Gagged Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
i-got-i-simply-gagged-everytime-i-sat-before-my-desk-to-write-ad
im-little-frail-girl-but-i-like-being-tied-up-blindfolded-gagged-you-cant-move-katie-price
who-is-more-to-be-pitied-a-writer-bound-and-gagged-by-policemen-or-one-living-in-perfect-freedom-who-has-nothing-more-to-say
but-for-a-few-phrases-from-his-letters-and-an-odd-line-or-two-of-his-verse-the-poet-walks-gagged-through-his-own-biography
so-effect-this-republican-provision-to-allow-doctors-to-be-gagged-from-even-discussing-abortion-with-their-patients-is-outrageous-frank-lautenberg
i-suggest-you-leave-now-youll-be-tied-down-gagged-until-end-this-meeting-tie-us-down-and-gag-you-joseph-cheerfully-reminded-them-laura-kreitzer
justice-can-readily-do-her-job-blindfolded-she-cannot-function-gagged-deafened-least-all-when-means-gagging-deafening-her-are-not-remarked-markham-shaw-pyle
i-am-gagged-imprisoned-i-cant-even-speak-i-want-to-kick-football-in-park-with-my-son-ordinary-banal-life-my-impossible-dream-salman-rushdie
he-dominix-alexander-zubiri-was-in-love-with-woman-who-gagged-at-thought-sucking-his-dick-the-universes-idea-colossal-joke-jianne-carlo
brave-men-do-not-gather-by-thousands-to-torture-murder-single-individual-gagged-bound-he-cannot-make-even-feeble-resistance-defense-ida-b-wells
dont-worry-mrs-colder-for-most-part-we-keep-him-leashed-gagged-we-only-let-him-free-when-cute-little-animal-jokes-are-needed-sherra-callahan-on-lora-leigh
the-pentagon-today-will-not-allow-any-these-people-who-work-for-pentagon-to-talk-to-media-they-have-gagged-them-from-talking-to-members-congress-curt-weldon
the-welfare-system-in-this-country-has-literally-crippled-millions-it-has-gotten-people-bound-gagged-that-they-cannot-get-off-it-it-is-such-shelton-smith
the-brank-scolds-bridle-was-unknown-in-america-in-its-english-shape-though-from-colonial-records-we-learn-that-scolding-women-were-far-too-plentiful-were-gagged-for-that-annoying
i-looked-looked-at-her-knew-as-clearly-as-i-know-i-am-to-die-that-i-loved-her-more-than-anything-i-had-ever-seen-imagined-on-earth-hoped-for-anywhere-else-she-was-only-faint-viol
Rushing out the door on his way back to the street, he ran into someone with his shoulder. Turning to apologize to them, he stopped, horrified at what he saw. It was the white-eyed man he'd met a week ago. 'Watch your back.' He said standing there just long enough for Raven to take in the meat between his teeth, the milky, nearly opaque color of his eyes and the madness within them. Then, after only a few seconds, he was gone, vanished into the crowd as if he had never existed. Certain his mind was playing tricks and tired of being terrified for his sanity, he headed down the street as fast as he could in pursuit. As he rushed through the tightly packed crowd, he saw others like the man he'd just seen, and each of their white eyes gazed blankly into his. A woman here, a hunched drifter there, shapes and faces that shifted and darted all around him. 'Watch your back.' They hissed, and he tried to move faster, his heart racing and the nerves of his body jangling painfully with fear as he fought to get beyond them. Hands reached out for his clothes, pulling him in different directions as they tugged and he struggled to be free. Their fingers felt like talons clasped into the folds and gaps of his clothing, ripping and popping stitches in their fervor to gain some small grasp on his flesh beneath his jacket. Along with the horror of their cold, dead eyes, he could smell some strangeness-a sickly sweet smell of rot and decay only barely closeted by preserving fluids. The smell dug into his sinuses as their fingers and hands dug at him. He gagged, his teeth clenched tight as he exerted energy he didn't really have. He pushed away from them and on through the empty space he saw at the end of this group of pedestrians. Many of whom mingled with what he now felt must be the dead, wholly unaware of why he flailed and pushed against them.

Amanda M. Lyons
rushing-out-door-on-his-way-back-to-street-he-ran-into-someone-with-his-shoulder-turning-to-apologize-to-them-he-stopped-horrified-at-what-he-saw-it-was-whiteeyed-man-hed-met-wee
The Oscar-nominated documentary The Act of Killing tells the story of the gangster leaders who carried out anti-communist purges in Indonesia in 1965 to usher in the regime of Suharto. The film's hook, which makes it compelling and accessible, is that the filmmakers get Anwar -one of the death-squad leaders, who murdered around a thousand communists using a wire rope-and his acolytes to reenact the killings and events around them on film in a variety of genres of their choosing. In the film's most memorable sequence, Anwar-who is old now and actually really likable, a bit like Nelson Mandela, all soft and wrinkly with nice, fuzzy gray hair-for the purposes of a scene plays the role of a victim in one of the murders that he in real life carried out. A little way into it, he gets a bit tearful and distressed and, when discussing it with the filmmaker on camera in the next scene, reveals that he found the scene upsetting. The offcamera director asks the poignant question, 'What do you think your victims must've felt like?' and Anwar initially almost fails to see the connection. Eventually, when the bloody obvious correlation hits him, he thinks it unlikely that his victims were as upset as he was, because he was 'really' upset. The director, pressing the film's point home, says, 'Yeah but it must've been worse for them, because we were just pretending; for them it was real.' Evidently at this point the reality of the cruelty he has inflicted hits Anwar, because when they return to the concrete garden where the executions had taken place years before, he, on camera, begins to violently gag. This makes incredible viewing, as this literally visceral ejection of his self and sickness at his previous actions is a vivid catharsis. He gagged at what he'd done. After watching the film, I thought-as did probably everyone who saw it-how can people carry out violent murders by the thousand without it ever occurring to them that it is causing suffering? Surely someone with piano wire round their neck, being asphyxiated, must give off some recognizable signs? Like going 'ouch' or 'stop' or having blood come out of their throats while twitching and spluttering into perpetual slumber? What it must be is that in order to carry out that kind of brutal murder, you have to disengage with the empathetic aspect of your nature and cultivate an idea of the victim as different, inferior, and subhuman. The only way to understand how such inhumane behavior could be unthinkingly conducted is to look for comparable examples from our own lives. Our attitude to homelessness is apposite here. It isn't difficult to envisage a species like us, only slightly more evolved, being universally appalled by our acceptance of homelessness. 'What? You had sufficient housing, it cost less money to house them, and you just ignored the problem?' They'd be as astonished by our indifference as we are by the disconnected cruelty of Anwar.

Russell Brand
the-oscarnominated-documentary-the-act-killing-tells-story-gangster-leaders-who-carried-out-anticommunist-purges-in-indonesia-in-1965-to-usher-in-regime-suharto-the-films-hook-wh
Jenks and I stood there like statues watching him twitch, his eyes rolling up in his head. He clutched at his clothes pulling the wooden pole they hung from down on top of him. Slowly his right hand came scrambling out away from his body to clutch at my left leg. Without thinking I shoved my crucifix at him and he pulled his hand back with a hiss, shielding his face again. As quickly as I could, I dug my tubes of Holy Water out of my coat pocket and emptied them on his head. He shrieked again and clawed at his face. Jenks followed suit, pouring his two vials on Skorzeny's body and legs. Skorzeny started to foam and bubble before our eyes. I was paralyzed. I couldn't quite believe what was happening. Those books hadn't described any of this. I was feeling dizzy and sick. The shrieks turned to groans and a gurgling deep in his throat. He pulled his hands away from his face and it looked like the disintegrating Portrait of Dorian Gray. I looked over to Jenks who had an odd expression on his face. I looked over to Jenks who had on odd expression on his face. He motioned to me and reached for my left hand which, I noticed, was still clutching the airline hag with the stake and hammer in it. I dropped it and he grabbed it off the floor, moving over to the smoking form still squirming in the closet which smelled even more foul than before, and oozing a greenish yellow pus from the crumpled clothing on his scarecrow frame. Jenks looked back at me and handed me the stake and hammer. 'Go ahead. This was your idea. Finish it.' I declined, turning away. Jenks spun me around violently and thrust the stake into my left hand. He pushed me toward what was left of Skorzeny and forced me to my knees. He forced my hand toward Skorzeny, positioning the stake over the man's chest. Then he stuck the hammer in my right hand. 'Do it, you gutless sonofabitch. Finish it... now!' And he stepped away. I looked at him and back at Skorzeny. Then I gave one vicious swing and hit the stake dead center. The thing made a gurgling grunt, like a pig snuffling for food, and started to regurgitate a blackish fluid from its mouth. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and hit the stake three more times. Then I fell back and threw up. When I looked back, Skorzeny's hands, or what was left of them, clutched at the stake trying to pull it out. Suddenly, he emitted a kind of moaning, sucking sound, gagged and more bile-colored liquid flecked with black and red came coiling up in a viscous rope like some evil worm from his mouth. And he stopped moving, his hands still clutching the stake. Then a sort of gaseous mist started to rise from his body and it was so much worse than the original smell that I pushed Jenks aside and ran from the house. I ran all the way to a patrol car where I slumped against the left front wheel as Jenks slowly strolled toward me. He walked past me, ignoring me, and opened his trunk, taking out a couple of small gas cans, and headed back to the house. I wasn't paying much attention until he left the house again and I saw it was aflame.

Jeff Rice
jenks-i-stood-there-like-statues-watching-him-twitch-his-eyes-rolling-up-in-his-head-he-clutched-at-his-clothes-pulling-wooden-pole-they-hung-from-down-on-top-him-slowly-his-righ
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