Killing Floor Quotes

I'd never believed in luck. Never had any cause to. Never relied on it, because I never could. ~ Lee Child

If you visit the killing floor of a slaughterhouse, it will brand your soul for life. ~ Howard Lyman

Printing currency for foreigners to buy is the best racket a government can get into. ~ Lee Child

with this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because
it's all I have,
because I'm hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I'll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this
bullet inside me
'cause I couldn't make you love me and I'm tired of pulling your teeth. ~ Richard Siken

I didn't work on the killing floor. I worked in the section where you break the meat down and package it. ~ Marg Helgenberger

Tell me, Peppone, what other talents do you have besides erasing undesirables?"
"I enjoy a fair bit of sneaking, sir. I also enjoy pilfering and killing as a professional courtesy."
"What a delightfully horrid urchin you are."
"Thank you, sir. ~ Michelle Franklin

I'll tell you what justice is. Justice is a knee in the gut from the floor on the chin at night sneaky with a knife brought up down on the magazine of a battleship sandbagged underhanded in the dark without a word of warning ~ Joseph Heller

But it's obvious since the beginning that wars make no sense. You kill people to tell them you want to stop killing them. ~ Patrick Ness

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers. ~ John Keats

Jean following close behind. The plan was for them to cover us as we entered. Getting in was easy. The door was unlocked. I went in low, clearing the first visible area. After Bear entered, I moved past the door. I had to trust that Pierre and Jean would act accordingly. A feat more difficult due to the necessary silence. We'd never worked together, but tactics were tactics, and training was training. They'd done this before. Room by room, floor by floor, we investigated the house. And we found it empty. The thought of Bashir al-Sharaa slipping out of my grasp once again gnawed at my gut. ~ L.T. Ryan

When I opened my eyes, we were still surrounded by darkness. A lantern, standing on the ground, showed a bubbling well. The water splashing from the well disappeared, almost at once, under the floor on which I was lying, with my head on the knee of the man in the black cloak and the black mask. He was bathing my temples and his hands smelt of death. I tried to push them away and asked, 'Who are you? Where is the voice?' His only answer was a sigh. Suddenly, a hot breath passed over my face and I perceived a white shape, beside the man's black shape, in the darkness. The black shape lifted me on to the white shape, a glad neighing greeted my astounded ears and I murmured, 'Cesar!' The animal quivered. Raoul, I was lying half back on a saddle and I had recognized the white horse out of the PROFETA, which I had so often fed with sugar and sweets. I remembered that, one evening, there was a rumor in the theater that the horse had disappeared and that it had been stolen by the Opera ghost. I believed in the voice, but had never believed in the ghost. Now, however, I began to wonder, with a shiver, whether I was the ghost's prisoner. I called upon the voice to help me, for I should never have imagined that the voice and the ghost were one. You have heard about the Opera ghost, have you not, Raoul?"

"Yes, but tell me what happened when you were on the white horse of the Profeta?"

"I made no movement and let myself go. The black shape held me up, and I made no e ~ Gaston Leroux

Be sure you include a gift card for Tim Hortons," he said. "That's how we say 'sorry for killing your firstborn son' in Canada. ~ Seanan McGuire

But the new rebel is a skeptic, and will not entirely trust anything. He has no loyalty; therefore he can never be really a revolutionist. And the fact that he doubts everything really gets in his way when he wants to denounce anything. For all denunciation implies a moral doctrine of some kind; and the modern revolutionist doubts not only the institution he denounces, but the doctrine by which he denounces it. . . . As a politician, he will cry out that war is a waste of life, and then, as a philosopher, that all life is waste of time. A Russian pessimist will denounce a policeman for killing a peasant, and then prove by the highest philosophical principles that the peasant ought to have killed himself. . . . The man of this school goes first to a political meeting, where he complains that savages are treated as if they were beasts; then he takes his hat and umbrella and goes on to a scientific meeting, where he proves that they practically are beasts. In short, the modern revolutionist, being an infinite skeptic, is always engaged in undermining his own mines. In his book on politics he attacks men for trampling on morality; in his book on ethics he attacks morality for trampling on men. Therefore the modern man in revolt has become practically useless for all purposes of revolt. By rebelling against everything he has lost his right to rebel against anything. ~ G.K. Chesterton

Both formality and dinner forgotten we sat on the floor of the little library, choosing. Sometimes Dr Portman read passages aloud and turned his own memories with their dark side to face the light. And it was late afternoon when, with a headache of happiness, I returned to the ward. And from that day I felt in myself a reserve of warmth from which I could help myself, like coal from the cellar on a winter's day, if the snow came or if the frost fell in the night to blacken the flowers and wither the new fruit. ~ Janet Frame

We have not seen a single Jew blow himself up in a German restaurant. We have not seen a single Jew destroy a church. We have not seen a single Jew protest by killing people. ~ Wafa Sultan

Littlefinger laughed aloud. With gold and boys and promises, of course. Ser Lyn is a man of simple tastes, my sweetling. All he likes is gold and boys and killing. ~ George R R Martin

You need to empty your mind, and relax each other muscle group until you feel like you are going to melt into the floor. Then you just let it all go. All the expectations, all the unneeded worry, all the things other people want for you but you don't want for yourself. ~ Kasie West

And what does war even accomplish? How does one country win over another by simply killing its people? None of it makes any sense. ~ Susan Meissner

This is less of a 'the king needs a reason' thing and more of a 'the king loves burning shit and killing people' thing," Eric corrected. ~ Drew Hayes

This is Barrachina,' Reyna said.
'What kind of bear?' Hedge opened a jar of maraschino cherries and chugged them down.
'It's a famous restaurant,' Reyna said, 'in the middle of Old San Juan. They invented the piña colada here, back in the 1960s, I think.'
Nico pitched out of his chair, curled up on the floor and started snoring.
Coach Hedge belched. 'Well, it looks like we're staying for a while. If they haven't invented any new drinks since the sixties, they're overdue. I'll get to work! ~ Rick Riordan

Gregory was in the walls, in the crawl space between the board floor of the cabin and the bitter ground. He was gone, but he was everywhere. He was on the small pantry shelf where canning was removed. The air of the cabin still held Gregory. He filled and expanded every dark corner, tight, to exploding. He was jammed between her legs so that no matter how she moved, he was inside of Agnes. She couldn't shake him from her vestments or burn him from the stove. He nested in the books, of course. She couldn't stand to touch their pages. He was in the sweet, fragrant wood Mary Kashpaw chopped, split, and piled. In the cloth of curtains, the clasp of doors, he waited. She turned the handle, let the light in, and he came, too, solid and good and alive. ~ Louise Erdrich

Off the southeast tip of Italy a young Austrian U-boat commander named Georg von Trapp, later to gain eternal renown when played by Christopher Plummer in the film The Sound of Music, fired two torpedoes into a large French cruiser, the Leon Gambetta. The ship sank in nine minutes, killing 684 sailors. "So that's what war looks like!" von Trapp wrote in a later memoir. He told his chief officer, "We are like highway men, sneaking up on an unsuspecting ship in such a cowardly fashion." Fighting in a trench or aboard a torpedo boat would have been better, he said. "There you hear shooting, hear your comrades fall, you hear the wounded groaning - you become filled with rage and can shoot men in self defense or fear; at an assault you can even yell! But we! Simply cold-blooded to drown a mass of men in an ambush! ~ Erik Larson

Eventually, the room was cleared, and we stood there together, chests heaving, a spray of shifters and humans on the floor in front of us. We weren't entirely undamaged - I'd taken a bruising shot to my right thigh, and Ethan had slices across his belly where he'd been caught with the edge of a bar of steel broken from someone's office chair.
But we were alive.
We glanced over at each other. I was just about to speak, but before I could get out words, his hand was at the back of my head, his mouth pressing against mine. The intensely possessive kiss left me gasping for breath, but even as he pulled back, his fingers stayed knotted in the back of my hair. ~ Chloe Neill

It's a lot to being a gangster, Harold," Sam replied. "If it's not in you, it's not in you. Everybody can't be a gangster; but just because a person chooses not to be one, it doesn't mean that he, or she, doesn't have it in them. A family person will hurt or kill you just as quickly as a street gangster would. Remember, gangsters don't have nothin' to lose, so getting killed, or killing somebody would mean nothing. On the other hand, a family man has a lot to lose, his kids, his wife, his family, so he'd kill someone to protect his family - or he'll die trying. Two different men fighting for the same purpose - the survival of him and his family. Which one's the real gangster? ~ Clever Black

The key is trying to go quick without killing your tyres. ~ Romain Grosjean

you know that a soldier is the most holy of all humans because he is the most tested - most tested of all. I'll try to tell you. Look now - in all of history men have been taught that killing of men is an evil thing not to be countenanced. Any man ~ John Steinbeck

He inclined his head slightly, looking as fabulous as ever, more appealing than before because I had no idea what he was going to do, what he was capable of.
"Don't do that," I said, my gaze going everywhere but to him.
"Do what?" He sipped from his mug, one long leg draping to the floor, the other pulled up slightly.
"Sit on your desk and look sexy. ~ Kim Harrison

Anyone who believes that the laws of physics are mere social conventions is invited to try transgressing those conventions from the windows of my apartment. (I live on the twenty-first floor). ~ Alan Sokal

A drunken party girl and her equally drunken escort got onto the elevator at that moment. The girl spotted Drake and lurched toward him, an inviting smile on her face as she thrust her barely concealed breasts at him. "Hello, handsome. Would you hold me against you if I told you it was beautiful?"

I pushed myself between her and Drake. "He's very handsome, isn't he? And verytaken."

"Fat bitch," she snapped, sulking for a moment until she spotted Pál. Her companion slouched against the wall of the elevator, too far gone to care, I guess.

The door opened at our floor and we exited, leaving the drunken woman to pout as Pál avoided her grasp. I stopped just outside the door, pulled on Drake's fire, and set alight a ring at her feet. She shrieked and flapped her arms wildly as the doors started to close. I drew a quick ward on them, and before the outer doors blocked my way, mentally stamped out the fire. I turned to find Drake watching me with crossed arms and a cocked eyebrow.

"What?" I asked, trying unsuccessfully to bat my eyelashes at him.

"You locked them in there with fire?"

"There was a fire extinguisher," I said. "Of course, she's probably too drunk to notice it or know how to use it, but that's hardly my problem."

Drake continued to give me the Eyebrow of Much Displeasure.

"There were sprinklers as well. They're sure to go off at some point…oh, for heaven's sake, Drake! What sort of p ~ Katie MacAlister

And then there are the cravings.. Oh, la! A woman may crave to be near water, or be belly down, her face in the earth, smelling the wild smell. She might have to drive into the wind. She may have to plant something, pull things out of the ground or put them into the ground. She may have to knead and bake, rapt in dough up to her elbows.
She may have to trek into the hills, leaping from rock to rock trying out her voice against the mountain. She may need hours of starry nights where the stars are like face powder spilt on a black marble floor. She may feel she will die if she doesn't dance naked in a thunderstorm, sit in perfect silence, return home ink-stained, paint-stained, tear-stained, moon-stained. ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes

I went utterly still as I watched us dancing. That...oh, holy shit. I knew my cheeks were flaming as I watched us move against each other. Our hands just kind of went wherever they wanted. Body parts rubbing sinuously together. I placed a hand over my mouth gently as I watched us...
"Jesus," Elder Merrick muttered, sounding a bit breathless. "I think I bring sex to the dance floor, but fuck..." A pause. "Queen Ruckler, I know I've offered before...and it still stands."
Elder Jacobs grunted. "Maybe I could get a copy of this- ~ Scarlett Dawn

That was the moment Anna felt something inside her trip and fall, something come clean away from all the snares and traps and tangles of the propriety in which she'd been steeped all these years. And as he began to move, she pressed into him as he had shown her, looked up at him from beneath her lashes as he'd directed, and said, in a purring voice, "My, my, sir, how well you move us about the dance floor! One can't help but wonder if you move as well in other, more intimate circumstances," she said, and let her lips stretch into a soft smile.
It worked. Grif's grin faded; he slowed his step a little and blinked down at her for a moment. But that dangerous smile slowly appeared again, starting in his eyes and casually reaching his lips. "If ye were to pose such a question to me, lass, I'd say, 'As fast or as slow, as soft or as hard as ye'd want, leannan. Pray tell, how would ye want?'"
The tingling in her groin was a signal that she was on perilous ground. Anna looked into his green eyes, so dark and so deep that she couldn't quite determine if this was a game they were playing or something far more dangerous. And her good sense, shaped and controlled from years of living among high society, quietly shut down, allowing the real Anna, the Anna who yearned to be loved, to be held and caressed and adored and know all manner of physical pleasure, to slide deeper into the circle of his arms.
"I don't rightly know how I'd want, sir, other than to say…" Her voice tra ~ Julia London

I had a sense of what leadership meant and what it could do for you. So am I surprised that I am sitting up here on the 62nd floor of Rockefeller Plaza? No. ~ Vernon Jordan

Everything about the man spoke of virility
his quick reaction, his calm control now that danger had passed. And she'd never seen a man wield a gun in real life
it was kind of a turn-on to know that he'd protected her. Of course he had protected everyone, but he _had_ sort of singled her out by heaving her to the floor. ~ Stephanie Bond

You can think about killing yourself a thousand times a day and each time it gets just a little bit more real. But the day you wake up and know beyond the shadow of a doubt you are going to go through with it, that is both the worst and best day of your life. When you accept it you will find it amazing that everything you were thinking about suicide before was wrong. Suddenly you realize suicide is easy and desirable and that brings relief. No one wants to die. The act of dying is horrific but the reward is being dead and that sounds glorious to me. ~ T DogMan

Hunting and fishing involve killing animals with devices (such as guns) for which the animals have not evolved natural defenses. No animal on earth has adequate defense against a human armed with a gun, a bow and arrow, a trap that can maim, a snare that can strangle, or a fishing lure designed for the sole purpose of fooling fish into thinking they have found something to eat ~ Marc Bekoff

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp, cutting shards, shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly, both, caught in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores; she was insanity, wrapped up in the thin, transient wrappings of a temporary lucidity; and she was afraid, because an innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche for the very poison that was killing her. ~ Nenia Campbell

The more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm not sure who the first person was who said that. Probably Shakespeare. Or maybe Sting. But at the moment, it's the sentence that best explains my tragic flaw, my inability to change. I don't think I'm alone in this. The more I get to know other people, the more I realize it's kind of everyone's flaw. Staying exactly the same for as long as possible, standing perfectly still... It feels safer somehow. And if you are suffering, at least the pain is familiar. Because if you took that leap of faith, went outside the box, did something unexpected... Who knows what other pain might be out there, waiting for you. Chances are it could be even worse. So you maintain the status quo. Choose the road already traveled and it doesn't seem that bad. Not as far as flaws go. You're not a drug addict. You're not killing anyone... Except maybe yourself a little. When we finally do change, I don't think it happens like an earthquake or an explosion, where all of a sudden we're like this different person. I think it's smaller than that. The kind of thing most people wouldn't even notice unless they looked at us really close. Which, thank God, they never do. But you notice it. Inside you that change feels like a world of difference. And you hope this is it. This is the person you get to be forever... that you'll never have to change again. ~ Laura J. Burns

Cam smiled as she grabbed the hem of his jeans and pulled them until his feet hit the floor with a thud. He was naked. She was naked. And he wasn't looking quite so detached anymore. In fact, he looked panicked. And annoyed. And hot. For her. ~ Toni Anderson

Do you still think Mianaai controls the Radchaai through brainwashing or threats of execution? Those are there, they exist, yes, but most Radchaai, like people most places I have been, do what they're supposed to because they believe it's the right thing to do. No one likes killing people."
Strigan made a sardonic noise "No one?"
"Not many," I amended. "Not enough to fill the Radch's warships". ~ Ann Leckie

It was like having two children in the car with her. Okay, one child and a young adult that
kept backsliding. Hal, of course, was attempting to prove he was really only eight years old.
Taggart could resist the taunting part of the time. Nigel was the senile grandmother who never
noticed that the children were fighting. He sat in the backseat, smiling serenely at the passing
landscape. What made things worse was that Taggart called shotgun so he could film through the
front window. That made it so she couldn't reach Hal to swat him into silence. She found herself
tempted to hit Taggart just because he was beside her. And because he'd changed into a dark blue
silk shirt and cologne that smelled so good she just wanted to roll in it.
"I can kill us all," Jane growled, gripping the wheel tightly, and resisted the urge to drive the
production truck into the ditch to prove her point.
Somehow they reached downtown without her killing anyone. ~ Wen Spencer

The necklace, Marcos," she said firmly, leveling the gun at his heart once more. "I'll take it now."

"It's not here, querida. You waste your time."

Francesca lowered the gun to point at his groin. "Killing you would be too good. Perhaps I will simply have to deprive the female world of your ability to make love ever again. I am quite a good shot, I assure you."

She'd learned out of necessity. And though she never wanted to harm another human being, she had no compunction about making this man think she would do so if it meant she could save Jacques.

His voice dropped to a growl. A hateful, angry growl. "You won't get away with this. Whoever you are, Frankie, I will find you. I will find you and make you wish you'd never met me."

Her heart flipped in her chest. She ignored it. "I already wish that. Now give me the jewel before you lose the ability to ever have children."

Bitterness twisted inside her as she said those words. Ironic to threaten someone with something she would never wish on another soul. But she had to be hard, cold, ruthless – just like he was.

He stared at her in impotent fury, his jaw grinding, his beautiful black eyes flashing daggers at her. Very slowly, he reached up with one hand and slipped his bowtie free of its knot.

Then he jerked it loose and let it fall. ~ Lynn Raye Harris

Scott could feel the contents of his stomach flip over and over on themselves. He turned to the side and retched, frothy yellow bile spilled out onto the newspaper covered floor, filling the room with the putrid stench of previously ingested alcohol.
'Look's like someone can't hold their drink,' McBlane said, and Dominic and Shugg laughed.
Scott was still staring at the steam rising from his evacuated stomach contents as he heard the hammer fall. The dull crack of bone splintering under its weight. ~ R.D. Ronald

Yeah, I give you two a day before you end up killing one another," Nicholas remarks with a laugh."Seriously, it;s like watching mild porn, watching you two eye fuck each other every two seconds. ~ Jessica Sorensen

Wardrobe had a suite on the twenty-fourth floor, and we stepped into an elevator filled with three businessmen, complete with gray suits and briefcases, which seemed like overkill on a Saturday morning. Maybe there was a board meeting at their church. The door slid shut, and one of them glanced importantly in our direction. He looked away haughtily, and then did a double take. "Holy shit, Jackie Forrest?!" he blurted out, and the other two gave a start and then gaped at us, too. ~ Jeff Lindsay

Wagon Train was on. It seemed to be beaming in from some foreign country. I shut that off, too, and went into another room, a windowless one with a painted door
a dark cavern with a floor-to-ceiling library. I switched on the lamps. The place had an overpowering presence of literature and you couldn't help but lose your passion for dumbness. ~ Bob Dylan

With Snorri troubles were always put front and centre and dealt with. My style was more to shove them under the rug until the floor got too uneven to navigate, and then to move house. ~ Mark Lawrence

Only I knew the truth - I didn't enjoy killing. It was nothing more than a necessary evil in my world.

My sin was being very good at it. ~ Lisa Kessler

I miss talking to you, Fallen."
"That's too bad. I don't ever miss anything about you."
"You're fun." His eyes sparkled like sunlit gems. "You're never afraid to go tit for tat with me."
"I don't want anything to do with your tits or tats."
He laughed again, his eyes darkening back to brown.


"Did we really just get beat up by that little Junior Guardian?"
"If anyone asks we'll say that there were fifty of them."
I touched my cheek and hissed. "Goddamn ninja punk."
"I feel terrible and I don't mean my wounded ego. I feel really bad." He groaned and rolled to his side, not moving from the floor. "I can't believe we just got our asses handed to us by a goddamn Jonas-brother wannabe."
"He had the hilt piece. Did you see it?"
"No, I was too busy crying like a girl. ~ Cori Moore

There is a story that Simonides was dining at the house of a wealthy nobleman named Scopas at Crannon in Thessaly, and chanted a lyric poem which he had composed in honor of his host, in which he followed the custom of the poets by including for decorative purposes a long passage referring to Castor and Pollux; whereupon Scopas with excessive meanness told him he would pay him half the fee agreed on for the poem, and if he liked he might apply for the balance to his sons of Tyndaraus, as they had gone halves in the panegyric.

The story runs that a little later a message was brought to Simonides to go outside, as two young men were standing at the door who earnestly requested him to come out; so he rose from his seat and went out, and could not see anybody; but in the interval of his absence the roof of the hall where Scopas was giving the banquet fell in, crushing Scopas himself and his relations underneath the ruins and killing them; and when their friends wanted to bury them but were altogether unable to know them apart as they had been completely crushed, the story goes that Simonides was enabled by his recollection of the place in which each of them had been reclining at table to identify them for separate interment; and that this circumstance suggested to him the discovery of the truth that the best aid to clearness of memory consists in orderly arrangement.

He inferred that persons desiring to train this faculty must select localities and form ment ~ Marcus Tullius Cicero

Must have stayed that way for some time; I slept sometimes, dreaming of the last few days of the Jacobite Rising - I saw again the dead man in the wood, asleep beneath a coverlet of bright blue fungus, and Dougal MacKenzie dying on the floor of an attic in Culloden House; the ragged men of the Highland army, asleep in the muddy ditches; their last sleep before the slaughter. I would wake screaming or moaning, ~ Diana Gabaldon