Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“Even more blood welled up and spilled down his arm, splattering onto the ground.
“Camille’s carpet,� Magnus protested.
“It’s blood,â€� said Will. “She ought to be thrilled.”
― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince

“And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for awhile; and shall later on be my companion and my helper.”
― Bram Stoker, Dracula

“Love is like that. It's like a wildfire in my blood.”
― R.K. Lilley, Grounded

“Silas consumed only one food, and it was not bananas.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

“Under the broken promises of superpowers and under the worlds indifference to spilled Arab blood.”
― Susan Abulhawa, Mornings in Jenin

“…Man’s heart is a ditch full of blood. The loved ones who have died throw themselves down on the bank of this ditch to drink the blood and so come to life again; the dearer they are to you, the more of your blood they drink.â€� - The Narrator.”
― Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek

“The doctrine that future happiness depends upon belief is monstrous. It is the infamy of infamies. The notion that faith in Christ is to be rewarded by an eternity of bliss, while a dependence upon reason, observation and experience merits everlasting pain, is too absurd for refutation, and can be relieved only by that unhappy mixture of insanity and ignorance, called "faith." What man, who ever thinks, can believe that blood can appease God? And yet, our entire system of religion is based upon that belief. The Jews pacified Jehovah with the blood of animals, and according to the Christian system, the blood of Jesus softened the heart of God a little, and rendered possible the salvation of a fortunate few. It is hard to conceive how the human mind can give assent to such terrible ideas, or how any sane man can read the Bible and still believe in the doctrine of inspiration.”
― Robert G. Ingersoll, The Gods and Other Lectures

“His kiss was like no other! His kiss was enchanted and fairy-tale like. He applied pressure, but just enough to feel his tenderness and warmth. I could feel his heart beating wildly as he pressed his chest against my chest all the while his loving lips brushed up against mine with a care-filled affection. His tongue lightly licked the outer edges of my mouth, and then searched for my tongue. The pursuit allowed a marriage of both tongues to meet - inspiring a mingling tango of hot and heavy French kissing to manifest profusely. We kissed like two hot and horny teenagers, our mouths moving and craving each others lips, in animalistic desires!”
― Keira D. Skye

“The woman had gasped beneath his heavy body. He rubbed against her, lubricated by the warm, sticky liquid, but as her body gradually grew cold, he felt as though they'd been glued together. She seemed to be see-sawing between agony and ecstasy, but finally Satake pressed his lips over hers to quiet the groans-of pain or pleasure-that were leaking from her mouth. He found the hole that he had made in her side and worked his finger deep into the opening. Blood was pumping from the wound, staining their sex a gruesome crimson. He wanted to get further inside, to melt into her. As he was about to come, he pulled his lips from her and she whispered in his ear: "I'm finished . . . finished."
"I know," he'd said, and he could still hear the exact sound of his own voice.”
― Natsuo Kirino, Out

“I walked until the water lapped against my chest, and then I kept walking until it kissed the underside of my jaw. I was surprised how cold it was. I closed my eyes and ducked beneath the surface. Thee was the wind and the clouds and the pure pool and the boy beneath its unsettled surface, and the blood, the boy's and monster's, defiling the pool.”
― Rick Yancey, The Isle of Blood

“Painfully, the tips of his fingers grazed over her neck, torturing her soul. She didn't move as his hand stroked the length of her nape, feeling the slight warmth of her aura make him lightly tingle with a frenzied anticipation. Her blood burned for him, feeling her veins bubble hot as he continued to linger his seductions along the rims of her body. He listened attentively as the beating of her heart increased tri-fold, the quickening pulse thump beneath his horny fingertips.”
― Keira D. Skye

“Don't use drowsy EYES to look at what Christ used a passionate BLOOD to do for you. Don't use a sluggish LEG to walk towards what Christ used a compassionate FLESH to build for you”
― Israelmore Ayivor

“All civilizations at some time have fallen into this total terror, when the mystery of life was a kind of panic only to be assuaged by the spilling of blood.”
― Laurie Lee, I Can't Stay Long

“After a few brief simple moments, he found her neck, kissing the nape as if it were a peach, grazing her skin barely, causing her to moan out a small tiny little whimper. Before she could take another rbreath, his lips met hers in rapture, and suddenly, she was lost within the tragic abyss of falling beneath a lovebinding spell.”
― Keira D. Skye

“Death doesn’t always want your eternal sleep. Sometimes Death just wants your eternity.”
― Jacquelynn Gagne, Blood Rose

“What is blood but the wine of life?”
― Vera Nazarian, Cobweb Bride

“A brave heart doesn't pump coward's blood.”
― Toba Beta, Betelgeuse Incident: Insiden Bait Al-Jauza

“I wanted blood to signify life, not death.”
― Cheryl Drake Harris, Lily's Ghost: A Novel

“She once told me of a night that fumed with escapes and was filled with bedsides reeking of ecstasy; she told me the stars cast not judgments, but blessings, knowing full well the disastrous outcomes of the deeds they cradled with the strings of their young hearts. She’d inhaled the night itself, those around her doing the same, and so all become one. No disharmony. No discordance. Nothing to shatter the cause; nothing to unearth the beauty. So as we together ascended that front porch, allowing the glow behind the blown-out windows and the odious steams plunder us from through the cracks...time forgot to distill us, and our steps became as silver as glass. I could no longer deny the boiling words of my blood: tonight would be the beginning of a very long road indeed.”
― Dave Matthes, Sleepeth Not, the Bastard

“His voice was oily and slick as it poured from his mouth like liquid acid, threatening to hook onto the woman's hair like a fishing hook and drag her back to death.”
― Stephen Craig, Blooded Eyes - A Short Story

“After a spent day, I
walked back in a fever.
The whole way home
the sun touched my cheeks.

The blissful evening glow
spread across the meadows
and I called this light
the blood I shed.

My hot burning blood lay
consoling the entire world.
So I walked with pride--
Now that all was tilled.

I didn't know what was happening,
I leaned against a fence post,
in my blood that covered
the meadows near and far.”
― Robert Walser

“Death moved in the night, in search for blood, and when it found Life, it passed on by, like a cloud that moves by the face of the moon. When he found those dead without the red, he took the life before them born first, and the mourning emptied itself till the morning.”
― Anthony Liccione

“...I remember that my mother had always said to be polite and finish my meal. At last he gave no more struggles. The deed was done. Now the boat contained four men, not one heartbeat among us. The fate they had destined for another claimed them as well. The irony of it all was more delicious than the blood consumed. -- Quote by Lane DeLuca”
― Wynter Wilkins , Strigoi

“You had me at 'blood allergy.”
― David S.E. Zapanta, Posthumous

“A thick, intense fog was rolling in from the ocean, which created long, strange shadows to form like creatures of their own kind.”
― Keira D. Skye

“As he sat up, he heard soft dripping sounds from the bathroom, little plips like water slipping over the edges of the tub and into the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he realized where he‟d last heard that sound. His muscles tight with strain from his earlier exertions, he stood and walked warily toward the half open bathroom door and the tub beyond it. Slipping quietly past the door, he saw that the curtain was drawn, and again the shadowed figure lay behind it. One long, slim, leg dangled from the end of the tub, beads of water gliding down its length and off the polished toes. At the other end he saw a mass of auburn curls, matted deep red near the porcelain of the tub. It was the dream and the vision again, more real now, too strong to deny. Shaking, he moved toward the curtain, gagging on the sickly smell of rust and roses, feeling the thin nylon glide between thumb and palm as he pulled it back to reveal his darkest nightmare and deepest regret. He could see the crimson water now, blood bubbles gliding over its surface and clinging to the legs dangling over the tub‟s edge. When he‟d pulled the curtain completely away from the tub and around to its opposite side, he saw her face. Her eyes were closed and he saw that her lids were bruised and purple against the translucent paleness of her face, drained completely dead white under the makeup she‟d brushed on before she‟d died. Staggering by the sight of her, he knelt by the tub and extended one shaking hand to touch her cheek. It all seemed as if he‟d walked into a horror film and once again he needed to prove to his mind that this wasn‟t real. His hand shook as he lifted it nearer to her flesh, waiting for the corpse, the supposedly dead and buried to move. He touched his quivering fingers to her face, feeling its claylike reality. The sensation caused an immediate shudder of revulsion and he fought not to vomit. Even as the moment came, the sight of her moving in the water startled him and he jumped away from the tub. It wasn‟t an obvious movement at first, only soft breaths moving in and out of her nostrils, but then her chest rose and fell with it and he quaked, feeling unstable where he knelt on the floor.

Her eyes opened next and he felt the blood fall out of his face, wanting to scream but too afraid he would cause her to take some action, to reach out and touch him, proving well and forever that he was indeed insane. Scream and you might as well slit your own throat. He swallowed the scream like a rock and stared as her eyes moved slowly in their sockets, locking on him. Slowly, as if she‟d lost control of her muscles, she rose from the tub and looked down at him, smiling. Blood water slid down her bare body, over her neck, down her back and the smooth ridges of her breasts, to slip slowly down her thighs and down over her calves. A puddle spread on the floor, and as it extended toward him he struggled to his feet, skittering away from it. As he watched it spread, he shivered, weak as he started to cry frantic, horrified tears. Breaking down, he looked back up at her face and slipped to the floor once more, his knees incapable of sustaining his own weight. The smile grew wider as she strode to his shivering form, thrown on his side and struggling to rise. The blood water seeped into his clothes, making him sick, a drop of it trickling along the lobe of his ear and into it. And then she leaned down, holding those dim, stained curls of auburn out of her face and tucking them behind her ear. Her lips parted, blue beneath the strong crimson red of her lipstick, and she spoke into his ear with the chill breath of the dead. His eyes grew wide and horrified as she spoke, the hair on his neck rising, sending a maddening shiver of fear through him. “I‟ve returned, Raven.â€� She whispered “And I want what is mine.â€� The last thing he saw before his mind, finally, thankfully, shut down was her face in front of his. They were pursed for a kiss.”
― Amanda M Lyons

“With heightened senses it remained motionless and looked through bulbous eyes. It could taste fear in the air. Pheromones. Sweat. Food was near, but more importantly, so was its new home.”
― Stephen Craig, Symbiote

“I wanted to thank Trent, but all I could do was give him a faint smile before I lost consciousness. Everything had worked flawlessly.

I had planned the perfect murder - my own.”
― Terry Lovett, Rocking Horses Painted Red

“You needn’t worry. I don’t think you have aged enough for me to partake of you. Blood, women, wine, and cheese all get better with the passage of time. You are not quite ripe. --Lane DeLuca”
― Wynter Wilkins, Strigoi

“bright blue flash of lightning enveloped Nathaniel’s field of view, just as the pod struck the ground with a deafening crunch, slamming his body forward and ripping away the protective restraints that previously held him in place. Covered in blood, Nathaniel fell from the now-open door of the pod, cradling the back of his head with both hands.”
― Jonathan Marker, SPYDER SYLK