Knife Attack Quotes

… a knife fight

When I was 14, I saw someone getting their face and wrists slashed with a knife in a pub in Catford. Nobody lifted a finger. That's when I realised that violence wasn't funny. At all.

This is my knife. It is very sharp and very eager to hurt you.

I never thought I'd ever get stabbed in my life. The fact that it happened twice within, like, a two-month period is pretty insane.

I had a stalker who was extremely violent. He broke into the studio with knives and I was locked in a bathroom.

I make sure to keep a good distance between us, just in case she decides to get happy with a knife or something.

Killing a person with a 8 cm ling blunt knife is a bloody affair.

One had a knife. But I had a staff and was trained to use it.

I started out on photography accidentally. A policeman came to a stop at the end of my street, and a guy knifed him at the end of my street. That's how I became a photographer. I photographed the gangs that I went to school with.

Movement from Brenda grabbed Thomas's attention. He looked to see her drop the knife away from Minho and step back, absently wiping the small trace of blood there on her pants. "I really would've killed you, ya know," she said in a slightly scratchy voice. Almost husky. "Charge Jorge again and I'll sever an artery." Minho wiped at his small wound with his thumb, then looked at the bright red smear. "That's one sharp knife. Makes me like you more.

I came from a real tough neighborhood. Once a guy pulled a knife on me. I knew he wasn't a professional, the knife had butter on it.

The basic story for the opener is that word came through the bar that someone got knifed and killed up on the Moon Walk. It turns out to be one of the quarter regulars that everybody knows, including Maestro and Bone.

When about fifteen I once made a great scandal by taking out my knife in prayer meeting and assaulting a young man who, while I was kneeling down during the prayer, stood above me and squeezed my neck.

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

Then she did see it there - just a face, peering through the curtains, hanging in midair like a mask. A head-scarf concealed the hair and the glassy eyes stared inhumanly, but it wasn’t a mask, it couldn’t be. The skin had been powdered dead-white and two hectic spots of rouge centered on the cheekbones. It wasn’t a mask. It was the face of a crazy old woman. Mary started to scream, and then the curtains parted further and a hand appeared, holding a butcher’s knife. It was the knife that, a moment later, cut off her scream. And her head.

My back is so scar-tissued that you couldn't find a place to slip a knife.