Walter Sobchak: Call the medics, Dude. I'd go myself but I'm pumping blood. Might pass out. Rest easy, good buddy, you're doing fine. We got help choppering in.
Brendan Frye: Uh-huh. And he wants cash on the nail. He's a pot-skulled reef worm with more hop in his head than blood. Why pay for dirt you can't believe?
[last lines] Abby: [after shooting Visser] I'm not afraid o' you, Marty. Private Detective Visser: [laughing hysterically] Well, ma'am, if I see him, I'll sure give him the message.
Strip-Bar Exhorter: And remember, gentlemen, we're always here, two to two, A.M. to P.M., three hundred and sixty-four days and Christmas, God willing and the creek don't rise.
I started to itch to do a play again and 'Macbeth' came to the surface in my mind. I never thought I would do it in a conventional way. A sweaty Macbeth with blood on his arms coming in fresh from the battle doesn't interest me.
As I explore the wilderness of my own body, I see that I am made of blood and bones, sunlight and water, pesticide residues and redwood humus, the fears and dreams of generations of ancestors, particles of exploded stars.
I should kill you,” Kallan whispered, “and watch your blood run with the cries of my people. If I kill you, all my troubles end. And I go home to Lorlenalin, my father’s death avenged.
She wraps her arms around me and speaks in my ear. Words just for me--the poetry of --to keep me warm in the cold. With them she turns me back from ash and nothing into flesh and blood.
The toughest challenge I faced came right at the beginning of my career with 'Blood Knot,' which was trying to convince South African audiences that South African stories also had a place on the stage.
The damage that the human body can survive these days is as awesome as it is horrible: crushing, burning, bombing, a burst blood vessel in the brain, a ruptured colon, a massive heart attack, rampaging infection. These conditions had once been unifor...
I looked, and saw that Bob had entirely lost his left ear, and a large piece from his left cheek. His right eye was a little discoloured, and the blood flowed profusely from his wounds.
A match as a pen Blood on the floor as ink The forgotten gauze cover as paper But what should I write? I might just manage my address This ink is strange; it clots I write you from a prison in Greece
To shame our sins He blushed in blood; He closed His eyes to show us God; Let all the world fall down and know That none but God such love can show
I wish I could say that everything I do is for God’s glory but I can’t. And neither can you. What I can say is Jesus’ blood covers all my efforts to glorify myself.
I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and let the dark blood flow. Then there gathered the spirits of the dead, brides and unwed youths, old men worn out by labour, and tender maidens with hearts still new to sorrow.
Grant kissed my neck that I offered up like a willing victim in True Blood. Take me... Bite me. Lick me. Oh this was madness! Glorious, wonderful madness!" -Julie From: A New Addiction
Dedication. DEDICATION. That is the only way to become a writer. Write every day. Write until your fingers bleed, your eyes bleed, your soul bleeds. From that blood, stories are born. It's worth it.
I have more fear in me than I have faith, blood and soul. I fear the past and I fear the future and it makes my existence in the present moment violently fragile.
Kidney donors don't have to be close relatives of recipients, but they do need to have the right blood type. And kidneys from living donors tend to last many years longer than kidneys from deceased donors.
I will follow anyone... And remind everyone... Of enslaved Yazidi women... Raped... And forced... To donate blood to ISIS men...
These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. Memory fingers in their hair of murders Multitudinous murders they once witnessed. Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander, Treading blood from lungs that had loved laughter.
