Quotes
Quotes about Blood
How can we speak of right and justice if we take an innocent creature and shed its blood? How can we pray to God for mercy if we ourselves have no mercy? Nobel laureate in literature.
Sometimes democracy must be bathed in blood.
Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch! I am descended of a gentler blood. Thou art no father nor friend of mine.
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And welt'ring in his blood; Deserted at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed; On the bare earth expos'd he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes.
Fair insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins would bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies. The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
Blood hath been shed ere now, i' th' olden time, Ere humane stature purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been performed Too terrible for the ear. The time has been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end. But now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools. This is more strange Than such a murder is.
George Tenet's charm covers his arms as a velvet sheath covers a bloodied sword. *** George Tenet head of Murder Inc. whose agency has had Afghanis die under their interrogation cannot be trusted not to plant WMD's in Iraq.
The very emphasis of the commandment: Thou shalt not kill, makes it certain that we are descended from an endlessly long chain of generations of murderers, whose love of murder was in their blood as it is perhaps also in ours.
Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and numbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me - I am happy.
The chalice is ephemeral. Jesus' blood eternal.
Terror is as much a part of the concept of truth as runniness is of the concept of jam. We wouldn't like jam if it didn't, by its very nature, ooze. We wouldn't like truth if it wasn't sticky, if, from time to time, it didn't ooze blood.
Far below and around lay the city like a ragged purple dream. The irregular houses were like the broken exteriors of cliffs lining deep gulches and winding streams. Some were mountainous; some lay in long, monotonous rows like, the basalt precipices hanging over desert canons. Such was the background of the wonderful, cruel, enchanting, bewildering, fatal, great city. But into this background were cut myriads of brilliant parallelograms and circles and squares through which glowed many colored lights. And out of the violet and purple depths ascended like the city's soul, sound and odors and thrills that make up the civic body. There arose the breath of gaiety unrestrained, of love, of hate, of all the passions that man can know. There below him lay all things, good or bad, that can be brought from the four corners of the earth to instruct, please, thrill, enrich, elevate, cast down, nurture or kill. Thus the flavor of it came up to him and went into his blood.
Madam, you have bereft me of all words. Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, And there is such confusion in my powers As, after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude, Where every something being blent together Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy Expressed and not expressed.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir: We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name.
March: Its stone, Bloodstone.
The fellow mixes blood with his colors.
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
All the passions are nothing else than different degrees of heat and cold of the blood. [Fr., Toutes les passions ne sout autre chose que les divers degres de la chaleur et de la froideur du sang.]
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? Some bloody passion shakes your very frame. These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, They do not point on me.
Hands across the sea, Feet on English ground, The old blood is bold blood, the wide world round.
The line of red are lines of blood, nobly and unselfishly shed by men who loved the liberty of their fellowmen more than they loved their fellowmen more than they lover their own lives and fortunes. God forbid that we would have to use the blood of America to freshen the color of the flag. But if it should ever be necessary, that flag will be colored once more, and in being colored will be glorified and purified.
