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Shot Quotes

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Shot Quotes

“Destiny gets compressed, you know, into just that small fraction of a second you have right in front of you at any one time. And there’s nothing romantic about keeping your head down to avoid getting shot, or trying to save a friend who’s been injured, or coming face to face with a creature who is as smart and mean and as terrified of dying as you are, and who wants to make sure that if someone is left on the ground there, it’s you and not it.”

“See, a gun changes everything. It's not just about the impact, it's about what it signals." Griffin ran his fingers over the barrel, then spun around to point the gun at Robin. Robin jumped back. "Jesus-" "Scary, isn't it? Think, why is this more frightening than a knife?" Griffin did not move his arm. "It says I'm willing to kill you, and all I have to do is pull this trigger. I can kill at a distance, without effort. A gun takes all the hard work out of murder and makes it elegant. It shrinks the distance between resolve and action, you see?”

“... [t]he air was thinning out, as if from too much wear, not when Scout was killed but two weeks later--even before Scout's body had been shipped--when they were informed that Easter was dead too. Babies. One nineteen, the other twenty-one. How proud she was when they enlisted. She had actively encouraged them to do so. Their father had served in the forties. Uncles too. Jeff Fleetwood was back from Vietnam and none the worse. And although he did seem a little shook up, Menus Jury got back alive. Like a fool, she believed her sons would be safe. Safer than anywhere in Oklahoma outside Ruby. Safer in the army than in Chicago, where Easter wanted to go. Safer than Birmingham, than Montgomery, Selma, than Watts. Safer than Money, Mississippi, in 1955 and Jackson, Mississippi, in 1963. Safer than Newark. She had thought war was safer than any city in the United States. Now she had four unopened letters mailed in 1968 and delivered to the Demby post office four days after she buried the last of her sons. She had never been able to open them. Both had been home on furlough that Thanksgiving, 1968. Seven months after King's murder, and Soane had sobbed like the redeemed to see her boys alive. Her sweet colored boys unshot, unlynched, unmolested, unimprisoned.”

“If you get shot,” Lira says, “I’m going to treat you like you’re incapable of doing the simplest tasks.” She cradles her arms around her knees to keep out the cold. “See how you like it when I hold out my arm to help you walk, even though you’re not shot in the leg.” “I’d be flattered,” I say, “that you would look for an excuse just to hold my hand.” “Perhaps I’m just looking for an excuse to shoot you.”

“A second red-orange spearhead leaps straight at O'Shaughnessy. The whole world seems to stand still. Then the gun behind it crashes, and there's a cataclysm of pain all over him, and a shock goes through him as if he ran head-on into a stone wall. A voice from the car says blurredly, while the ground rushes up to meet him, 'Finish him up, you guys! I'm getting so I don't trust their looks no more, no matter how stiff they act!' ("Jane Brown's Body")”

“But as much as this is a soldier's reason d'etre, it is not often that you hear a soldier explicitly talk about 'killing'. The k-word as a verb is instead often disguised and supplanted by any number of other euphemisms. In precise and technical military parlance, reflecting the ever more precise and technically removed means of killing, the 'enemy' becomes the 'target'. But for the soldiers who personally 'engage' these 'targets', these objects are colloquially 'slotted', 'dropped', 'hit', 'fragged', 'sawn in half', 'smashed' or just plain 'shot'. Then the soldier will have achieved the noun of a 'kill'. The author's supposition is that such words are used by the soldier in combat as an attempt to mentally dissociate himself from the reality of his actions, so he can continue to operate as a soldier - and perhaps, when all is finally said and done, as a human being back home.”

“A native man in his small wooden boat was hoping to make one last sale. He held up a woodcarving of a Haitian drummer and shouted up that I could have it for only $10. I wasn’t really interested and was ready to walk away when I heard him offer it again, this time for $5. Looking at an approaching police boat, I agreed to the deal, and lowered my $5 down to him in a bucket. He ignored the cops, who were ordering him away from the ship using a megaphone, and tied the carving onto the lanyard that, just before, had a bucket attached to it. The police warned him once more, to back away from the ship, but the deal was more important to him. Just as I pulled on the lanyard, I heard a shot go off. It took several moments for me to comprehend what had happened. The cop had shot the man I was bartering with! I could see that it hadn’t been a warning shot as blood came from an obvious wound right between his eyes! I continued pulling my carving up and over the railing. Looking down I saw the patrol boat heading back to shore. The poor vendor was floating face down, alongside his boat. As the ship started to pull away, I saw that he was adrift in a growing pool of blood, which was spreading out around him. Life was cheap here and I realized that the old woman’s prediction had come true. I had seen death before leaving Haiti!”

“Right after we signed {George} Gervin, I took him to one of our games and he sat in the stands next to me. After it was over, we walked down to the court. George was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. He said, 'Why don't they use the 3-point shot more?' I said, 'Coach [Al] Bianchi doesn't think it's a good percentage shot unless we're behind at the end of the game.' George said, 'Suppose you could make 15-of-20.' I said, 'George, that's a really long shot.' He said, 'But say you could make 15-of-20.' I said, 'Then Al would probably change his mind.' The game had been over for a while and the lights were dimmed. It wasn't dark, but it wasn't easy to see the rim, either. George wanted a ball and someone threw him one. He went behind the 3-point line and starting shooting. He took shot after shot and swish after swish. Then he said 'That's 18 out of 20.' I said, 'Hey George, let's go make sure that the ink is dry on your contract.' -Johnny Kerr”