Knife Blade Quotes & Sayings

Then this is for you," Galahad said, and drew a knife from the pouch at his belt. It was an odd little thing, T-hilted and small enough to fit into a woman's hand. Its translucent blade, only an inch and a half long, was bound with scrolling bronze wire to the bone hilt. "Have a care. Obsidian is sharper than anything else in the world, sharp enough to make sunlight bleed. — Suzannah Rowntree

Consider this: when you stand at the entry to a steel factory, you can make out through the smoke some men, some metal, the fires. The furnaces roar, the hammers crash; and the metalworkers who forge ingots, weapons, tools, and so on are completely ignorant of the real uses to which their products will be put. The workers can only refer to their products by conventional names. Well, that's where we all stand, all of us! Nobody can see the real character of what he creates because every knife blade may become a dagger, and the use to which an object is put changes both its name and its nature. Only our ignorance shields us from terrible responsibilities. — Villiers De L'Isle-Adam

Why don't you snap your oars, you rascals? Bite something, you dogs! So, so, so, then: - softly, softly! That's it - that's it! long and strong. Give way there, give way! The devil fetch ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep. Stop snoring, ye sleepers, and pull. Pull, will ye? pull, can't ye? pull, won't ye? Why in the name of gudgeons and ginger-cakes don't ye pull? - pull and break something! pull, and start your eyes out! Here," whipping out the sharp knife from his girdle; "every mother's son of ye draw his knife, and pull with the blade between his teeth. That's it - that's it. Now ye do something; that looks like it, my steel-bits. Start her - start her, my silverspoons! Start her, marling-spikes!" Stubb's exordium to his crew is given here at large, because he had rather a peculiar way of talking to them in general, and especially in inculcating the religion of rowing. — Herman Melville

Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirt tail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thought of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. — Suzanne Collins

It's the forties look," she says to George, hand on her hip, doing a pirouette. "Rosie the Riveter. From the war. Remember her?"
George, whose name is not really George, does not remember. He spent the forties rooting through garbage bag heaps and begging, and doing other things unsuitable for a child. He has a dim memory of some film star posed on a calendar tattering on a latrine wall. Maybe this is the one Prue means. He remembers for an instant his intense resentment of the bright, ignorant smile, the well-fed body. A couple of buddies had helped him take her apart with the rusty blade from a kitchen knife they'd found somewhere in the rubble. He does not consider telling any of this to Prue. — Margaret Atwood

A knife slash with a sharp blade almost never caused pain unless delivered with force. As the skin parted, there was only a stinging sensation. Spinning, — David Morrell

Here's an example: someone says, "Master, please hand me the knife," and he hands them the knife, blade first. "Please give me the other end," he says. And the master replies, "What would you do with the other end?" This is answering an everyday matter in terms of the metaphysical.
When the question is, "Master, what is the fundamental principle of Buddhism?" Then he replies, "There is enough breeze in this fan to keep me cool." That is answering the metaphysical in terms of the everyday, and that is, more or less, the principle zen works on. The mundane and the sacred are one and the same. — Alan W. Watts

She shoved me against the wall, pulling a knife from her belt and pressing it against my throat. "Who are you?" she hissed.
I winced as the blade drew a line of blood on my flesh. I considered my options. Queen of the Fallen, no. Enemy to your children, no. "I'm Claire, the Devil's assistant," I answered, deciding on the simplest choice. — H.D. Smith

[He] was alone, which surprised me. But not as much as the wicked looking knife he pulled off the passenger's seat and brought out with him. It was the kind of blade that a steak knife dreamed of becoming someday. It was bigger than a cleaver, not quite broadsword size.
Drew whistled. How many box tops did he have to turn in for that? — Scott Tracey

She dreamed she was back in that cell, fighting off the guard - Halmond - pulling back the knife to stab him. Only in the dream, he wrested it from her fingers and slammed it into her gut, and she gasped, her eyes closing and then opening to see, not Halmond holding the blade, but Gavril.
Moria shot upright, screaming, still feeling the agony of the blade buried in her gut, and then she saw Gavril, right there, his hands on her shoulders, saying her name. She fought wildly, half asleep, seeing Gavril's face in both dream and reality, his cold and empty expression as he plunged the blade in deeper, and then the other Gavril, his eyes wide with alarm, her name on his lips, his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries.
"It's all right," he said. "It's me. I'm here."
She kicked and clawed, biting his hand and struggling with everything she had while he fought to restrain her, muttering, "Not the right thing to say, apparently. — Kelley Armstrong

Kate stops grinding the knife and begins to pass it over the length of the stone. Turning her wrist, she pulls the blade, swiping one side after the other, honing it to a fine edge. She wipes it dry with an old cloth and picks up a long piece of dark leather. One end of the strop she ties to the knob on the back of her chair, then holds it taught with her left hand. She counts in her head as she passes the blade over the length of the leather, flipping it at the bottom and the top of each pass. When she gets to twenty, she releases her hold on the strop and looks closely at the knife blade. Even in the dim light of the room, it shines. — Kari Aguila

What we end up calling history is a kind of knife, slicing down through time. A few people are hard enough to bend its edge. But most won't even stand close to the blade. I'm one of those. We don't bend anything. — Barbara Kingsolver

make use of some such alarm signals as mad-doctors adopt in dealing with their distracted patients; as by beating several times on a glass with the blade of a knife, fixing them at the same time with a sharp word and a compelling glance, violent methods which the said doctors are apt to bring with them into their everyday life among the sane, either from force of professional habit or because they think the whole world a trifle mad. Their — Marcel Proust

it was life and death. Both you and Sawyer brought guns, but you didn't tell the rest of us." Sawyer shifted. "Shit. Combat knife, too." Riley pulled a wicked blade out of her boot. "Throwing knife." "Which only — Nora Roberts

Mr. Lecky could see well enough to eat. He brought his chair over and sat down gratefully while he consumed, but with appetite now, the ham and biscuits which he had disdained in the morning. Even the fact that he was using to cut his ham the knife which had cut a human throat did not disturb him. He had taken care to see that the blade was wiped clean. — James Gould Cozzens

All the general fear I've been feeling condenses into an immediate fear of this girl, this predator who might kill me in seconds. Adrenaline shoots through me and I sling the pack over one shoulder and run full-speed for the woods. I can hear the blade whistling toward me and reflexively hike the pack up to protect my head. The blade lodges in the pack. Both straps on my shoulders now, I make for the trees. Somehow I knew the girl will not pursue me. That she'll be drawn back into the Cornucopia before all the good stuff is gone. A grin crosses my face. Thanks for the knife, I think. — Suzanne Collins

I wanted to die. Die right there. I wanted to run to the knife drawer, grab the biggest blade I could find, and plunge it into my heart. To be exposed as never even being kissed ... it was
almost worse than being a vampire princess. The vampire thing was a ridiculous fantasy, but my total lack of experience ... that was real. "Mom! That is so embarrassing! Did you have to tell him that?"
Well, Jessica, it's true. I don't want Lucius thinking you're some sort of experienced young woman, ready for marriage. — Beth Fantaskey

Impulsively, she shoved him, but he didn't budge, and the knife in her hand sliced into his shirt. And his skin. Horrified, she was about to apologize when he spun her around and held her with one arm pressed against her throat and a switchblade aimed at her stomach. "I win this point, Jordan. If I was a lost soul, you'd now have a blade in your belly. Do you know why?"
"Because you're a mean son of a bitch? — Trinity Faegen

Logen pulled the knife out of his boot and rammed the blade into the side of the giant's neck. He looked surprised, for just a moment, then blood dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. He let go of Logen's shirt, stumbled back, spun slowly round, bounced off one of the stones and crashed on his face. Seemed that Logen's father had been right. You can never have too many knives. — Joe Abercrombie

In most cases, the truth is a blade that does not need to be sharpened, and we almost never need to twist the knife. Because as a listener we can empathize with the fear that what we hear might hurt, we can also work to apply gentleness when speaking. I — Ethan Nichtern

The knife had done almost everything it was brought to that house to do, and both the blade and the handle were wet. — Neil Gaiman

Dougal eyed the breakfast repast. In addition to burnt toast, there was poorly trimmed ham, eggs that looked rubbery enough to bounce off the floor, pathetically dry scones, and small, smoking pieces of something he suspected had once been kippers.
Sophia noted Dougal's disgusted expression, and her heart lifted.
He looked amazingly handsome this morning, dressed in a pale blue riding coat and white shirt, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, his green eyes glinting as he began to fill his plate. Two scones, a scoop of eggs, and a large piece of blackened ham all went onto his plate.
Sophia had eaten earlier in the kitchen with Mary, who had served warm muffins with cream and marmalade, some lovely bacon, and crusty toast, complemented by a pot of hot tea.
Sophia hid a smile as Dougal attempted to cut his ham. Too tough for his blade, it tore into uneven pieces under his knife. He lifted a piece and regarded it on the tines of his fork. — Karen Hawkins

Physiologists and high-performance trainers understand now that the concept of 110 percent is no longer a smart way to train. Fitness is like the blade of a knife; you want to sharpen it without ruining the blade. Give 110 percent, and you won't build your body up, but actually break it down. And be no good to yourself or anyone else. — Sally Jenkins

Lighting gleamed on the blade, a flicker of quicksilver.
For Wesley. For Sam. For Aelin.
And for herself. For the child she'd been, for the seventeen-year-old on her Bidding night, for the woman she'd become, her heart in shreds, her invisible wound still bleeding.
It was so very easy to sit up and slice the knife across Arobynn's throat. — Sarah J. Maas

Tell you what." I closed the blade with a satisfying snick. "Remember that time you tried to kill me because I wouldn't open a gate to hell?"
"The memory's a bit fuzzy ... "
I opened the knife again.
"Yes, now that you mention it, I do recall something like that happening, although my motivation was certainly never to kill you. Can't you view it as me inspiring you to figure out how to use the Paths? I didn't actually want you to die. — Kiersten White

The mage pulled my knife out of his side and looked at it. "Nice knife." The voice was deep but female.
I threw my second knife. The blade bit into the mage's chest. Shit. Missed the neck. "Here, have another one. — Ilona Andrews

Like the previous one, this angel smiles when he sees my blade. He's up for more of a challenge than squashing an ant. At least this ant has a sharp knife and an attitude. — Susan Ee

A knife is neither true nor false, but anyone impaled on its blade is in error. — Rene Daumal

walked down the hill and stuck out my thumb, standing in the same spot where I had stood when I hitchhiked to high school. My clothes and gear were in my official Boy Scout backpack, a big old thing on an aluminum rack, with my sleeping bag and pup tent lashed to it. I'd been a serious Boy Scout - I joined at 12, after my failed Little League career, and took to it immediately, racking up merit badges and making it all the way to Eagle Scout. I knew first aid, how to start a fire in the rain, how to make a mean camp stew, and lots of other useful stuff. And I didn't mind sleeping outside, which was a good thing, since there was no way I could afford motels. My official Boy Scout sheath knife, a serious piece of business with a leather-wrapped handle and a five-inch blade, was also in the pack; I'd move it into my boot by the end of the first day. — David Noonan

Is this how you will die? Is this what you were meant for? To simply be bled out like a pig?
A spark of rage flickers, an antidote to despair.
Will you not even try to survive? Did the scientists make you too stupid even to consider fighting for your own life?
Emiko closes her eyes and prays to Mizuko Jizo Bodhisattva, and then the bakeneko cheshire spirit for good measure. She takes a breath, and then with all her strength she slams her hand against the knife. The blade slices past her neck, a searing line.
"Arai wa?!" the man shouts.
Emiko shoves hard against him and ducks under his flailing knife. Behind her, she hears a grunt and thud as she bolts for the street. She doesn't look back. She plunges into the street, not caring that she shows herself as a windup, not caring that in running she will burn up and die. She runs, determined only to escape the demon behind her. She will burn, but she will not die passive like some pig led to slaughter. — Paolo Bacigalupi

It's a little scary, what you do."
As I tried to figure out how to respond, and with words as sharp and cold as the blade of a knife, Criminy said, "If you're scared of her talent, then you don't truly know what fear is. — Delilah S. Dawson

The tension has worn us out. It is a deadly tension that feels as if a jagged knife blade is being scraped along the spine. Our legs won't function, our hands are trembling and our bodies are like thin membranes stretched over barely repressed madness, holding in what would otherwise be an unrestrained outburst of endless scream.s. We have no flesh, no muscle now — Erich Maria Remarque

Quick as a flash, Sawney Rath's eyes hardened. "Then I'm ordering you to skin Felch alive!" He took the otter's paw, closing it over the knife handle. "Obey me!"
The crowded clearing became as silent as a tomb. All eyes were upon the Taggerung, awaiting his reaction to the order.
Tagg turned his back on Sawney and strode to the side of the fox strung up to the beech bough. He raised the blade. Felch shut his eyes tight, his head shaking back and forth as his nerves quivered uncontrollably. With a sudden slash Tagg severed the thongs that bound him. Felch slumped to the ground in a shaking heap. Tagg's voice was flat and hard as he turned to face Sawney.
"I'm sorry to disobey your order. The fox is a sorry thief, but I will not take the life of a helpless beast. — Brian Jacques

Want know how I got these scars? My father was a drinker and a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not one bit. So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me, and he says, 'why so serious?' He comes at me with the knife. 'Why so serious?!'. He sticks the blade in my mouth. 'Let's put a smile on that face!' And why so serious? — Heath Ledger

Along the blade of a knife lies the path of paradox - the single most worthy path of the fearless mind ... — Yevgeny Zamyatin

Raphael's pleasure, his kiss, sent her over a second time ... and it wasn't until they both stirred again that Raphael reached down and undid the strap of her knife sheath, putting it and the knife on the bedside table. "Beautiful as this sheath is," he said, touching the leather, "I much prefer the one which holds my blade. — Nalini Singh

A knife struck the docks between Kell's feet, and he jumped.

"Lila!" he shouted.

"Leaving!" she called from the deck. "And bring me back that knife," she added. "It's my favorite one."

Kell shook his head, and freed the blade from where it had lodged in the wood. "They're all you favorite. — V.E Schwab

The plunge was easier than the pull. The serrated edge caught the flaps of skin on the way out. It wasn't the nature of the blade; he'd chosen specific tools for the torture and wasn't about to skimp on the final cut. Most would have picked the sharpest. The sharpest would allow smooth entry both into and out of the body. He'd used the sharpest on the torso; four quick stabs just above the waist and one to pierce his side. No water; only blood. This final task required a specific tool and he'd chosen a bread knife. It'd been used for that too; winter soups with a rustic loaf, hearty bacon sandwiches in the family home. Use only a little pressure, move it back and forth, letting the edge do the work. That was the easy way to do it, but this wasn't — Darryl Donaghue

A streak of green fire blasted out of the back of the shed, passed a foot over the heads of the mob, and burned a charred rosette in the woodwork over the door.
Then came a voice that was a honeyed purr of sheer deadly menance.
"This is Lord Mountjoy Quickfang Winterforth IV, the hottest dragon in the city. It could burn your head clean off."
Captain Vimes limped forward from the shadows. A small and extremely frightened golden dragon was clamped firmly under one arm. His other hand held it by the tail. The rioters watched it, hypnotized.
"Now I know what you're thinking," Vimes went on, softly. "You're wondering, after all this excitement, has it got enough flame left? And, y'know, I ain't so sure myself ... "
He leaned forward, sighting between the dragon's ears, and his voice buzzed like a knife blade: "What you've got to ask yourself is: Am I feeling lucky? — Terry Pratchett

His fingers wrapped around the smooth metal handle, and he eased the knife from its sweat-patinaed leather sheath and weaved the blade skillfully through the air. While it didn't have the impression of a Fae-forged blade, he did feel something alive within the mortal steel as if the old blade had drunk deeply of blood and continued to thirst. — Jacqueline Patricks

I heard you scream," he said as he examined the blade in my hands. I'd never held one so finely crafted, so perfectly balanced. "And I hesitated. Not long, but I hesitated before I came running. Even though Tam got there in time, I still broke my word in those seconds I waited." He jerked his chin at the knife. "It's yours. Don't bury it in my back, please. — Sarah J. Maas

His three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw benieath him, Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab's leg. — Herman Melville

The outbreath is like a whetstone, and the mind is like the knife or sword that is being sharpened on that stone. When you sharpen a knife, you draw the blade of the knife across the sharpening stone. Following your outbreath is like drawing the blade of mind across the breath. Then — Chogyam Trungpa

I brought a knife to the gunfight.
I am the knife.
I am all blade. — Clementine Von Radics

No knife cuts as swiftly, deeply and precisely as the blade of the Beloved. — Tiziana Stupia

In my unpleasant experience, unarmed against a knife, you've basically got four options. Your best bet is to run like hell, if you can. Next best is to do something immediately that prevents the attack from getting started. Third is to create distance so you can deploy a longer-range weapon. Fourth is to go berserk and hope not to get fatally cut going through and over your attacker. I don't care how much training you've had, these are your only realistic options, and none of them is particularly good except maybe the first. Unarmed techniques against the knife are a crapshoot, and against a determined attacker with a live blade, they offer piss-poor odds. — Barry Eisler

Mirren pulled the knife blade across the vampire's throat before he could answer. Two more strokes and it was done. Sometimes, one didn't need a sword to take a head. Rage and a good, sharp knife worked just fine. — Susannah Sandlin

I turned my eyes away from the young warrior, he pounced on me, exactly as I'd known he would. A second knife was in his hand and he swiped it up toward me. I dodged aside, kicked out his knee, and smashed his face into the wooden table before locking his elbow at the joint until he released the blade. "Are you satisfied now?" the chief asked the young man. "Your behavior was rash and stupid. A superior warrior handled you as if you were a baby. You will apologize, and then you will leave my sight until I summon you for whatever punishment I deem necessary." Chief Blacktail looked up at me. "You may release my son." Well, that was a shock, but I did as I was asked and moved away just enough to ensure that any further ideas of retribution would require him to step toward me. I really hoped he wasn't that foolish. Was I that stupid when I was young? Probably. — Steve McHugh

God made the world like a knife. We have the choice to take it by the handle or the blade. — C.J. Langenhoven

It was such a hard thing, this virtue, it seemed to me. Keeping it was like having to grip the knife by the blade and defend yourself with the hilt. Ever since I'd been old enough to know about virtue in a woman, it had seemed like a bull's-eye painted on my head in rouge. I was sure, as I was led away, I would be better off without it. It was better to be done with it and be gone. — Alexander Chee

You have to see fate as a design, a pattern, and the will as the knife, the blade, the thing slicing through the fabric... — Denis Johnson

In the long ago, in the gentle days, Brother Grumlow carved wood, worked with saw and chisel. When hard times come carpenters are apt to get nailed to crosses. Grumlow took up the knife and learned to carve men. He looks soft, my brother of the blade, slight in build, light in colour, weak chin, sad eyes, all of him drooping like the moustache that hangs off his lip. Yet he has fast hands and no fear of a sharp edge. Come against him with just a dagger for company and he will cut you a new opinion. — Mark Lawrence

If two people are in love they can sleep on the blade of a knife. — Edward Hoagland

Holding the knife with the blade against my palm, it became so clear how my life would only contain shadows now. Shadows of things gone; not just the people themselves but everything connected to them. Was this my future? Every moment, every tiny thing I saw and did and touched, weighted by loss. Every space in this house and
my town and the world in general, empty in a way that could never be filled. — Jennifer Castle

For me the game of love is much like hunting a man on foot with a knife. It's not over until the blade is clean. — Vladimir Putin

Yes, yes," said Bethan, sitting down glumly. "I know you don't. Rincewind, all the shops have been smashed open, there was a whole bunch of people across the street helping themselves to musical instruments, can you believe that?" "Yeah," said Rincewind, picking up a knife and testing its blade thoughtfully. "Luters, I expect. — Terry Pratchett

When you collect marine animals there are certain flat worms so delicate that they are almost impossible to catch whole for they will break and tatter under the touch. You must let them ooze and crawl of their own will onto a knife blade and lift them gently into your bottle of sea water. And perhaps that might be the way to write this book-to open the page and let the stories crawl in by themselves. — John Steinbeck

Magic," he said. Black magic. Strong magic. Dead magic. "Bad magic." Finally, Lila slipped. For the briefest moment, her eyes flicked to a chest along the wall. Kell didn't hesitate. He lunged for the top drawer, but before his fingers met the wood, a knife found his throat. It had come out of nowhere. A pocket. A sleeve. A thin blade resting just below his chin. Lila's smile was as sharp as its metal edge. "Sit down before you fall down, magic boy." Lila — V.E Schwab

A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it. — Rabindranath Tagore

A mind is only as sharp as the knife, that strives to cut through thoughts
too tough for the blade, before it breaks or goes dull. — Anthony Liccione

Cavanaugh's knife, Ernest Emerson's CQC-7W. The hook at the top opens the blade as the knife is drawn from a pocket. — David Morrell

Her voice was trained, supple as leather, precise as a knife thrower's blade. Singing or talking, it had the same graceful quality, and an accent I thought at first was English, but then realized was the old-fashioned American of a thirties movie, a person who could get away with saying 'grand.' Too classic, they told her when she went out on auditions. It didn't mean old. It meant too beautiful for the times, when anything that lasted longer than six months was considered passe. I loved to listen to her sing, or tell me stories about her childhood in suburban Connecticut, it sounded like heaven. — Janet Fitch

The blade gleamed in his hand, making my knees go so weak that I had to hold onto the car. Even watching him use a butter knife on an unsuspecting piece of toast was enough to make my whole body burn, inciting an erection under the table that would last long past dessert. — Nicole Castle

The first cut wasn't the deepest. No, not at all. It was like all the others, a subtle rend of anxious skin, a gentle pulse of crimson, just enough to hush the demons shrieking inside my brain. But this time they wouldn't shut up. Just kept on howling, like Mama, when she was in a bad way. Worst thing was, the older I got, the more I began to see how much I resembled Mama, falling in and out of blue, then lifting up into the white. That day I actually thought about howling. So I gave myself to the knife, asked it to bite a little harder, chew a little deeper. The hot, scarlet rush felt so delicious I couldn't stop there. The blade might have reached bone, but my little brother, Bryan, barged into the bathroom, found me leaning against Grandma's new porcelain tub, turning its unstained white pink. You should have heard him scream. — Ellen Hopkins

Frank, I ran into Gladys and Billy at the store yesterday. Do you know what he said to me?"
The girls went very quiet. Frank didn't look up.
"Hello?" he asked, and kept rubbing Henry's knife.
Dotty hit him with her rag. "He said that. And so did she. But the important part was when he said, 'Frank ever get that door open?' Do you know what I said? What I said was
Are you ready for this? I said, 'No,'"
"Ah" Frank said. He lifted Henry's knife up to his mouth and dabbed the blade with his tongue. "That's my honest wife. I appreciate you lookin' out for my dignity. — N.D. Wilson

Anger is like the blade of a butcher knife - very difficult to hold on to for long without harming yourself. — Patti LaBelle

The cold stream of visual impressions failed him now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china walls unrecorded. The brain must wake now. The body must contract now, entering the house, the lighted house, where the door stood open, where the motor cars were standing, and bright women descending: the soul must brave itself to endure. He opened the big blade of his pocket-knife. — Virginia Woolf

I surveyed the weapon inquisitively. A hideous notion struck me: how powerful I should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his hand, and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the expression my face assumed during a brief second: it was not horror, it was covetousness. He snatched the pistol back, jealously; shut the knife, and returned it to its concealment. — Emily Bronte

There is a moment of surface tension when a knife blade presents its demand and the flesh honors it. An instant of pressure before the puncture, the rip before the slide, a small eternity easy to miss but impossible to ignore if you've felt it before. I lived in that moment a great while for the small sliver of time it was there. — John Scalzi

I try not to look obvious as I wait for Mom's answer. I feel as if I am on the edge of a knife, my feet being sliced by the blade, teetering toward one side or the other.
"Oh, of course!" Mom exclaims, her voice trilling with laughter. "How could I have forgotten?"
And now I know. Really know. This woman is not my mother. I don't know who she is, but I know absolutely who she is not. — Beth Revis

Actually, he hadn't just complained; she'd come home from school one afternoon and found him stabbing his paperback edition with a steak knife, the tip of the blade penetrating the cover and sinking far enough down into the early chapters that he sometimes had trouble pulling it out. When she asked him what he was doing, he explained in a calm and serious voice that he was trying to kill the book before it killed him. — Tom Perrotta

But Thomas didn't have time to finish his thought. Gally reached behind himself, pulled something long and shiny from his back pocket. The lights of the chamber flashed off the silvery surface - a wicked-looking dagger, gripped tightly in his fingers. With unexpected speed, he reared back and threw the knife at Thomas. As he did so, Thomas heard a shout to his right, sensed movement. Toward him. The blade windmilled, its every turn visible to Thomas, as if the world had turned to slow motion. As if it did so for the sole purpose of allowing him to feel the terror of seeing such a thing. On the knife came, flipping over and over, straight at him. A strangled cry was forming in his throat; he urged himself to move but he couldn't. Then, inexplicably, Chuck was there, diving in front of him. Thomas felt as if his feet had been frozen in blocks of ice; he could only stare at the scene of horror unfolding before him, completely helpless. — James Dashner

God created the world just like a knife and left it up to us to take it by the handle or the blade. — C.J. Langenhoven

Killed by a man with a switch blade knife, for 43 dollars my friend lost his life. — Hank Williams Jr.

He longed for the years when it was enough to simply be in his room with his hand moving over a piece of graph paper, before the years of decisions and identities, when his parents made his choices for him, and the only thing he had to concentrate on was the clean blade stroke of a line, the ruler's perfect knife edge. — Hanya Yanagihara

In twenty years you could say and do a lot you wish you hadn't. In twenty years you could store up a lot of regrets. And then, when it was too late, when there was no one left to say "I'm sorry" to, "I didn't mean it" to, you could stop sleeping for regret, stop eating, talking, working, for regret. You could stop wanting to live. You could want to die for regret.
It was only remembering the good times that kept you from taking the knife from the kitchen drawer and, holding it so, tightly in your fist, on the bed, naked to no purpose except that that was how you came into the world and how your best moments in the world had been spent
holding it so, roll onto the blade, slowly so that it slid like love between your ribs and into that stupidly pumping muscle in your chest that kept you regretting. — Joseph Hansen

Nothing thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy. — Virginia Woolf

The blade was sharp enough that she didn't feel the initial prick, but it didn't matter. The earth beside her opened up and the knife slid from her attacker's suddenly nerveless hand, thudding to the ground about the same time she did. His grip on her hand disappeared the instant that something else emerged in a blast of stone and magic.
Wynn's cavalry had arrived, in the form of one very large and very angry Guardian, a Guardian that was supposed to be nothing but the teeny-tiny pieces still scattered around her.
Huh. How about that? — Christine Warren

Look down, your grace," said Skimmer. "Mhm, mhm."
Vimes realized he could feel the faintest prick of a knife blade on his stomach. "Look down further," he said.
Inigo looked down. He swallowed. Vimes had a knife, too. "You really are no gentleman, then," he said.
"Make a sudden move and neither are you," said Vimes. — Terry Pratchett

"Lay the knife at the tips of your fingers," Rob commanded. "So close you can feel the blade against your skin. Then cut the shadow away."
Jared had been silent in her head. Now Kami turned her mind to his and let his thoughts and feelings flow through her.
Kami, please, please wait just another moment, Jared begged, I'll save you, and later I'll be better, I'll do anything you want, be anything you want me to be. Please don't do it. — Sarah Rees Brennan

Found him stabbing his paperback edition with a steak knife, the tip of the blade penetrating the cover and sinking far enough down into the early chapters — Tom Perrotta

Going into a game against Lew Alcindor [later Kareem Abdul-Jabbar] is like going into a knife fight and finding there's no blade in your handle. — Bill Fitch

Tlaloci's head exploded in a shower of brains and bone. The pieces rained down on me, and the body fell to one side, obsidian blade scraping along the stone floor as the hand convulsed around the hilt. I stared across the cave and saw Olaf standing at the foot of the stone steps. He was still standing in his shooting stance, one-handed, gun still pointed at where the priest had been standing. He blinked, and I watched the concentration leave his face, watched something close to human spill across his face. He started walking towards me, gun at his side. The other hand held a knife, bloody to the hilt. I was wiping Tlaloci's brains off my face when Olaf came to stand in front of me. "I never thought I'd say this, but damn I'm glad to see you." He actually smiled. "I saved your life." That made me smile. "I know." Ramirez — Laurell K. Hamilton

A knife is the most permanent, the most immortal, the most ingenious of all of man's creations. The knife was a guillotine, the knife is a universal means of resolving all knots, and the path of paradox lies along the blade of the knife--the only path worthy of the mind without fear. . . . — Yevgeny Zamyatin

Eli snorted, her eyes narrowed.
- Because I am like you.
- What do you mean like me? I..
Eli thrust her hand through the air as if she was holding a knife, said:
- What are you looking at, idiot? Want to die, or something? - Stabbed the air with empty hand. - That what happens if you look at me.
Oskar rubbed his lips together, dampening them.
- What are you saying?
- It's not me that's saying it. It's you. That was the first thing I heard you say. Down on the playground.
Oskar remembered. The tree. The knife. How he had held up the blade of the knife like a mirror, seen Eli for the first time. — John Ajvide Lindqvist

And bring me back that knife," she added. "It's my favorite one."
Kell shook his head, and freed the blade from where it had lodged in the wood. "They're all your favorite. — V.E Schwab

So you want a knife, a nice sharp knife. You hone that blade to its limits. It even cuts through stone when you want it to. It saves your life. And then you're outraged when it cuts you accidentally. You see, knives don't switch off. And neither do people, not when you hone them to a fine edge. — Karen Traviss

The big rules of knife fighting are (a) do not try it at home, and (b) the whole point is never, ever use the blade. It is there to distract your opponent. While he stares at the gleaming steel, you kick his balls to kingdom come
he's all yours. Just a tip! — Keith Richards

Love, is a Bloody Razor Blade
Love came like fire from above
and disappeared like a wet dream,
underneath a leaky kitchen sink
For weeks it went drip, drip, drip ...
until it could be, eventually fixed
It took a long time to depreciate
all the things I never had to say
But there are only so many things
that make sense at the end
The rest is merely X-Acto knife love, and
Love, is a bloody razor blade — Phil Volatile

Now, pull the knife toward you - never push it. You want to hold your blade the way an artist holds and controls a paintbrush. You have to anticipate a sudden flinch, jerk or quiver so that any cut is intentional, never accidental. Your sub is your precious canvas, and you want to be creative while always maintaining full control." Mark — Claire Thompson

What do you have in this car?" he asked.
"What do you mean, like weapons?"
"That would be a good start."
"Well, I 've got a mini Swiss Army Knife on my key chain."
"A two-inch stainless steel blade and a nail file. They might as well surrender to us now ... — Richard Castle

He drew in a shaky breath. "How can you ask me to let you die?" he choked, still keeping the blade at the prince's throat. A thread of blood formed under the knife, and ran down to Ash's collar. "I'd do anything for you, Meghan. Just ... not that. Not that."
Gently, I reached up and closed my fingers around the knife hilt, easing it down and away from Ash's neck. Puck resisted for a moment, then stepped back with a sob. The dagger fell from his grip and clanged to the floor. — Julie Kagawa

His gaze was heat across her cheeks, her lips. It was touch. His eyes were hypnotic, his brows black and velvet. He was copper and shadow, honey and menace, the severity of knife-blade cheekbones and a widow's peak like the point of a dagger. — Laini Taylor

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. — George R R Martin

Loss is a knife, constantly cutting, but over time the blade dulls, and the cuts aren't as sharp. It's always there in the drawer, but you realize it doesn't cut as deeply anymore. — Shane Barr

The young woman went to rummage in a sideboard and came back to the table with a stout cook's knife. But instead of using it to cut the fruit, she showed the point to each of the men in a meaningful way, then tucked the blade into her kirtle. They — George R R Martin

At the last minute, she bobbed left so that he stabbed the wall she'd hit, trapping the blade in the Sheetrock. As he went to try to get the thing free, she whirled around and nailed him in the gut with her backup blade, springing a hole in his lower intestines. Meeting his shocked stare, she said, What, like you didn't think I'd have a second knife? Fucking idiot. — J.R. Ward

A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife. — Sylvia Plath

She poured the water, arranged some bread near enough the embers to scorch but not catch fire, and looked up at Little John. She was so accustomed to his step, to his bulk, that it took a moment to notice his face; and when she did ... It was, she thought, rather like the moment it took to realize one had cut one's finger as one stared dumbly at the first drop of blood on the knife-blade. You know it is going to hurt quite a lot in a minute. — Robin McKinley

The money The girl stiffened at something she heard in his voice, something jagged and sharp, like words torn by the blade of a knife. — Billie Letts