophony, that violence, the reek of blood. And so we share with you, dear horse, our peculiar madness. But who judges us for this crime against you and your kind? No one. Unless you horses have a god.

You mean, a little bit of wholesale slaughter is all right, Sergeant?

Tene Baralta's mailed hand was a blur as it flashed out and struck Mebra, the spurred links raking deep gashes across the man's face. Blood spattered the wall. The spy reeled back, hands to his torn face.

Why are dumb brutes so damned smart, anyway?' 'Why are us smart folk so often stupidly brutal, Quick Ben?' Trull asked. 'Stop trying to confuse me in my state of animal terror, Edur.

Oh, we take you into slaughter without a moment's thought. And yes, some of you come to enjoy it, to lust for that cacophony, that violence, the reek of blood. And so we share with you, dear horse, our peculiar madness. But who judges us for this crime against you and your kind? No one. Unless your horses have a god.

Why is it easier to get men to go to war than to see a counselor?

Did they scalp you?

The first thing I want to make clear is that this violence, this terrorism, is not cultural. It isn't integral either to Arab or Muslim culture. I've done too many briefings for senators and congressmen who think that all 'towelheads' carry a pistol and a grenade. If you can't see beyond this stereotype, then we might as well stop now.

The idiot willingness to choose sides is what feeds the abattoir of history.

He said souls can be just as bloody and torn up as bodies can. He called it the other kind of violence.

This is why reading the scriptures as a scientific text can do violence to their purpose. They are designed to connect us subjectively, consciously, and spiritually to richer truths and meaning.

But the killers were not gladiators. They were ordinary people, and their victims were unarmed men and women and children, all savagely slaughtered without mercy.

As a historian, Titus saw a sad and bitter irony in such a twist of fortune, and he looked on the games themselves as yet another example of the futility of human affairs, the endless cycle of violence and larceny attended by empty promises, half-truths, and outright lies. The crowd, on the other hand, including his fellow senators, seemed merely to see the grand spectacle as it occurred in the moment.

If you were going to shoot a mime, would you use a silencer?

Instinctively, he reached for his knife, fumbled fro fractions of a second with the thong of a purse, tore it loose. He stabbed frantically at the thing that surrounded him, tore the blade through cloth and hair and flesh. One part fell away, a languid, dead flailing of limbs and hair. The other gripped him, and even though he had stabbed a limb, would not release him.

You are a violent young man, which is quite at odds with the more mystical side of your character, which I am assured exists.

She was wary of her father, for she had seen him kill, but for her mother she reserved a quiet terror, blended with awe and a sliver of love. Although Amytis had never raised a hand against her, and rarely spoke sharply, the girl appreciated that, given the opportunity, Amytis was capable of being far more deadly than her husband.

Magravandias was a an inexorable force. The great red, purple and black banners of Madragore surged across the world, bringing war and devastation in the names of peace and God.