Quotes About Violence

One night Death left his card. I was not familiar with the name he chose, but the black mourning edge was deep. I flung it back. A thousand awakenings of violence visited me then.

Her Christianity was of that peculiarly Northern Ireland brand: whenever two or three are gathered together in my name some other poor bastard is going to get a good kicking. Salmon Rushdie and I, we understand fatwas.

I learned embroidery," Kaede said, "But you can't kill anyone with a needle." "You can," Shizuka said offhandedly. "I'll show you one day.

The boys had always been her reason to stay, but now for the first time they were her reason to leave. She'd allowed violence to become a normal part of their life.

And maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was actually an unspoken instant agreement between the four women on the balcony: No woman should pay for the accidental death of this particular man. Maybe it was an involuntary, atavistic response to thousands of years of violence against women. Maybe it was for every rape, every brutal backhanded slap, every other Perry that had come before this one.

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face, of course. He's far too classy for that. Does yours hit you? And if he does, and this is the question that really interests me: Do you hit back?

It occurred to her that there were so many levels of evil in the world. Small evils like her own malicious words. Like not inviting a child to a party. Bigger evils like walking out on your wife and newborn baby or sleeping with your child's nanny. And then there was the sort of evil of which Madeline had no experience: cruelty in hotel rooms and violence in suburban homes and little girls being sold like merchandise, shattering innocent hearts.

You need to take precautions. The most dangerous time for a battered woman is after she ends the relationship,

It was so fast and violent and unexpected. Like a dear friend suddenly punching you in the face. Like some cruel god had done it on purpose. To be nasty. Picked up the tree and slammed it across the Mini in a fit of temper.

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face of course. He's far too classy for that. Does yours hit you?

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face of course. He's far too classy for that. Does yours hit you? And if he does, and this is the question that really interests me: Do you hit back? "I'm fine," she said.

The violence of her thoughts startled her and woke her up. She

A vision of Perry hitting her would flash into her head, and it would seem impossible, fantastical, absurd - even if it had happened the night before - and along with the disbelief would come shame, because she knew it must somehow be her fault, because this was a good, loving famil and she was the outsider....

In this Act, "stalking" includes the following of a person about or the watching or frequenting of the vicinity of, or an approach to, a person's place of residence, business or work or any place that a person frequents for the purposes of any social or leisure activity. —Section 8 of the Crimes (Domestic and Personal Violence) Act S

occurred to her that there were so many levels of evil in the world. Small evils like her own malicious words. Like not inviting a child to a party. Bigger evils like walking out on your wife and newborn baby or sleeping with your child's nanny. And then there was the sort of evil of which Madeline had no experience: cruelty in hotel rooms and violence in suburban homes and little girls being sold like merchandise, shattering innocent hearts. "I

It could have been so much worse. He rarely hit her face. She'd never broken a limb or needed stitches. Her bruises could always be kept secret with a turtleneck or sleeves or long pants. He would never lay a finger on the children. The boys never saw. It could be worse. Oh, so much worse. She'd read the articles about proper domestic violence victims. That was terrible. That was real. What Perry did didn't count.

Maybe if she hadn't grown up with a big brother, if she hadn't grown up with that tough Aussie tomboy mentality: if a boy hits you, you hit him right back! Perhaps if she'd wept softly and prettily the first time that Perry hit her, then maybe it wouldn't keep happening.

It is a question whether, when we break a murderer on the wheel, we do not fall into the error a child makes when it hits the chair it has bumped into.

Pull out the AK and pop you in your funny bone.

New Orleans Maniac. shoot a nigga up til his whole body aint attached.

My gun go crazy like its retarded. Red light on its like its recording.

Some days, a killing spree seems like a good idea.

It is a subtle violence, the violence of absence.

Surely it is more civilized to kill one man every few months, hold up his head for all to behold, say his name, and return home for a feast than to slaughter nameless millions.