gun

Rolando pursed his lips and sighed. __ust be careful._ __hy, because her father carries a gun?_ Isaac said. __ren__ you the one who always said guns don__ shoot people?___o, it was you who said that._ Rolando corrected his son. ____e said fathers with guns and beautiful daughters shoot people. Boys in particular._ __ou worry too much, dad._ __ne day, when you are a father, you will understand.

Why did she do it? Nobody dared to ask. Because - what courage! Who had the courage to burn herself? Twenty aspirin, a little slit alongside the veins of the arm, maybe even a bad half hour standing on a roof: We've all had those. And somewhat more dangerous things, like putting a gun in your mouth. But you put it there, you taste it, it's cold and greasy, your finger is on the trigger, and you find that a whole world lies between this moment and the moment you've been planning, when you'll pull the trigger. That world defeats you. You put the gun back in the drawer. You'll have to find another way.What was that moment like for her? The moment she lit the match. Had she already tried roofs and guns and aspirins? Or was it just an inspiration?I had an inspiration once. I woke up one morning and I knew that today I had to swallow fifty aspirin. It was my task: my job for the day. I lined them up on my desk and took them one by one, counting. But it's not the same as what she did. I could have stopped, at ten, or at thirty. And I could have done what I did do, which was go onto the street and faint. Fifty aspirin is a lot of aspirin, but going onto the street and fainting is like putting the gun back in the drawer.She lit the match.

If you are holding hands with others, you can't hold a gun!

You can get much further with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.

It__ just words. How can words be dangerous?___ou have a lot to learn about the world, baby girl. Nothing is more dangerous than words.___hat__ stupid. What about a gun? A gun can kill you dead.___nly your body,_ Billy said. __t can__ kill your soul. Words can kill your soul.

May be the power lies in the hands of the one who holds the gun... so he just presses the trigger whenever the slightest streak of anger passes his mind... and after a few haunting days he roams freely in the country without fear .. and what about the one who faces the wrath and bears the bullets? He leaves a movement behind... but haven't such movements always been ephemeral? Is death the price you need to pay to open the eyes of those who care but just for a couple of days?

Domination is a relationship, not a condition; it depends on the participation of both parties. Hierarchical power is not just the gun in the policeman's hand; it is just as much the obedience of the ones who act as if it is always pointed at them. It is not just the government and the executives and the armed forces; it extends through society from top to bottom, an interlocking web of control and compliance. Sometimes all it takes to be complicit in the oppression of millions is to die of natural causes.

I think it is a wise person who does not answer the door to uninvited police officers. Who knows what kind of crazy person could be standing there with a loaded gun!

Some say your whole life appears before you like a TV when someone is about to shoot you, but the reality is you barely have any brain control beyond thinking about the muzzle and the finger on the trigger.

There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage-in controlling something, period.

With the exception of a gun, starvation is the only thing that is capable of making an insane man lose his mind.

Mind you, the effectiveness of one hunter__ gun does not determine the number of bush meats the other hunter will kill. You got to be yourself. Be you.

ArtifactAs long as I can remember you kept the rifle--your grandfather's an antique you called it-in your study, propped against the tall shelvesthat held your many books. Upright,beside those hard-worn spins, it was anotherbackbone of your pas, a remnant I studiedas if it might unlock-- like the skeleton keyits long body resembled-- some door i had yetto find. Peering into the dark muzzle, I imagined a bulletas you described: spiraling through the boreand spinning straight for its target. It did not hit methen: the rifle I'd inherited showing mehow one life is bound to another, that hardshipendures. For years I admired its slender profile,until-- late one night, somber with drink--you told meit still worked, that you kept it loaded just in case,and I saw the rifle for what it is; a relicsharp as sorrow, the barrel hollow as regret.

How do YOU know what God meant? Did he whisper into your ear? Did he put the knife in your heart? Did he put a gun in your hand?

I died of a broken heart.Oh! And the gunshot wound to the chest!

The more money you spend on guns, the less money you spend on people! More weapons, less happiness; more guns, more misery!

For some soldiers, there is a greater war going on behind the gun's shadow of family and friends, than in front of the gun pointing at strange enemies.

Only a coward carries a gun, a brave person never needs a gun.