Quotes
Quotes about Blood
I was creating man afresh, planting him in a garden with clean white body and the innocent eyes of a deer. But he would not stay there: he must needs leap out to his plotting and blood-letting and sniggering nastiness
Politics: n. from Greek; "poli"-many; "tics"-ugly, bloodsucking
There is nothing like dream to create the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood tomorrow.
A living language is like a man suffering incessantly from small haemorrhages, and what it needs above all else is constant transactions of new blood from other tongues. The day the gates go up, that day it begins to die.
Books are good enough in their own way, but they are a mighty bloodless substitute for life.
We all know there is blood in meat (USDA hearings in Senate Ag committee).
The shriek was followed by another, louder and yet more agonizing..for once started upon that journey, the hog never came back. One by one the men hooked up the hogs and slit their throats. There was a line of hogs with squeals and lifeblood ebbing away.. until at last each vanished into a huge vat of boiling water (some still alive). The hogs were so innocent. They came so very trustingly. They were so very human in their protests. They had done nothing to deserve it. in the book THE JUNGLE.
A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs,, A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, you're hurt exclaim.
Like hungry guests, a sitting audience looks; Plays are like suppers; poets are the cooks. The founder's you: the table is the place: The carvers we: the prologue is the grace. Each act, a course, each scene, a different dish, Though we're in Lent, I doubt you're still for flesh. Satire's the sauce, high-season'd, sharp and rough. Kind masks and beaux, I hope you're pepperproof? Wit is the wine; but 'tis so scarce the true Poets, like vintners, balderdash and brew. Your surly scenes, where rant and bloodshed join. Are butcher's meat, a battle's sirloin: Your scenes of love, so flowing, soft and chaste, Are water-gruel without salt or taste.
If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater the effort the heavier the world bore down upon his shouldersâwhat would you tell him to do? I don't know. What could he do? What would you tell him? To shrug.
Nothing splendid was ever created in cold blood. Heat is required to forge anything. Every great accomplishment is the story of a flaming heart.
The Man Bitten by a Dog A man who had been bitten by a Dog went about in quest of someone who might heal him. A friend, meeting him and learning what he wanted, said, If you would be cured, take a piece of bread, and dip it in the blood from your wound, and go and give it to the Dog that bit you. The Man who had been bitten laughed at this advice and said, Why? If I should do so, it would be as if I should beg every Dog in the town to bite me. Benefits bestowed upon the evil-disposed increase their means of injuring you.
The Widow and the Sheep A certain poor widow had one solitary Sheep. At shearing time, wishing to take his fleece and to avoid expense, she sheared him herself, but used the shears so unskillfully that with the fleece she sheared the flesh. The Sheep, writhing with pain, said, Why do you hurt me so, Mistress? What weight can my blood add to the wool? If you want my flesh, there is the butcher, who will kill me in an instant; but if you want my fleece and wool, there is the shearer, who will shear and not hurt me. The least outlay is not always the greatest gain.
Ambition breaks the ties of blood, and forgets the obligations of gratitude.
Yet, still, from either beach, The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, "We are one!"
Of what use are pedigrees, or to be thought of noble blood, or the display of family portraits, O Ponticus? [Lat., Stemmata quid faciunt, quid prodest, Pontice, longo, Sanguine censeri pictosque ostendere vultus.]
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood, of all the Howards.
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
We understood Her by her sight; her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought That one might almost say her body thought. - Dr. John Donne,
Colors that blend with the brick and the dark waters of the city's canals - greens, browns and the strong shade of oxblood that is known as Bruges red.
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
Disarm, disarm. The sword of murder is not the balance of justice. Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.
When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!
Blood cannot be washed out with blood.
Peace, above all things, is to be desired, but blood must sometimes be spilled to obtain it on equable and lasting terms.
