Quotes & Sayings About Killing The Beast

There are two possible responses to a world suddenly gripped by terror and contention. There is the Moseley way: get mad and get even. But as the course of King Philip's War proved, unbridled arrogance and fear only feed the flames of violence. Then there is the (Benjamin) Church way. Instead of killing him, try to bring him around to your way of thinking. First and foremost, treat him like a human being. For Church, success in war was about coercion rather than slaughter, and in this he anticipated the welcoming, transformative beast that eventually became, once the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were in place, the United States. — Nathaniel Philbrick

Thirty paces, twenty, and you can see the eyes of the men who will try to kill you, and see the spear-blades, and the instinct is to stop, to straighten the shields. We cringe from battle, fear claws at us, time seems to stop, there is silence though a thousand men shout, and at that moment, when terror savages the heart like a trapped beast, you must hurl yourself into the horror.
Because the enemy feels the same.
And you have come to kill him. You are the beast from his nightmares. — Bernard Cornwell

From Kari Gregg's "What Rough Beast"

{Elliot} blinked when a blade speared neatly through the master's chest from the rear. "Got him," Garrick shouted over the master's shoulder. "Set, Elliot."
Set what?
He didn't care.
He channeled his rage and pierced the dark master through, impaling him on his blade.
Garrick slid his free.
Malachi yanked him down a split second before Garrick's sword severed his head as well as the dark master's. Chest heaving, he sprawled in the dust, blinking at the fuzzy image of the head bouncing across the floor. It came to rest at the bottom spoke of a crumbling ladder, the vampyr's teeth still gnashing.
His new partner dragged him upright and, looking in his eyes, squeezed his shoulder. "Set means your blade will set the enemy for your partner's killing blow" Malachi grinned at him, chuckled. "It also means duck. — Kari Gregg

The average beast of prey is a decent creature who merely kills for the sake of food or in a fight against an enemy. It is only man who calls killing "sport" and kills for the pleasure of killing; not for food, not for self-defense, but just to satisfy some primitive instinct, once necessary and now perverted. — Gilbert Murray

Mary tucked into a ball, shielding herself from the tail's barbs. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, cutting off the juicy sounds and the horrible sight of the killing.
Moments later she felt her body being nudged. The beast was pushing at her with its nose.
She rolled over and looked up into its white eyes. "I'm fine. But we're going to have to work on your table manners."
The beast purred and stretched out on the ground next to her, resting its head between its forelegs. There was a brilliant flash of light and then Rhage appeared in the same position. — J.R. Ward

Werewolves are not the subject of academe," she said, "but you know what the professors would be saying if they were. 'Monsters die out when the collective imagination no longer needs them. Species death like this is nothing more than a shift in the aggregate psychic agenda. In ages past the beast in man was hidden in the dark, disavowed. The transparency of modern history makes that impossible: We've seen ourselves in concentration camps, the gulags, the jungles, the killing fields, we've read ourselves in the annals of True Crime. Technology turned up the lights and now there's no getting away from the fact: The beast is redundant. It's been us all along. — Glen Duncan

You know, I gave you the benefit of the doubt earlier when I first encountered you, the raging beast - oh I mean bitch. But now
I truly think that if greats who devoted themselves and achieved in some way at killing evil with kindness like Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Mandela, Mother Teresa, well I think if any of them met you... they truly would break that seal of devotion and beat the bloody shit out of you."
"I take that as a compliment."
"Oh, I know you do. — Chelsea Ballinger

There is no getting better. There is love I cannot bear, which has kept me from drifting entirely loose. There are the medicines I can take that flood my mind without discrimination, slowing the monster, moving the struggle underwater, where I then must live in the murk. But there is no killing the beast. Since I was a young man, it has haunted me. And it will hunt me until I am dead. The older I become, the closer it gets. — Adam Haslett

I held my breath was the beast still there or was it done killing for the night? I sincerely hoped for the latter upon reaching the cabin the lights where still on and the massive trail of blood was splattered all over the walls the place was a mess "Get it together Ris." I say to myself as I continue to examine the cabin. — Charon Lloyd-Roberts

The Pension Dressler stood in a side street and had, at first glance, the air rather of a farm than of a hotel. Frau Dressler's pig, tethered by one hind trotter to the jamb of the front door, roamed the yard and disputed the kitchen scraps with the poultry. He was a prodigious beast. Frau Dressler's guests prodded him appreciatively on the way to the dining-room, speculating on how soon he would be ripe for killing. The milch-goat was allowed a narrower radius; those who kept strictly to the causeway were safe, but she never reconciled herself to this limitation and, day in, day out, essayed a series of meteoric onslaughts on the passers-by, ending, at the end of her rope, with a jerk which would have been death to an animal of any other species. One day the rope would break; she knew it, and so did Frau Dressler's guests. — Evelyn Waugh

Kate's Speciality: Killing things, with much bloodshed. Talking trash, infuriating authority. Driving Beast Lord crazy. — Ilona Andrews

I do not like the killers, and the killing bravely and well crap. I do not like the bully boys, the Teddy Roosevelt's, the Hemingways, the Ruarks. They are merely slightly more sophisticated versions of the New Jersey file clerks who swarm into the Adirondacks in the fall, in red cap, beard stubble and taut hero's grin, talking out of the side of their mouths, exuding fumes of bourbon, come to slay the ferocious white-tailed deer. It is the search for balls. A man should have one chance to bring something down. He should have his shot at something, a shining running something, and see it come a-tumbling down, all mucus and steaming blood stench and gouted excrement, the eyes going dull during the final muscle spasms. And if he is, in all parts and purposes, a man, he will file that away as a part of his process of growth and life and eventual death. And if he is perpetually, hopelessly a boy, he will lust to go do it again, with a bigger beast. — John D. MacDonald

Forgive me for killing you, O noble beast,' he whispered the ancient apology that all hunters offered, as he gently touched the deer's head. 'May your soul find purpose again, while your body sustains my soul. — Amish Tripathi

I could do it. I could rip your life out like a fury, like a beast.
I could stand over you with my red hands
and lap the heart out of your hollow chest.
I'm a wolf, I'm a woman, I'm a building hurricane.
I'm whole-way sharp teeth, soul-sick wet claws.
I say "love me," and you say, "you're killing me."
I say, "i'd die for you," and you say," You'd kill for me - that's not the same thing. — Elisabeth Hewer