Quotes About Violence

She is a woman, and so she dreams of freedom, of an hour in which there is no duty waiting to be done. No wonder there is revolution burning in her words, and yet they remain always words and never violence.

When a suicide bomber activates his or her belt, his head is nearly always separated from the top of the torso: it is known to the police as the mushroom effect.

The world is run by brutal men and the surest proof is their armies.

In following the Way, the noble-minded treasure three things: a manner free of violence and arrogance, a countenance full of sincerity and trust, a voice free of vulgarity and impropriety.

Mencio: ¿Hay alguna diferencia entre matar a alguien con una espada o en hacerlo con un palo? El rey: No hay diferencia. Mencio: ¿Hay alguna diferencia entre matar a alguien con una espada o con un mal gobierno? El Rey:No hay diferencia.

You can't just physically beat a man and expect him not to retaliate. Insults, slaps, threats go just so far. You've got to go for the jugular. You've got to finish the job in a clean sweep. What do the French call it? Coup de grace, as believe. I did learn a few things from living with Charlie.

Homophobia is like racism and anti-Semitism and other forms of bigotry in that it seeks to dehumanize a large group of people, to deny their humanity, their dignity and personhood. This sets the stage for further repression and violence that spread all too easily to victimize the next minority group.

I must remind you that starving a child is violence. Neglecting school children is violence. Punishing a mother and her family is violence. Discrimination against a working man is violence. Ghetto housing is violence. Ignoring medical need is violence. Contempt for poverty is violence.

You keep runnin that mouth and I'm goin to take you back there and screw you.

He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

When the shooting starts would you rather be armed or legal?

Each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins.

Rich dreams now which he was loathe to wake from. Things no longer known in the world. The cold drove him forth to mend the fire. Memory of her crossing the lawn toward the house in the early morning in a thin rose gown that clung to her breasts. He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

This country was filled with violent children orphaned by war.

Ye carry war of a madman's making onto a foreign land. Ye'll wake more than the dogs.

Curious the small and lesser fates that join to lead a man to this. The thousand brawls and stoven jaws, the clubbings and the broken bottles and the little knives that come from nowhere. For him perhaps it all was done in silence, or how would it sound, the shot that fired the bullet that lay already in his brain? These small enigmas of time and space and death.

The mother dead these fourteen years did incubate in her own bosom the creature who would carry her off. The father never speaks her name, the child does not know it. He has a sister in this world that he will not see again. He watches, pale and unwashed. He can neither read nor write and in him broods already a taste for mindless violence. All history present in that visage, the child the father of the man.

He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins.

The men poured gasoline on them and burned them alive, having no remedy for evil but only for the image of it as they conceived it to be.

He looked at the boy. You wont shoot, he said. That's what you think. You aint got but two shells. Maybe just one. And they'll hear the shot. Yes they will. But you wont. How do you figure that? Because the bullet travels faster than sound. It will be in your brain before you can hear it. To hear it you will need a frontal lobe and things with names like colliculus and temporal gyrus and you wont have them anymore. They'll just be soup.

Chigurh shot him through the forehead and then stood watching. Watching the capillaries break up in his eyes. The light receding. Watching his own image degrade in that squandered world.

But nothing is crueler than a coward, and the slaughter to come is probably beyond our imagining.

Don't flang him off the bluff, boys. Tain't christian. Let's go then. Hump up there, stranger, and let's go get hung.

each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.