B3d Pistol Quotes

To the door of an inn in the provincial town of N. there drew up a smart britchka - a light spring-carriage of the sort affected by bachelors, retired lieutenant-colonels, staff-captains, land-owners possessed of about a hundred souls, and, in short, all persons who rank as gentlemen of the intermediate category. In the britchka was seated such a gentleman - a man who, though not handsome, was not ill-favoured, not over-fat, and not over-thin. Also, though not over-elderly, he was not over-young. His arrival produced no stir in the town, and was accompanied by no particular incident, beyond that a couple of peasants who happened to be standing at the door of a dramshop exchanged a few comments with reference to the equipage rather than to the individual who was seated in it. "Look at that carriage," one of them said to the other. "Think you it will be going as far as Moscow?" "I think it will," replied his companion. "But not as far as Kazan, eh?" "No, not as far as Kazan." With that the conversation ended. Presently, as the britchka was approaching the inn, it was met by a young man in a pair of very short, very tight breeches of white dimity, a quasi-fashionable frockcoat, and a dickey fastened with a pistol-shaped bronze tie-pin. The young man turned his head as he passed the britchka and eyed it attentively; after which he clapped his hand to his cap (which was in danger of being removed by the wind) and resumed his way. On the vehicle reaching the inn door, its occupant ~ Nikolai Gogol

I never pulled a loaded pistol on anybody, but it got around that I did. It got turned into lore. It's a myth. There's so much bad gun stuff. ~ Barry Hannah

You're leaving me alone?" she squeaked.
"You'll be fine." He handed her the pistol. "Shoot if you have to." His eyes gleamed at her. "I know you know how."
He headed for the door, and she cried, "Wait!"
When he paused to look at her questioningly, she hurried up to hand him his surtout. "You'll need this. It's freezing out there." As she helped him into it, she whispered, "Be careful."
He tipped his hat. "Always, my lady," he said in that husky rasp that never failed to make her heart turn over. Then he walked out. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

jeans jacket, catching him in a chokehold, pistol at ~ Donna Tartt

He drops the pistol into the right-hand pocket of his raincoat. He is not expecting trouble. Nevertheless, he goes nowhere unarmed. One can never be too careful. Besides, opportunities often arise unexpectedly. In ~ Dean Koontz

I select the right practice gun, the one about the size of a pistol, but bulkier, and offer it to Caleb.
Tris's fingers slide between mine. Everything comes easily this morning, every smile and every laugh, every word and every motion.
If we succeed in what we attempt tonight, tomorrow Chicago will be safe, the Bureau will be forever changed, and Tris and I will be able to build a new life for ourselves somewhere. Maybe it will even be a place where I trade my guns and knives for more productive tools, screwdrivers and nails and shovels. This morning I feel like I could be so fortunate. I could.
"It doesn't shoot real bullets," I say, "but it seems like they designed it so it would be as close as possible to one of the guns you'll be using. It feels real, anyway."
Caleb holds the gun with just his fingertips, like he's afraid it will shatter in his hands.
I laugh. "First lesson: Don't be afraid of it. Grab it. You've held one before, remember? You got us out of the Amity compound with that shot."
"That was just lucky," Caleb says, turning the gun over and over to see it from every angle. His tongue pushes into his cheek like he's solving a problem. "Not the result of skill."
"Lucky is better than unlucky," I say. "We can work on skill now."
I glance at Tris. She grins at me, then leans in to whisper something to Christina.
"Are you here to help or what, Stiff?" I say. I hear myself speaking in the voice I cultivated as an initiatio ~ Veronica Roth

The records didn't fill the void inside. Didn't fuel it either. There was no closure.'
'Then where's the closure?'

She gestured to his pistol. 'At the end of that barrel. ~ Nathan M. Farrugia

Van sealed the letter, found his Thunderbolt pistol in the place he had visualized, introduced one cartridge into the magazine, and translated it into its chamber. Then, standing before a closet mirror, he put the automatic to his head, at the point of the pterion, and pressed the comfortably concaved trigger. Nothing happened - or perhaps everything happened, and his destiny simply forked at that instant, as it probably does sometimes at night, especially in a strange bed, at stages of great happiness or great desolation, when we happen to die in our sleep, but continue our normal existence, with no perceptible break in the fakes serialization, on the following, neatly prepared morning, with a spurious past discreetly but firmly attached behind. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

A man sat alone under the lamplight, hunched over the desk, listening to the rain on the nearby shuttered window while he worked. He looked up from his project when he heard a noise over the water dripping off the roof. It was the sound of footsteps in the private courtyard outside, and then the echo of a door slamming shut.
The man rose silently and moved to the window, opened the shutters a few inches, and looked down, his right hand hovering over the grip of the Glock pistol in his waistband ~ Mark Greaney

Looking into the muzzle of Slade's pistol. "And the next instant," added my informant, impressively, "he was one of the deadest men that ever lived. ~ Mark Twain

His fear-inflamed mind sent the control-signal to his finger-joint to fold back. The trigger sliced back. The blast seemed to lift the booth clear off the floor, drop it down again. A pin-wheel of vacancy appeared in the glass, flinging off shards and slivers. ~ Cornell Woolrich

Cold rage had him leaning closer, the pistol now a mere inch from his throat. "I served with them for a decade in Special Forces. You can't _begin_ to know what that means. Now they're dead and I want answers."
"Try Ask.com ~ Pamela Clare

He wiped the sweat off his forehead and bent to look out the window. It was amazing how heavy a 1.6-pound pistol could get
if you weren't relaxed. He knew better and chided himself, but forgot the pain the moment he saw the target building.


The neon dragon dancing on the roof glinted off the puddles in sparks of yellow and red. Outside the Dragon's Door the line
stretched back around the block. Steele set the pistol on the ledge and checked the Rolex Submariner on his wrist. It was
11:25. He pulled a magnifier from the inside pocket of his Manning and Manning jacket and pressed it to his eye.


"I'm on target," he said.

"Uploading the feed, stand by, ~ Sean Parnell

What the hell, I think. My pistol is on my hips and my balls are between my legs. ~ Daniel H. Wilson

See it's easy as cake, simple as whistling Dixie
While I'm waving the pistol at sixty Christians against me
Go to war with the Mormons, take a bath with the Catholics
In holy water, no wonder they tried to hold me under longer. ~ Eminem

Lermontov became a soldier, escaping from her grandmother and her troublesome love. He exchanged the pen, which is the key to one's soul, for a pistol, which is the key to the gates of the world. ~ Milan Kundera

He sighed and opened the black box and took out his rings and slipped them on. Another box held a set of knives and Klatchian steel, their blades darkened with lamp black. Various cunning and intricate devices were taken from velvet bags and dropped into pockets. A couple of long-bladed throwing tlingas were slipped into their sheaths inside his boots. A thin silk line and folding grapnel were wound around his waist, over the chain-mail shirt. A blowpipe was attached to its leather thong and dropped down the back of his cloak; Teppic picked a slim tin container with an assortment of darts, their tips corked and their stems braille-coded for ease of selection in the dark.

He winced, checked the blade of his rapier and slung the baldric over his right shoulder, to balance the bag of lead slingshot ammunition. As an afterthought he opened his sock drawer and took a pistol crossbow, a flask of oil, a roll of lockpicks and, after some consideration, a punch dagger, a bag of assorted caltrops and a set of brass knuckles.

Teppic picked up his hat and checked it's lining for the coil of cheesewire. He placed it on his head at a jaunty angle, took a last satisfied look at himself in the mirror, turned on his heel and, very slowly, fell over. ~ Terry Pratchett

By the following morning, Anthony was drunk. By afternoon, he was hungover.
His head was pounding, his ears were ringing, and his brothers, who had been surprised to discover him
in such a state at
their club, were talking far too loudly.
Anthony put his hands over his ears and groaned.Everyone was talking far too loudly.
"Kate boot you out of the house?" Colin asked, grabbing a walnut from a large pewter dish in the middle
their table and
splitting it open with a viciously loud crack.
Anthony lifted his head just far enough to glare at him.
Benedict watched his brother with raised brows and the vaguest hint of a smirk. "She definitely booted
him out," he said to Colin. "Hand me one of those walnuts, will you?"
Colin tossed one across the table. "Do you want the crackers as well?"
Benedict shook his head and grinned as he held up a fat, leather-bound book. "Much more satisfying to
smash them."
"Don't," Anthony bit out, his hand shooting out to grab the book, "even think about it."
"Ears a bit sensitive this afternoon, are they?"
If Anthony had had a pistol, he would have shot them both, hang the noise.
"If I might offer you a piece of advice?" Colin said, munching on his walnut.
"You might not," Anthony replied. He looked up. Colin was chewing with his mouth open. As this had
been strictly forbidden while growing up in their household, Anthony could only deduce that Colin was
d ~ Julia Quinn

Where'd you get that pistol?
At the gettin place ~ Cormac McCarthy

Yes, such has been my lot since childhood. Everyone read signs of non-existent evil traits in my features. But since they were expected to be there, they did make their appearance. Because I was reserved, they said I was sly, so I grew reticent. I was keenly aware of good and evil, but instead of being indulged I was insulted and so I became spiteful. I was sulky while other children were merry and talkative, but though I felt superior to them I was considered inferior. So I grew envious. I was ready to love the whole world, but no one understood me, and I learned to hate. My cheerless youth passed in conflict with myself and society, and fearing ridicule I buried my finest feelings deep in my heart, and there they died. I spoke the truth, but nobody believed me, so I began to practice duplicity. Having come to know society and its mainsprings, I became versed in the art of living and saw how others were happy without that proficiency, enjoying for free the favors I had so painfully striven for. It was then that despair was born in my heart--not the despair that is cured with a pistol, but a cold, impotent desperation, concealed under a polite exterior and a good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple; I had lost one half of my soul, for it had shriveled, dried up and died, and I had cut it off and cast it away, while the other half stirred and lived, adapted to serve every comer. No one noticed this, because no one suspected there had been another half. Now, however, you ha ~ Mikhail Lermontov

According to Chekhov," Tamaru said, rising from his chair, "once a gun appears in a story, it has to be fired."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning, don't bring unnecessary props into a story. If a pistol appears, it has to be fired at some point. Chekhov liked to write stories that did away with all useless ornamentation. ~ Haruki Murakami

My darling wife," he murmured softly, " 'tis probable that I shall be most heavily set upon within the next few moments. The front door, as solid as it is, cannot be properly defended, and they will come before long to ram it down. 'Twould please me much if you ... " Erienne's head was already shaking before he finished. Strangely she experienced no fright, no fear. She was in her home, and a grim determination lay beneath her composed exterior. "I will stay with you." She tapped the pistol with the tip of her finger and informed him bluntly, "The man who harms you will not live out the day. I will see to that." There was a level sternness in her gaze that made Christopher glad she was his wife and not a foe.
-Christopher & Erienne ~ Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

All our heroism stems from our womenfolk. A man without a woman is like a pistol without a hammer;;the woman sparks the charge ~ Victor Hugo

People assume a captive to be in their power. Often the best way to escape is by fighting back." "What?" Marasi said, finally taking the handkerchief. "You discharged a pistol right beside your head," Wax said. "You are going to have trouble hearing. Rusts ... you've probably done some permanent damage to your ear. Hopefully it won't be too bad." "What? ~ Brandon Sanderson

First you have to buy powder, pistol powder, not the damp, and not as coarse as for a cannon. Then you have to put the powder in first, and get some felt off a door. And then you have to put the bullet in afterwards, and not the bullet before the powder, or it won't go off. Do you hear, Keller? or else it won't go off. Ha-ha! Isn't that a magnificent reason, friend Keller? ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Do you think, maybe, we could continue this someplace more private? Because I can see your brother watching us from behind that palm tree--and man, he's still holding that pistol."

~Ryan ~ Sydney Croft

Rooster here has missed Ned a few times himself, horse and all,' said the captain. 'I reckon his is on his way now to missing him again.'

Rooster was holding a bottle with a little whiskey in it. He said, 'You keep on thinking that.' He drained off the whiskey in about three swallows and tapped the cork back in and tossed the bottle up in the air. He pulled his revolver and fired at it twice and missed. The bottle fell and rolled and Rooster shot at it two or three more times and broke it on the ground. He got out his sack of cartridges and reloaded his pistol. He said, 'The Chinaman is running them cheap shells in on me again.'

LaBoeuf said, 'I thought maybe the sun was in your eyes. That is to say, your eye.'

Rooster swung the cylinder back in his revolver and said, 'Eyes, is it? I'll show you eyes!' He jerked the sack of corn dodgers free from his saddle baggage. He got one of the dodgers out and flung it in the air and fired at it and missed. Then he flung another one up and he hit it. The corn dodger exploded. He was pleased with himself and he got a fresh bottle of whiskey from his baggage and treated himself to a drink.

LaBoeuf pulled one of his revolvers and got two dodgers out of the sack and tossed them both up. He fired very rapidly but he only hit one. Captain Finch tried it with two and missed both of them. Then he tried with one and made a successful shot. Rooster shot at two and hit one. They drank whiskey and used up ~ Charles Portis

Here's what I've got, the reasons why our marriage
might work: Because you wear pink but write poems
about bullets and gravestones. Because you yell
at your keys when you lose them, and laugh,
loudly, at your own jokes. Because you can hold a pistol,
gut a pig. Because you memorize songs, even commercials
from thirty years back and sing them when vacuuming.
You have soft hands. Because when we moved, the contents
of what you packed were written inside the boxes.
Because you think swans are overrated.
Because you drove me to the train station. You drove me
to Minneapolis. You drove me to Providence.
Because you underline everything you read, and circle
the things you think are important, and put stars next
to the things you think I should think are important,
and write notes in the margins about all the people
you're mad at and my name almost never appears there.
Because you make that pork recipe you found
in the Frida Khalo Cookbook. Because when you read
that essay about Rilke, you underlined the whole thing
except the part where Rilke says love means to deny the self
and to be consumed in flames. Because when the lights
are off, the curtains drawn, and an additional sheet is nailed
over the windows, you still believe someone outside
can see you. And one day five summers ago,
when you couldn't put gas in your car, when your fridge
was so empty - n ~ Matthew Olzmann

Cassia had a feeling Kane might not follow her instructions to the letter, but she never expected him to come barreling into the docking lot with Arabelle hoisted over one shoulder, shielding his head with his free arm and yelling like his pants were on fire. Behind him, Doran and Solara ran through the open doorway, each armed with a stolen pulse pistol and firing indiscriminately at someone out of view.
So much for smooth negotiating. ~ Melissa Landers

'Revolution' does not necessarily involve sanguinary strife nor is there any place in it for individual vendetta. It is not the cult of the bomb and the pistol. By 'Revolution' we mean that the present order of things, which is based on manifest injustice, must change. ~ Bhagat Singh

After all," he thought, "what can a magician do against a lead ball? Between the pistol firing and his heart exploding, there is no time for magic. ~ Susanna Clarke

Never assume that simply having a gun makes you a marksman. You are no more armed because you are wearing a pistol than you are a musician because you own a guitar. ~ Jeff Cooper

Speaking of shooting, my lady," Mr. Pinter said as he came around the table, "I looked over your pistol as you requested. Everything seems to be in order."
Removing it from his coat pocket, he handed it to her, a hint of humor in his gaze. As several pair of male eyes fixed on her, she colored. To hide her embarrassment, she made a great show of examining her gun. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, which she grudgingly admitted was rather nice of him.
"What a cunning little weapon," the viscount said and reached for it. "May I?"
She handed him the pistol.
"How tiny it is," he exclaimed.
"It's a lady's pocket pistol," she told him as he examined it.
Oliver frowned at her. "When did you acquire a pocket pistol, Celia?"
"A little while ago," she said blithely.
Gabe grinned. "You may not know this, Basto, but my sister is something of a sharpshooter. I daresay she has a bigger collection of guns than Oliver."
"Not bigger," she said. "Finer perhaps, but I'm choosy about my firearms."
"She has beaten us all at some time or another at target shooting," the duke said dryly. "The lady could probably hit a fly at fifty paces."
"Don't be silly," she said with a grin. "A beetle perhaps, but not a fly." The minute the words were out of her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Females did not boast of their shooting-not if they wanted to snag husbands.
"You should come shooting with us," Oliver said. "Why not?"
The last thing she n ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Alto: She's a pistol and has the strongest will of any kid I've ever met. It's like payback. ~ Walter Isaacson

My pistol is a fawty-one Colt,' Lucas said. Which it would be; the only thing he hadn't actually known was the calibre - that weapon workable and efficient and well cared for yet as archaic peculiar and unique as the gold toothpick, which had probably (without doubt) been old Carothers McCaslin's pride a half century ago. 'All right,' he said. 'Then what?' 'He wasn't shot with no fawty-one Colt. ~ William Faulkner

Some parents say it is toy guns that make boys warlike. But give a boy a rubber duck and he will seize its neck like the butt of a pistol and shout 'Bang!' ~ George Will

Oh, for pity's sake," she muttered, but stopped fighting him. After a moment of enduring the indignity of
having his hands on her, she snapped, "My pistol is in my reticule, which is sitting in Lord Draker's
drawing room. All right?"
The woman was a walking arsenal. "All right." He released her, not because of what she'd said, but
because running his hands over her petite but surprisingly womanly figure had perversely aroused him. He
didn't want her to know it, however - the female was liable to shoot off his cock for its impertinence. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

And a gun was taken," I said. "That was yours?" She handed me the cup and saucer. "Yes. A pistol my husband had given me." "Thirty-eight caliber." "Yes. A Colt, I think. I'd never fired it, and it wasn't loaded. My husband bought it as a joke several years ago." "A joke?" She smiled and sipped at her drink. "We were having an argument once, I don't even remember now what about, and I got so angry I told him that if I had a gun I'd shoot him. The next day he gave me the gun." Very droll. The rich are different. ~ Walter Satterthwait

Elizabeth stood where he'd left her, a forlorn figure in a sodden blue gown, still clasping the pistol with both hands. His heart swelled with pride at her courage, but he also wanted to shake her for scaring ten years off his life. ~ Debra Holland

You shouldn't abuse the revolutionaries, Mother Streetcorner. My pistol is on your side. It's to help you find more things worth eating in your basket. ~ Victor Hugo

I paid the cabman exactly his fare. He received it with an oath; upon which I instantly gave him a tract. If I had presented a pistol at his head, this abandoned wretch could hardly have exhibited greater consternation. He jumped up on his box, and, with profane exclamations of dismay, drove off furiously. Quite useless, I am happy to say! I sowed the good seed, in spite of him, by throwing a second tract in at the window of the cab. ~ Wilkie Collins

Come to think of it, just about every tool was shaped like either a weenie or a pistol, depending on your point of view. ~ Barbara Kingsolver