Bill Goldberg Quotes

I definitely feel, when I'm wearing the costume, that I could scare people and hurt them.

I only worry about those who want to fight.

The root of war is fear.

I never know if the person I'm shaking hands with is coming to kill me. That's something you have to live with when you cross the lines.

What is that in his hand?" "A cleaver. As in-" "Butcher's knife." "You got it." "I hope not." "He does not look happy." "Are you sure it's a he?" "I don't want to know.

Warren made a noise, the first one I'd heard out of him since we'd come into the room. I'd have been happier if he hadn't sounded scared. "Easy, Warren," Adam told him. "You're safe here.” "If you die on us, you won't be," said Kyle with a growl that would have done credit to any of the werewolves in the room.

It is the strain of walking around the world-down the street, riding city buses and elevators, moving from place to place to place-and not knowing who might want to destroy you, who might like to fill your heart with poison, who might rob you and stab you, who might stand above you in the dark with a tarantula.

I smell fear, he said with a quiet intensity. But not nearly enough.

My friend told me I went over to this guy and he pulled a knife.

They look at me and I kind of back up in case they go for my throat.

The uncertainty of the danger belongs to the essence of terrorism.

There's horror in your life, believe me, whether it's coming, or you've just been lucky to miss it today.

When in doubt, have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand.

No matter how nice the company one might be with, however, it is never pleasant to have a rifle pointed at one's back.

When someone holds a knife to your throat it's easy to be scared. It's not hard to imagine what it would be like.

To many men... the miasma of peace seems more suffocating than the bracing air of war.

Back off or the lizard gets it!

Everyone wishes that the man whom he fears would perish.

Weakness and ambivalence lead to war

The silence of a room when someone enters with a gun is very different from the sound that room makes when empty.

I remember one of them - it was a 1941 black Ford. As it went by very slow, a guy leaned out with a shotgun, keeping a bead on us all the time, and we just had to walk slowly and wait for him to kill us... They didn't kill us, but they didn't end it, either.

I can't imagine how traumatic it must be to have a gun pointed to your head for no reason at all.

The world had teeth and it could bite you with them anytime it wanted.

She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath, and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me. Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not me. It's Primrose Everdeen.

It was the look you get when facing a sudden and insurmountable danger: the errant truck, the shaky ladder, the crazy person who pins you to the linoleum and insists, with increasing urgency, that everything you know and love can be undone by a grape.