“Blood is the god of war’s rich livery.”

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?

O soul, be changed into little waterdrops, / And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found!

Why should you love him whom the world hates so? Because he love me more than all the world.

Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.

The griefs of private men are soon allayed, But not of kings.

It is a comfort to the miserable to have comrades in misfortune, but it is a poor comfort after all.

Religion hides many mischiefs from suspicion.

More childish valorous than manly wise.

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

He must have a long spoon that eats with the devil.

Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.

Infinite riches in a little room.

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?

While money doesn’t buy love, it puts you in a great bargaining position.

Accurst be he that first invented war.

As if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.

I still pick at these memories of you; I pick them until they bleed.

I have wolf blood and wolf bones. Don’t expect me to graze with sheep.

I swear if I were to rip myself open, it wouldn’t be blood that poured out of me, it would be him.

Somebody may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it.

Nothing counts so much as blood. The rest are just strangers.

You gonna do somethin’? or are you just gonna stand there and bleed?

The Church of Christ has been founded by shedding its own blood, not that of others; by enduring outrage, not by inflicting it. Persecutions have made it grow; martyrdoms have crowned it.