Quotes About Violence

Until women are deeply involved in opposing the violence in the world, we are not going to bring it to an end. All women must be equally at the forefront of the movements for social justice. And

Dirt washes off more easily than blood

A trained surgeon is also a potential killer, and an important bit of the training lies in accepting the fact. Your intent is entirely benign - or at least you hope so - but your are laying violent hands on someone, and you must be ruthless in order to do it effectively. And sometimes the person under your hands will die, and knowing that . . . you do it anyway.

You tell me exactly what happened, ye filthy wee pervert," Fraser whispered, his breath hot on Grey's face and smelling of ale. He shook Grey slightly. "Every word. Every motion. Everything." Grey got just enough breath to answer. "No," he said defiantly. "Go ahead and kill me.

If it was killing-and it was- then I thought it not murder, but a justifiable homicide, undertaken in desperate self defense.

The thing was, some men needed killing. The Church didn't admit that, save it was war. The Mohawk understood it fine. So did Uncle Jamie.

I suppose so." An oath was an oath, though I rather wondered if Hippocrates ever ran into this sort of situation himself. Possibly he did; the ancient Greeks were a violent lot, too. The

Fraser nodded casually toward Twelvetrees. "Is there anything ye want me to beat out of him?

A brown, rocklike fist rose out of the mass and descended with considerable force, meeting decisively with some bony protuberance, by the sound of the resultant crack.

There was a sudden whoosh from above, followed immediately by a blur before my eyes and a dull thud. Captain Randall was on the ground at my feet, under a heaving mass that looked like a bundle of old plaid rags. A brown, rocklike fist rose out of the mass and descended with considerable force, meeting decisively with some bony protuberance, by the sound of the resultant crack. The Captain's struggling legs, shiny in tall brown boots, relaxed quite suddenly. I

A man killed with a musket was just as dead as one killed with a mortar. It was just that the mortar killed impersonally, destroying dozens of men, while the musket was fired by one man who could see the eyes of the one he killed. That made it murder, it seemed to me, not war. How many men to make a war? Enough, perhaps, so they didn't really have to see each other?

She pulled my hair, he said reflectively. Took a clump of it out by the roots. I'll tell ye, Sassenach; if ever I feel the need to change my manner of employment, I dinna think I'll take up attacking women -- it's a bloody hard way to make a living.

I was having trouble with the scale of things. A man killed with a musket was just as dead as one killed with a mortar. It was just that the mortar killed impersonally, destroying dozens of men, while the musket was fired by one man who could see the eyes of the one he killed. That made it murder, it seemed to me, not war. How many men to make a war? Enough, perhaps, so they didn't really have to see each other?

I don't hold wi' rape, and we've not the time for it, anyway." I was pleased to hear this statement of policy

No," I agreed dryly. "I don't suppose he'd have been pleased, no matter what you said." "He wasn't. He backhanded me across the mouth, to shut me up.

He wondered whether Jamie would shoot him in the chest or simply break his neck when he found out. Likely bare hands, he thought. It was a visceral sort of thing, sex.

of a musket ball embedded in his

I think there are times for men of peace—and a time for men of blood, as well.

So I reached down into my workbasket, took my wee knife from its sheath, and went for his balls

It was going to be a bloody business, on both sides. He didn't like the thought but didn't shy away from it. It was war, and he was—once again—a soldier.

War seldom looks on the faces of its dead

De andere stenen begonnen te roepen. Ik hoorde het geluid van een slagveld, de kreten van stervende mannen en gewonde paarden.

Coming back, he saw the dark spots on the back of Jamie's shirt, blotches where fresh blood had seeped through the bandages. The sight filled him with fury, as well as fear. He'd seen such things; the wean had been flogged. Badly, and recently. Who? How?

Assault in any form is never OK, and I want to be very clear on that.