Blood Ink Fire Quotes

So?" Mac says.
I shrug.
"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you didn't feel something? That you didn't enjoy it?"
"It was nice, I guess."
"You guess?" Mac laughs and swipes his hair from his brow. "Tough crowd."
"Yeah, well, I guess you are an acquired taste. ~ Ashley Mansour

We are inheritors of progress, of a technological rebirth that had only ever been imagined before now. We don't talk about it, but at some point, it became clear to me: I am the child of a bookless age. ~ Ashley Mansour

I'm everything that makes everything. I'm everything that unmakes everything. I'm fire. I'm flood. I'm pestilence. I'm the ink, the paper, the grass, the tree, the leaves, the leaf, the greenness in the leaf. I'm the vein in the leaf. I'm the voice that tells no story. ~ Ali Smith

Treaties are often written in paper and ink. War, is carved by stone in blood. ~ B.H.

People are laughing at me today for having holes in my pockets, and ink blood on my fingers-
a thirty-something old writer, who strangles words from dictionaries, and feeds on the decay of poetry. ~ Anthony Liccione

My left hand is a Rorschach blotch all its own, a six-fingered, skin-blood-and-bone ink splatter. People see it and fly their worst fears and secret fetishes at full mast when they think they're being discreet. They see it as strange, fascinating, ugly, beautiful, disgusting or erotic depending on what's behind their eyes. ~ Craig Clevenger

He who leaves his home in search of knowledge walks in the path of God ... and the ink of the scholar is holier than the blood of the martyr; ~ Will Durant

The ink shall flow as long as the blood. ~ Jeffrey L. Richards

International business may conduct its operations with scraps of paper, but the ink it uses is human blood. ~ Eric Ambler

A librarian remembers the particular scent of glue and dust, and if we're so lucky - and I was - the smell of parchment, a quiet tanginess, softer than wood pulp or cotton rag. We would bury ourselves in books until flesh and paper became one and ink and blood at last ran together. ~ Erika Swyler

If you're going to love a poet you should know this. Our words are our truths. Our blood hums with verse. We break easily. Our words save us. Our stanzas keep us alive. If we loved you at all, we loved you truly. And you will never leave us but live under our skin and beneath the tips of our fingers and in the ink spill on blank page.
Because poetry, like some love, is forever. ~ Jeanette LeBlanc

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 ~ Alexanderos Panagoulis

YOU! You're boring! You're not even good enough for a good insult! You're in the one place Where magic is always real! Part the seas if you want! Rain down ink and blood! Transform! Fly! You're not allowed to spend the rest of your life panicking! You've got to give something back if you want to get out of here!"
What? What?? What do I give?"
You've got stories in there, I know, I can smell 'em
"
Stoppit, stoppit! I don't! I can't tell a story to save my life!"
Funny you should put it that way. ~ Carla Speed McNeil

Davis is a literargy dyspeptic who had more ink than blood in his veins, an intriguer, buys with private enmities. ~ Edward A. Pollard

Amy [Winehouse] increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that YouTube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions, or death. ~ Russell Brand

It is the world, my boy," he said. "All the World, in ink and blood, vellum and parchment, leather and hide. It is the World, and it is yours to save or lose. ~ James A. Owen

Islamic history is written in two types of ink. Black for the ink of the scholars and red for the blood of the martyrs! ~ Me

What do prisoners do? Write, of course; even if they have to use blood as ink, as the Marquis de Sade did. The reasons they write, the exquisitely frustrating restrictions of their autonomy and the fact that no one listens to their cries, are all the reasons that mentally ill people, and even many normal people write. We write to escape our prisons. ~ Alice Weaver Flaherty

If the Bible is called the Good Book, it's not because its people are. Blood flows as freely through the stories as the ink through the quills that penned them. ~ Max Lucado

War is a difficult time for everybody - for soldiers on the front and for the people on the road. War takes away from us everything that we know, as we know it. It gives us a blank slate to re-write our lives and for ink it gives us blood. ~ Preeti Bhonsle

He was afraid that the secrets she'd kept would always be here, inside him, an ugly malignant thing lodged near enough to his heart to upset its rhythm, and though it could be removed, cut out, there would always be scars; bits and pieces of it would remain in his blood, making it wrong somehow, so that if he accidentally sliced his skin open, his blood would
for one heartbeat
flow as black as India ink before it remembered that it should be red. ~ Kristin Hannah

CLEOPATRA: My salad days,
When I was green in judgment: cold in blood,
To say as I said then! But, come, away;
Get me ink and paper:
He shall have every day a several greeting,
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. ~ William Shakespeare

Breezy laughed and the sound went through him the way it often did, lighting his world. She sounded bright and happy and she shed that light on him. She took him right out of the violence, the blood and death and vile world he lived in to draw into the sunshine with her. ~ Christine Feehan

The Word of God we read is written not so much with ink as with the blood of the Son of God; or ~ John Calvin

The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr. ~ Nazr Mohammed

I run to the high mountains
I pour my heart out to the skies
I sing of the summer song
While the sky above dance in the yellow light.
The cool breeze fools the sun above
Takes a run, wins the mighty fight.
Your light then comes to me with warmth,
A view my heart wants.
Love to me is the song you write.
The tricks you play with the endless sky
And with the icy wind you find a disguise.
You burn me like sun that burns up
In the blue abyss.
With the ink of my emotions
You write a song of Fire and Ice. ~ Jaishree Garg

One holds every phrase, every scene to the light as one reads - for Nature seems, very oddly, to have provided us with an inner light by which to judge of the novelist's integrity or disintegrity. Or perhaps it is rather that Nature, in her most irrational mood, has traced in invisible ink on the walls of the mind a premonition which these great artists confirm; a sketch which only needs to be held to the fire of genius to become visible. When one so exposes it and sees it come to life one exclaims in rapture, But this is what I have always felt and known and desired! And one boils over with excitement, and, shutting the book even with a kind of reverence as if it were something very precious, a stand-by to return to as long as one lives, one puts it back on the shelf [ ... ]. ~ Virginia Woolf

The ink and the oil and the blood swirl into one another as though they were made to be together. ~ Alice Broadway

The blood of the heroes is closer to God than the ink of the philosophers and the prayers of the faithful. ~ Julius Evola

What? Do you dare smile and suggest for a moment that just because of the Absence between us I cannot make myself vivid to you? Ho! Silly boy! Don't you know that the plainest sort of black ink throbs more than some blood - and the touch of the softest hand is a harsh caress compared to the touch of a reasonably shrewd pen? Here - now, I say - this very moment: Lift this letter of mine to your face, and swear - if you're honestly able to - that you can't smell the rose in my hair! ~ Eleanor Hallowell Abbott

Prophet (PBUH) considered the ink of a scholar to be holier than the blood of a martyr. ~ Imran Khan

When you feel weak in spirit, think about the agreements you made with yourself about how to live an honourable life. We all have them, but unfortunately the contracts are often written in invisible ink when they should be signed in blood. ~ Suzanne Hayes

Beeswax, with its subtle undertones of smoke and honey. The smell of ink on wet paper, the sickly-sweet smell of decay. The sweat of clean bodies, the scent of burnt gloves. She loved the crackle of the fire and the clang of the tools. She loved the magic of sweat-streaked alchemists who blew down metal pipes and created bubbles within molten glass. She loved the flawless final chapter, the glistening undulations as smooth as ice. ~ Angela Panayotopulos

Once upon a time
There was a friend
Who poured some ink
To a pen, which had been dried up

Since then
There are pages, and books
Cluttered by scribbling
With or without a meaning

When the ink was done
Scribbling started
In the earth, dust covered
In the tranquil grounds of the temple
And in the naked skies
Among floating clouds

Mesmerized by the dawn of love
On top of mountains
Like a fairy spreading her wings
On fluttering wings of butterflies
In paths, under the starry skies
On piano keys, playing without a tune
On sprays of vibrant blooms
Even without a sweet fragrance

Even among the debris, pungent
flowing down the drain
Among the eyes filled with emptiness
Walking down the streets,
In the battle field, drenched with blood
Waiting for a flying bullet, which brings death….

There is a poem
Each and every moment
Each and every day!

(Translated by Manel K R Fernando) ~ Shasika Amali Munasinghe

Ink is the blood of the printing-press. ~ John Milton

I bleed myself to be your drink:
Is not the blood of poets - ink? ~ William Soutar

Her feelings as dark as the night sky, the moon was the only thing making her come alive
So she got some paper and pen to let the ink spill it all out because talking never seemed to work.
Blood drops fell on her little piece of paper, drowning it along with her. By the time the blood dried up it left her with nothing but red dust. Red. The same color her eyes were captivated by.
They never told her that there is no way to get over crazy, messy things in life. There's only crossing that red sea as if you're walking through the wilderniss. The sun will rise when you've gone through the depts of it all. Writing wont matter anymore. Don't you understand? You're life is not messy little girl, you're just crazy sometimes. ~ N

When you hold a graphic novel in your hands, you're holding artist blood made ink. ~ Molly Crabapple

Jack kissed him so carefully that August thought he would fall to pieces. Kissed him with the weight of knowing the price of risk. Then he gazed back at August like his heart was already breaking.

It was the same face that Jack had made on the roof, in the middle of the night, when they rolled in the grass, when he sat back with August's blood and ink on his hands, when his face was lit orange with flames, when he'd opened the door to Rina's room, when he stared across the gym at the homecoming dance, when he pulled him from the river and breathed him back to life.

Jack had been waiting. He'd been trying. He was scared. There were tears in his eyes and it took August's breath away. ~ K. Ancrum

All words are written in the same ink,
'flower' and 'power,' say, are much the same,
and though I might write 'blood, blood, blood'
all over the page, the paper would not be stained
now would I bleed. ~ Philippe Jaccottet

Not all loves are meant to last forever. Some burn like fire until there is nothing left but ash and black ink on skin. ~ Zoraida Cordova

And so, Navani painted a prayer onto the stones themselves, sending her attendants for more ink. She paced off the size of the glyph as she continued its border, making it enormous, spreading her ink onto the tan rocks.
Soldiers gathered around, Sadeas stepping from his canopy, watching her paint, her back to the sun as she crawled on the ground and furiously dipped her brushpen into the ink jars. What was a prayer, if not creation? Making something where nothing existed. Creating a wish out of despair, a plea out of anguish. Bowing one's back before the Almighty, and forming humility from the empty pride of a human life.
Something from nothing. True creation.
Her tears mixed with the the ink. She went through four jars. She crawled, holding her safehand to the ground, brushing the stones and smearing ink on her cheeks when she wiped the tears. When she finally finished, she knelt back before a glyph twenty paces long, emblazoned as if in blood. The wet ink reflected sunlight, and she fired it with a candle; the ink was made to burn whether wet or dry. The flames burned across the length of the prayer, killing it and sending its soul to the Almighty. ~ Brandon Sanderson

Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color
the green were still pale and tentative, the morning had a biting coolness
but by the last week of school everything is Technicolor and splash, outrageous blue skies and purple thunderstorms and ink-black night skies and red flowers as brights as spots of blood. ~ Lauren Oliver

Aesthetes have it all over intellectuals in one very important respect: You'll rarely catch us hustling anyone off to the nearest guillotine. We're too busy trying to make the world more beautiful. Our hands are stained with ink and paint, not blood. ~ Terry Teachout

His mouth came down on hers and then he was just possessing her. Taking her over. Leaving her with nothing of herself because she burned up in the fire he generated. ~ Christine Feehan

Let us answer a book of ink with a book of flesh and blood. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I clench my teeth and push forward. My pen grinds out the first and eldest word: an Ink-borne lance of black fire, scratched into a sheet of ice.
-The Penitent God ~ S.G. Night

The written word might as well have been my veins, and ink my blood. ~ Ronnell D. Porter

The blood of heroes is closer to the Lord than the ink of scholars and the prayers of the pious. ~ Julius Evola

Three Rules To Write By

Write naked.
That means to write what you would never say.

Write in blood.
As if ink is so precious you can't waste it.

Write in exile
as if you are never going to get home again, and you have to call back every detail.

Denis Johnson ~ Denis Johnson