Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Slaughtered. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Slaughtered Quotes And Sayings by 92 Authors including Marie Corelli,Jewel,Ingrid Newkirk,Benjamin Franklin,Andrei Voznesensky for you to enjoy and share.
A fine morning's killing, ay! All their necks wrung - all dead birds! Once they could fly - fly and swim! Fly and swim! All dead now - and sold cheap in the open market!
The savages are upon me and I feel my flesh burn beneath the teeth of their indifference.
Recognize meat for what it really is: the antibiotic- and pesticide-laden corpse of a tortured animal.
My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chided for my singularity, but, with this lighter repast, I made the greater progress, for greater clearness of head and quicker comprehension. Flesh eating is unprovoked murder.
The urge to kill, like the urge to beget,
Is blind and sinister. Its craving is set
Today on the flesh of a hare: tomorrow it can
Howl the same way for the flesh of a man.
So bloody massacre, so nasty, so brutal he just starts to eat alive people flesh.
In a 50 mile radius around Chicago one can see the red aura of pain, agony, terror, anger from all the animals being butchered there.
I'm a little wounded, but I am not slain; I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I'll rise and fight again.
Animals do not do what they have done. Animals kill to eat, to defend themselves or their own, and to protect their territory. Not for the joy of it. Not for the lust of it ... Only humans do that, wizard.
Vultures pick the meat clean off a bone. Guilt eats at the marrow, leaving a man hollow.
A culture of vultures steeped and born of violence shall choke on the blood of its offspring.
The unhorsing, wounding and capture of the enemy was sought, for corpses fetched little ransom, but in the blind chaos of the charge, death was a whore who did not care who she drew into her darkness, veteran knight or callow bachelor.
No ONE MENTIONS YOUR TEARS, SADNESS OR SLOW DEATH! BUT, WE FEEL YOUR FALLEN TEARS, YOUR BEHEADED BODIES, YOUR RAPED DIGNITY!
When we slid the body into the grave, we both were shaken to the core. The loss we felt was not the loss of ham but the loss of pig.
They were all impatient for a kill. They wanted to fill their noses with the hot, acrid death that issued from a deer's carcass minutes after it drew its last breath, the smell that allowed them, as men, to tremble momentarily with the sensation of life, its heat and quiet.
hardly had my knife severed the head of each, before the whole body began to melt away and crumble into its native dust, as though the death that should have come centuries ago had at last assert himself and say at once and loud, "I am here!
And like lambs to a slaughter we shall follow ...
guts you, then saunters away as the vultures swoop down to steal what's left. I knew that.
Poor, darling fellow - he died of food. He was killed by the dinner table.
mashed into a casserole of wreckage that still smoked and burned.
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
On some occasions the bodies of the martyrs who had been devoured by wild beasts, upon the beasts being strangled, were found alive in their stomachs.
The lamb misused breeds public strife
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The roast meat the animal had snatched was only a semblance. It was more than food, it was a meal not for human witness, a tangle of viscera, a species of human sacrifice - as if Emerence were feeding the actual person to the dog, along with all her fond memories and feelings.
I am the harvest of man's stupidity. I am the fruit of the holocaust. I prayed like you to survive, but look at me now. It is over for us who are dead, but you must struggle, and will carry the memories all your life. People back home will wonder why you can't forget.
Cut the attacker down, to cut them down to their very soul
Each killing steals a bit of humanity until a murderer is nothing more than an animal. A hunger replaces the spirit. A want for what was lost, but as with innocence, the soul can never be replaced. Joy, love, and peace flee such a vessel and in their stead blooms a desire for blood and death.
Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.
I was vanquished by a deer!'
A giant magical flying deer with fangs,' Seth said, parroting a description Gavin had shared earlier.
That sounds a little better,' Warren conceded. 'Seth is in charge of my tombstone.
The Murder Burger is served right here.
You need not wait at the gate of Heaven for unleavened death.
You can be a goner on this very corner.
Mayonnaise, onions, dominance of flesh.
If you wish to eat it you must feed it.
Yall come back soon.
You bet.
The most savage and voracious animal never kills to increase his wealth, or open a way to grandeur. It slays to satisfy his hunger, or in a natural defense of his own life, or of those whom he is prompted by instinct to preserve.
How it is that Bengal with all its knowledge, intelligence, sacrifice, and emotion tolerates this slaughter?
The tightly focused battle was an orgy of slaughter. Limbs, heads, and parts of bodies from men and women alike littered the ground.
The slaying of multitudes should be mourned with sorrow. A victory should be celebrated with the funeral rite.
Have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of well-fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats.
If we are not given the option to live without violence, we are given the choice to center our meals around harvest or slaughter, husbandry or war. We have chosen slaughter. We have chosen war. That's the truest version of our story of eating animals.
Can we tell a new story?
The fool had been branded for the slaughter by the gods.
Whoever regards human beings as a herd and flees them as swiftly as he can will no doubt be overtaken by them and impaled on theirhorns.
The pound of flesh which I demand of him
Is dearly bought; 'tis mine, and I will have it.
We fill the slaughterhouses daily with screams of fear and pain.
Look or be devoured.
Never lose time in sending the scapegoat to the slaughterhouse.
We are fastened to a dying animal.
...a murder of crows gormandized until they were satiated.
I want my food dead. Not sick, not dying, dead.
In the slaughterhouse of love, they kill only the best, none of the weak or deformed. Don't run away from this dying. Whoever's not killed for love is dead meat.
If you kill what you love, you're damned.
Like the blind man said as he wandered into a cannibal village ...
Alright! The country fair must be right up ahead. I smell barbecue!
Now he was hungry, tired, and covered in boar's blood. He hated hunting his own food!
Sweeping from butcher's stalls, dung, guts, and blood,
Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in mud,
Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.
Eating meat is a leftover of the greatest brutality [killing]; the transition to vegetarianism is the first and most natural consequence of enlightenment.
I have from an early age abjured the use of meat, and the time will come when men such as I will look upon the murder of animals as they now look upon the murder of men.
I am sore wounded but not slain
I will lay me down and bleed a while
And then rise up to fight again
In the battlefield men grapple each other and die;
The horses of the vanquished utter lamentable cries to heaven,
While ravens and kites peck at human entrails,
Carry them up in their flight, and hang them on the branches of dead trees.
Hungry, you're a dog, angry and bad-natured. having eaten your fill, you become a carcass; you lie down like a wall, senseless. At one time a dog, at another time a carcass, how will you run with lions, or follow the saints?
I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and let the dark blood flow. Then there gathered the spirits of the dead, brides and unwed youths, old men worn out by labour, and tender maidens with hearts still new to sorrow.
I will devour you.
In you, humanity is precarious; and so, in dread and in shame, you kill the animal in you. And its slaughter poisons you.
Why does the brave druskelle Matthias Helvar eat no meat? 'Tis a sad story indeed, my child. His teeth were winnowed away by a vexatious Grisha, and now he can eat only pudding.
Better the butcher than the meat.
He that slayeth an ox is as he that killeth a human.
There is no flock, however watched and tended, but one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsoe'er defended, but has one vacant chair.
They murdered him.
Dieve--but I'm glad I'm not a hog.
Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
'Found the sheep too easy to kill?' I ask. 'Where'd you get the weapon?'
'Born with them.' His fingernails are bloody.
Red swine. Mother rapers. Eaters of the milk of thy fathers.
That's great, Jean. I'm not just exiled; I'm being plumped up for slaughter.
The dead to the grave, the living to the loaf.
On the day of the hunt I came to know in the slick center of my bones this one thing: all animals kill to survive, and we are animals.
And, having killed him (Abhimanyu), your people danced round his dead body like savage hunters exulting over their prey. All good men in the army were grieved and tears rolled from their eyes. Even the birds of prey, that circled overhead making noises seemed to cry 'Not thus! Not thus!
When one creature is murdered, another is immediately deprived of life in a slow torturing manner; then the executioners, their hands yet reeking with the blood of innocence, believe that they have done a great deed.
Now is the time for guts and guile
These invincible barbarian warriors committed acts of untold cruelty upon the unsuspecting citizenry, slaughtering all those before them in a frenzy of blood and fire and then drinking their chocolate milk right out of the carton.
Wil ate without enthusiasm. His bacon tasted like nothing. Like a dead animal, fried. His eggs, aborted chickens.
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.
Many people have accused me of such ferocious cruelty that (they allege) I would like to kill again the man I have destroyed. Not only am I indifferent to their comments, but I rejoice in the fact that they spit in my face.
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
Oh madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burnt porridge, into these children's mouths, you may indeed feed their vile bodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!
slain, after all man's devices had failed, by the humblest things that God, in
The with forbidden the death of warriors
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
I will not eat oysters. I want my food dead. Not sick. Not wounded. Dead.
Watchful are the Gods of all Hands with slaughter stained. The black Furies wait, and when a man Has grown by luck, not justice, great, With sudden overturn of chance They wear him to a shade, and, cast Down to perdition, who shall save him?
Animals are our inferior brothers and sisters. They are not meant to be eaten, but must be treated with love.
We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.
I knew at least Banalia was dead; that had happened right in front of my eyes. They would either eat her now or smoke her body to sell the meat. It made my stomach turn
the DNA in that meat was almost 99 percent the same as human DNA; it was nearly cannibalism. But the men were hungry.
Guess you didn't get eaten the way you wanted, eh?
Like some scurrilous king stripped of his vestiture and driven together with his fool into the wilderness to die.
A lifetime of cannibal hatred
Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.
Whoever eats the Lamb outside this House is profane.
Kill or be killed little warriors.
Hee that makes himself a sheep, shall be eat by the wolfe.
I venture to maintain that there are multitudes to whom the necessity of discharging the duties of a butcher would be so inexpressibly painful and revolting, that if they could obtain a flesh diet on no other condition, they would relinquish it forever.
They were a sorry-looking bunch. Their clothes were in tatters. Their flesh was ripped. They were filthy beyond filth. For once, they looked like the living dead.
Death. Starvation. Blindness. Another grim day in our village.
The Skinned Men kill again.
Desperation's heated breath singed my neck, its jagged teeth prepared to devour my flesh. Poverty growled too, waiting its turn, famished yet patient, a beast that dined on the bones of men.
Goodwill to Spazzy up in gerbil heaven. Sorry sorry sorry. I stopped eating meat the day of the massacre, as penance for Spazzy. I've been a vegetarian since age six, all for the love of a gerbil.