Mary Douglas Quotes

When my young men began the killing, my heart was hurt.

Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.

Writing about what happened to my brother and to my family was awful. It was hard to look back at how much suffering there was and at how certain bad situations were made worse by our decisions.

But when you kill someone you love, the hard part is never over. It just gets easier to distract yourself from what you've done.

Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.

The suffering caused by the terrorists is the real torture.

Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

People are becoming more accustomed to terrorism.

All I have I would have given gladly not to be standing here today.

I feel terrible about it. Part of it is the horror of what happened and part of it is my guilt about being a part of it.

It's easy to dismiss terrorism and point to its rarity, until someone you know and love becomes a victim of it.

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.

My arms are up to the elbows in blood. That is the most terrible thing that lies in my soul.

My breathing slowed. I shaded her thick chestnut hair resting in a smooth curve against her face, a large bruise blazing across her cheek. I paused, looking over my shoulder to make certain I was alone. I drew her eye makeup, smudged by tears. In her watery eyes I drew the reflection of the commander, standing in front of her, his fist clenched. I continued to sketch, exhaled, and shook out my hands.

Band-Aids don't fix bullet holes. You say sorry just for show. You live like that, you live with ghosts.

I don't talk about these things if I haven't lived them, and I've hurt people in my life. It's something I still have to think about when I sleep at night.

For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust. And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire, – Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each, — then mourned for all!

Remorse weeps tears of blood.

Survivors lived with their mistakes.

The disasters of war can be infinitely eerie and poignant.

9/11, the wars and terrorism have affected all of us in different ways: people who lost family on 9/11, the people who lost family in the wars and people who lost family in various terrorist attacks that have occurred since.

My second wife, the mother of one of my sons, died of murder. I was not with her, but I could have saved her. I think.

We saw when those World Trade towers came down what these terrorists will do.

Wars break things; they break stories.

At the bottom, all wars are the same because they involve death and maiming and wounding, and grieving mothers, fathers, sons and daughters.