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“Beware! Abstain from shedding blood without a valid cause. There is nothing more harmful than this which brings about one’s ruin. The blood that is willfully shed shortens the life of a state. On the Day of Judgement it is this crime for which one will have to answer first. So, beware! Do not wish to build the strength of your state on blood for, it is this blood which ultimately weakens the state and passes it into other hands. Before me and my God no excuse for willful killing can be entertained.”
― Hazrat Ali Ibn Abu-Talib A.S

“When one wants to be famous, one has to dive gracefully into rivers of the blood of cannon-blasted bodies.”
― Comte de Lautréamont, Maldoror and Poems

“They say blood is thicker than water. It's also more treacherous, prone to betrayal, full of shit and quite honestly, I wouldn't put much weight into it at all.”
― Ashly Lorenzana

“Sometimes it is easier to feel the veins wilted and empty than to sense the coldness of blood in fear”
― Munia Khan

“There's folly in her stride
that's the rumor
justified by lies
I've seen her up close
beneath the sheets
and sometime during the summer
she was mine for a few sweet months in the fall
and parts of December

((( To get to the heart of this unsolvable equation, one must first become familiar with the physical, emotional, and immaterial makeup as to what constitutes both war and peace. )))

I found her looking through a window
the same window I'd been looking through
She smiled and her eyes never faltered
this folly was a crime

((( The very essence of war is destructive, though throughout the years utilized as a means of creating peace, such an equation might seem paradoxical to the untrained eye. Some might say using evil to defeat evil is counterproductive, and gives more meaning to the word “futile�. Others, like Edmund Burke, would argue that “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men and women to do nothing.� )))

She had an identity I could identify with
something my fingertips could caress in the night

((( There is such a limitless landscape within the mind, no two minds are alike. And this is why as a race we will forever be at war with each other.
What constitutes peace is in the mind of the beholder. )))

Have you heard the argument?
This displacement of men and women
and women and men
the minds we all have
the beliefs we all share
Slipping inside of us
thoughts and religions and bodies
all bare

((( “Without darkness, there can be no light,�
he once said. To demonstrate this theory, during one of his seminars he held a piece of white chalk and drew a line down the center of a blackboard. Explaining that without the blackness of the board, the white line would be invisible. )))

When she left
she kissed with eyes open
I knew this because I'd done the same
Sometimes we saw eye to eye like that
Very briefly,
she considered an apotheosis
a synthesis
a rendering of her folly
into solidarity

((( To believe that a world-wide lay down of arms is possible, however, is the delusion of the pacifist; the dream of the optimist; and the joke of the realist. Diplomacy only goes so far, and in spite of our efforts to fight with words- there are times when drawing swords of a very different nature are surely called for. )))

Experiencing the subsequent sunrise
inhaling and drinking
breaking mirrors and regurgitating
just to start again
all in all
I was just another gash in the bark

((( Plato once said:
“Only the dead have seen the end of war.� Perhaps the death of us all is called for in this time of emotional desperation. War is a product of the mind; only with the death of such will come the end of the bloodshed. Though this may be a fairly realistic view of such an issue, perhaps there is an optimistic outlook on the horizon. Not every sword is double edged, but every coin is double sided. )))

Leaving town and throwing shit out the window
drinking boroughs and borrowing spare change
I glimpsed the rear view mirror
stole a glimpse really
I've believed in looking back for a while
it helps to have one last view
a reminder in case one ever decides to rebel
in the event the self regresses
and makes the declaration of devastation
once more

((( Thus, if we wish to eliminate the threat of war today- complete human annihilation may be called for. )))”
― Dave Matthes, Wanderlust and the Whiskey Bottle Parallel: Poems and Stories

“They destroy lives with work. What for? They rob men of their lives. What for, I ask? My master—I lost my life in the textile mill of Nefidov—my master presented one prima donna with a golden wash basin. Every one of her toilet articles was gold. That basin holds my life-blood, my very life. That's for what my life went! A man killed me with work in order to comfort his mistress with my blood. He bought her a gold wash basin with my blood.”
― Maxim Gorky, Mother

“The day I became a writer
it wasn't the day a whore paid me in sex
in exchange for one of my books
which happened often and more and more
as time went on
it wasn't the first time someone
actually paid for one of my books
which happens less and less
as time goes on
It was the day I realized
that everything is created by man
God, Satan, Judas, phobias, excrement, even death
even women
everything is created by man
So I said to myself
shit, let me make something
let me tape together some words
and sentences
and prose
and predicates
and the residual shit that sticks to my ass after I wipe
and compose a new kind of thing
But then I realized that others had discovered this
for themselves as well
And suddenly the world became a jungle
Where everyone eats each other alive
And shits out the same shit”
― Dave Matthes, Wanderlust and the Whiskey Bottle Parallel: Poems and Stories

“The architecture of the Minotaur’s heart is ancient. Rough hewn and many chambered, his heart is a plodding laborious thing, built for churning through the millennia. But the blood it pumps—the blood it has pumped for five thousand years, the blood it will pump for the rest of his life—is nearly human blood. It carries with it, through his monster’s veins, the weighty, necessary, terrible stuff of human existence: fear, wonder, hope, wickedness, love. But in the Minotaur’s world it is far easier to kill and devour seven virgins year after year, their rattling bones rising at his feet like a sea of cracked ice, than to accept tenderness and return it.”
― Steven Sherrill, The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break

“She continue kissing me with that ferocity, so much so that her lips lightly scraped my teeth. It was only a few drops, but as the sweet metallic taste of her blood touched my tongue, a blinding ecstasy flooded my body.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“The heart beneath the breastbone pumping. The blood on its appointed rounds. Life in small places, narrow crannies. In the leaves, the toad's pulse. The delicate cellular warfare in a waterdrop. A dextrocardiac, said the smiling doctor. Your heart's in the right place. Weathershrunk and loveless. The skin drawn and split like an overripe fruit.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Suttree

“He who writes in blood and aphorisms does not want to be read, he wants to be learned by heart.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

“Only tears can hear the sound of pain
when warm blood reddens discolored stain”
― Munia Khan

“Tears are infinitely more precious than blood. Blood spurts from the body; tears stream from the soul.”
― Sweety Shinde, Arjun: Without a Doubt

“You want Paradise, you gotta build it on war, on blood, on envy and naked greed.”
― Michel Faber, The Book of Strange New Things

“All right. Here's the deal, bigshot: suck my cock. Do that and I'll let you go. Straight trade."

He unzipped his fly and pulled down the elastic front of his shorts. Something that looked like a dead whitesnake fell out. Johnny observed the thin stream of blood driz-zling from it without surprise. The cop was bleeding from every other orifice, wasn't he?

"Speaking in the literature sense," the cop said, grinning, "this particular blowjob is going to be a little more Anne Rice than Armistead Maupin. I suggest you follow Queen Victoria's advice - close your eyes and think of strawberry shortcake.”
― Stephen King, Desperation

“He thought of that heroic Colonel Pontmercy . . . who had left upon every field of victory in Europe drops of that same blood which he, Marius, had in his veins, who had grown grey before his time in discipline and in command, who had lived with his sword-belt buckled, his epaulets falling on his breast, his cockade blackened by powder, his forehead wrinkled by the cap, in the barracks, in the camp, in the bivouac, in the ambulance, and who after twenty years had returned from the great wars with his cheek scarred, his face smiling, simple, tranquil, admirable, pure as a child, having done everything for France and nothing against her.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“The word was born in the blood, grew in the dark body, beating, and took flight through the lips and the mouth. Farther away and nearer still, still it came from dead fathers and from wondering races, from lands which had turned to stone, lands weary of their poor tribes, for when grief took to the roads the people set out and arrived and married new land and water to grow their words again. And so this is the inheritance; this is the wavelength which connects us with dead men and the dawning of new beings not yet come to light.”
― Pablo Neruda

“You become a master in what you repeatedly do in consistency. Mastery is not born; it is acquired. It is not blood-linked; it is skill-learnt!”
― Israelmore Ayivor, Dream big!: See your bigger picture!

“Yo no tengo hijos. No tengo mujer. Soy un traidor a mi gente, un renegado y ladrón desertor. No soy siquiera honrado. Mi corazón he escogido la venganza, la sangre. El rojo. Sólo soy un vengador. No necesito nada más. Solo sangre, solo espada.”
― Jordi Balaguer, La maldición de Gryal

“How may I hate that which I love with such intensity of passion? How should I abhor that for which my every drop of blood is boiling?”
― Johann Ludwig Tieck

“Everything changed after AIDS,â€� Dr. Molnár had just explained to him. “From then on, blood was more dangerous than shit.”
― David Cronenberg, Consumed

“A tongue in a bag. Teeth. A room drenched in blood.”
― Richard House, The Kills

“The unchangeable price of everything more precious and valuable is blood.”
― Oscar Auliq-Ice

“I suck their blood, robbing them of life. But each time I do so, it robs me of my soul.”
― Annie Scarlotte

“The paper is my savior, the pen my blood, to words that shed my world.”
― Anthony Liccione

“Tuoni takes her by the shoulders and turns her to face him. “Remember this Anya. Dreams have power; they show old truths you are too blind to see on waking. They make you remember memories that are lost in the blood flowing through your veins. Remember her magic. Remember what she did when you wake,â€� he says before he pushes her off the cliff.”
― Amy Kuivalainen, Cry of the Firebird

“A human has seven litres of blood. This they had taught him in the army. Seven litres, which, with an arterial cut will vent a fountain two or three metres, and take three to four minutes to bleed out.”
― Richard House, The Kills

“I don’t naturally look like this. I have to feed in order to have the power to hold it.â€�
“Feed on what exactly?� Please don’t say blood, please don’t say blood, she whispered in her mind.
“Death,â€� Trajan answered. Anya didn’t know if that was better or worse.”
― Amy Kuivalainen, Cry of the Firebird

“He felt the magic pouring through his body. The tattoo twitched and with a shout of pain Vasilli could not hold in, the creature pulled itself from his body. It flopped, bloody as a newborn onto the ground and stretched its wings. It started to cry and grew to the size of a horse before it turned to Vasilli and lowered itself in a bow.
“How may I serve, Master?â€� Its voice rasped through a mouth of venomous fangs.”
― Amy Kuivalainen, Cry of the Firebird

“Oh, and Aramis? There is something else about the girl that you should know.â€�
â€Ô¨±ð²õ?â€�
“She is of Yanka’s blood line. That won’t be an issue for you will it?�
“No sir.â€� Aramis hung up the phone quickly and tried not to drop it as he put it in his coat. His hands trembled as he tried to maintain a cool, professional façade. Yanka’s blood. He had to find her and fast.”
― Amy Kuivalainen, Cry of the Firebird