Blood Quotes
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Nowadays, people wanted to tell you class didn't exist and color didn't matter anymore. Look at Miss America and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But Miss America and the chairman were no more black people than Mother Teresa was white people. Men like Nate and women like her were the people, the folks, the mud from which the rest were made. It was their hands and blood and sweat that had built everything, from the North Carolina governor's mansion to the first stoplight.
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I will continue to defend Najaf as it is the holiest place. I will remain in the city until the last drop of my blood has been spilled.
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Either you will be under the blood or you will place the blood under you.
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I like to get the blood flowing and get as loose as I can possibly get. It's not very difficult to hurt yourself out there if you aren't prepared, especially in a Fatal Four Way.
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We may well lie with what seems to be a woman of flesh and blood, and yet all the time it is only a devil in the shape of a woman.
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Can you expect to go to heaven for nothing? Did not our Savior track the whole way to it with His tears and blood? And yet you stop at every little pain.
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Wound me . . . I can only feed on my humiliated blood.
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Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes.
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Being Indian is not blood as much as it is culture.
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It is a sunny fall afternoon and I’m engaged in one of my favorite pastimes—picking chestnuts. I’m playing alone under the spreading, leafy, protective tree. My mother is sitting on a bench nearby, rocking the buggy in which my sister is asleep. The city, beyond the lacy wall of trees, is humming with gentle noises. The sun has just passed its highest point and is warming me with intense, oblique rays. I pick up a reddish brown chestnut, and suddenly, through its warm skin, I feel the beat as if of a heart. But the beat is also in everything around me, and everything pulsates and shimmers as if it were coursing with the blood of life. Stooping under the tree, I’m holding life in my hand, and I am in the center of a harmonious, vibrating transparency. For that moment, I know everything there is to know. I have stumbled into the very center of plenitude, and I hold myself still with fulfillment, before the knowledge of my knowledge escapes me.
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But a hare, now, that is a different thing altogether. A hare is not a pet but a person. Hares are clever and brave and loving, and they have fairy blood in them. It’s a grand thing to have a hare for a friend.
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The brave man, indeed, calls himself lord of the land, through his iron, through his blood.
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Their knees were purple like a machete in the mouth of a horse I’d loved and kissed and cannot remember now but for how one day he’d simply disappeared into my blood.
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Male homosexuals have seduced and abused millions of underage boys. Their unclean sexual habits and ultra-promiscuous lifestyle have resulted in spreading the worst communicable plague in this century, the specter of AIDS, which has not only killed millions of their own, but also millions of others, including tens of thousands who contracted the virus from blood transfusions.
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Does the open wound in another's breast soften the pain of the gaping wound in our own? Or does the blood which is welling from another man's side staunch that which is pouring from our own? Does the general anguish of our fellow creatures lessen our own private and particular anguish? No, no, each suffers on his own account, each struggles with his own grief, each sheds his own tears.
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We have heard enough about being practical and efficient and prudent. We heard it preached through several decades that these things would save the world. I think that, with the salty taste of blood and sweat on our lips, we are learning that we had best talk once again about doing what is right.
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MAKE RED YOUR CLAWS WITH HUMAN BLOOD…OBLITERATE THE HUMAN FILTH…
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I do believe that ideas ripen quickly when nourished by the blood of martyrs.
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The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.
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Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
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But never in all her human days had her blood bubbled with such a golden exultation and such blissful freedom as now when she ran, a werewolf, across the marsh.
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And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself-more birds than women flocking round his body!
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Examine well your blood.
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Randal had a stable night. We performed dialysis to continue to filter his blood. His heart gained in strength.
