I don’t need a steak knife to cut my meat. That’s why karate chops were created. I’m like a butter knife, only slightly less deadly. But I’m great with bagels—and disobedient old people.

I turn off my cell phone and reluctantly slide it down my pocket. My hands are shaking. A large knife appears in his hand.”William Wilson in the short story ‘Metro’ by Steen Langstrup

Murphy hakupenda kupoteza muda. Alinyanyuka na kumimina risasi, Mungu akamsaidia akadondosha wawili huku wengine wakipotea kwa kuruka vibaya na kukwepa. Kwa kasi Murphy alikimbia huku ameinama mpaka katika milango mikubwa ya nje, ambayo sasa ilikuwa wazi. Hapo akasita. Chochote kingeweza kumpata kwa nje kama hangekuwa mwangalifu. Bunduki yake ilishakwisha risasi. Aliitupa na kuchungulia nje akaona...

I had a dream about you. We were actors in a horror movie and I was hunting you down with a knife. When I finally cornered you the director yelled “Cut”…. What? I can’t be blamed for following instructions.

When I walked into the room, I looked down to the floor and saw that each and every garment I owned had been pulled from its rightful place and had been meticulously sliced into countless pieces. One thing was painfully obvious to me: these clothes were symbolic of me; they represented my body.What you really...

I think if you would have cut Houdini with a knife, blood wouldn’t come out, PR would.

I both made the knife-fighting team, and I got cut. If only love were so easy to understand.

I’ll have your heart, if not by gift my knife Shall carve it out. I’ll have your heart, your life.

I bought you a box of karate chops, but it could be dangerous to open it with a knife. And cats are masters at getting into boxes, so here, try opening it with my portable meow maker.

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

Love is like a knife. It can either hurt you or it’s too dangerous to hold on too.

I’ll stab you with a pointy thingy. Not a sword, a knife, or even a mountaintop. No, I’ll use my index finger—and just to make a point about violence.

You live by the gun and knife, and die by the gun and knife.

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...

Most scars are invisible. Damn transparent knives. Does anything cut deeper than love? I need to get some new body armor.

She knows what it’s like to love someone who cannot love you back. Someone who needs you, holds you, yes, but someone who will never know that love is the knife in your heart.

Dreams and Happiness are…drugs. And the pain that follows is not less than a sharp knife…or a sharp-nail. It bleeds without blood. You just feel it. With every sense you have got, on every single inch of earth, in every tiny part of the minute you live. It compels you to feed…yourself…

Once she was gone, I knelt next to Annabeth and felt her forehead. She was still burning up.”You’re cute when you’re worried,” she muttered. “Your eyebrows get all scrunched together.””You are not going to die while I owe you a favor,” I said. “Why did you take that knife?””You would’ve done the same for me.”It...

The truth is I did try to stab him. I tried to stab him with a butter knife. Why? Because it seemed deadlier than trying to stab him with a melting stick of butter.

Sometimes I wished I could cut away old memories and let the wind take them. If a sharp knife could pare away the weakness of those days, I would slice until nothing but the hard lessons remained.

There it is again. Promises. They used to hold such high value when I was younger. Now they just bore into my heart like a knife just waiting to twist. I brush the sand from my pants.

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.

There’ll be no more music, Father. But there’ll be this!” He stepped into the dark, picked up the knife, and held it under their noses. “Go home. Tell your people what you saw and heard here tonight. And tell ’em that anyone we catch on these roads after dark anymore… this is what they’ll get....

That’s such bullshit, Mythology repeated by parents because it lets them force their kids into sports and push them too hard by pretending that in the end it will pay off with the holy scholarship. You know how many kids get a free ride? Hardly any. Like, maybe fourteen.’ -Finn (165)

I was terrified of my weakness, of my sharp tongue, ofmy every flaw. I was terrified that this moment, my chance tolive in happiness for however short a time we may have had,would be ruined because I was simply not carved out of thesame wood as happiness, and that my grain was too twistedto ever...

She fantasized sometimes too about killing him a little: a little poison in his pudding, a little flick-flick-flick with a fillet knife at his throat.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

I love the French edition with its uncut pages. I would not want a reader too lazy to use a knife on me.

Sex was lovely. Sex was sublime. Sex was flesh and cock and suck and fuck and come. This night sex was starlight. Sex was oxygen. Sex was us, and we were beautiful, beautiful and perfect in each other’s arms.

I knew a kid who stuck a knife in the toaster on a few occasions. He learned it hurt. He grew up to be a great electrician.

The words I love you, as a unit, are like a knife that only stings once you remove the blade from the relationship.

…good words – that triumphalism of positivity- but life will claw and eat you – chew you over and over – if you carry such a small knife …

What must it be like to have such faith in the world, in plans, in your own ability to control your fate? It was contagious, that’s what it was. I could not help it. I caught his hope like a plague.

Everything can be used as a weapon, including love. My love looks like a butter knife, but I assure you, it is quite deadly. I would demonstrate, but I’m right in the middle of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so you’ll just have to believe me.

He was dropped under a streetlamp, the only person left on the bus. A patch of mauled light. Gritty pavement, scarred with a million cigarette burns. Weeds and spit and oil. Place like this, the only glitter was the knife just before it sank in. Place like this, there wasn’t any gold.

I tried very hard not to ponder the horrible irony that I was too ugly to love, and too ugly not to violate.