In my blood there is no Jewish blood. In their callous rage, all anti-Semites must hate me now as a Jew. For that reason I am a true Russian.
I'm crazy about westerns. I need to do a western once in a while. It's like you know, eating bread, eating pasta, drinking wine. It's in my blood. I need it.
Newborn screening is a public health intervention that involves a simple blood test used to identify many life-threatening genetic illnesses before any symptoms begin.
But the love of adventure was in father's blood.
Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.
No person connected with me by blood or marriage will be appointed to office.
The run I was on made Sinatra, Flynn, Jagger, Richards, all of them look like droopy-eyed armless children.
I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available. If you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body.
All my family, my blood, is mixed up now. They don't even all know each other. I just hope they don't never hate or fight each other, not knowin who they are. Cause all these people livin are brothers and sisters and cousins. All these beautiful different colors! We!... We the human Family. God says so! FAMILY!
My new year's resolution: Never be afraid to be kicked in the teeth. Let the blood and the bruises define your legacy.
If what that man did in his life, makes the blood pulse through the body of others, and makes them believe deeper in something larger than life, then his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized by the storytellers, by the loyalty, by the memory, of those who honor him and make whatever the man did live forever.
I grow stronger with every moment. I will be wild. I will be brutal. I will encircle you and conquer you. I will be more powerful than your boats and your swords and your blood lust. I will be inevitable.
They discovered that even in the face of pain that seems unbearable, even in the face of pain that wrings the last drop of blood out of your heart and leaves its scrimshaw tracery on the inside of your skull, life goes on. And pain grows dull, and begins to fade
I gazed upon the earth and saw that a body, in its tender faithlessness, had located it in the sky. A splendid scarf of blood, looming above the abyss.
We've all got the blood on our hands, we only receive what we demand.
Death is the universal salt of states; Blood is the base of all things--law and war.
Much shedding of blood, many great actions, and triumphs, toil and perseverance are the end of all things human.
I've always believed human blood is red because it really needs to draw attention to itself.
What is undeniable is that when comforts and convenience sap our energies and idealism, inactivity secretes sloth in to our minds like a poison in the blood.
Did the poet use red to symbolize blood? Anger? Lust? Or is the wheelbarrow simply red because red sounded better than black?
As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see "the River Tiber foaming with much blood.
His blood coursed through my veins sweeter than life itself. And as it did, Lestats words made sense to me. I knew peace only when I killed and when I heard his heart in that terrible rhythm, I knew again what peace could be.
I write so slowly, I could write with my own blood and not hurt myself.
A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.
the psyche has been burned and left us senseless, the world has been darker than lights-out in a closet full of hungry bats, and the whiskey and wine entered our veins when blood was too weak to carry on
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