Battle Royale Quotes

Loving someone always requires you to not love others.

By then she was dead. In fact, she may have been dead a while ago. Physically, several seconds ago, mentally, ages ago.

It's not a bad thing to be loved.

We're still on the run. That's for sure. Right on. This time we're on. And we won't stop till we win.

Now, once again, 2 students left. But of course they're a part of you now.

It's sick and twisted and violent. Other than that it is totally G rated.

Yes, just like those flowers. There's something strained, but there's beauty in that. Something like that

You all have your own distinct personal backgrounds. Of course some of you come from rich families, some from poor families. But circumstances beyond your control like that shouldn’t determine who you are. You must all realize what you’re worth on your own.

To memorize something, it's best to write it down.

Nice jewelry and a boys corpse. Oh you're so pretty.

Sometimes you need to lie make the world go around

Hey there. Here's something familiar, a bat. Hope you like it.

Fucking bastard, I'll stab you in the chest with this pencil.

We must defend ourselves according to our opponents' ability, not their intentions.

‎"Someday I'm going to marry someone like my mom and I'll be smiling all the time the way my Mom and Dad are.

I didn't realize it until now, but I don't really know anything about them, or what kind of people they are, really. You can't see inside a person's heart.

Cowards can't be faulted for being shy. They can't be held responsible for anything.

Conservatism and passive acceptance... They can't think for themselves. Anything that's too complicated sends their heads reeling. Makes me want to puke.

It’s hard to beat a person who never gives up.

Shogo. I know I'm repeating myself, but I have to say it. If I were Keiko, this is what I'd say. Please Live. Talk, think, act. And sometimes listen to music... Look at paintings at times to be moved. Laugh a lot, and at times, cry. And if you find a wonderful girl, then you go for her and love her.

Furthermore--though it was quite irrelevant now--he had no idea his killer, Kazuo Kiriyama, had, in his mansion that was much larger than Toshinori's home in Shiroiwa-cho, mastered the violin at a level far superior to Toshinori's a long time ago--and then tossed his violin into the trash.

All of a sudden Yutaka realized he had created a cloud of dust all around him. Oh no! No! This sucks. This blows more than your mama! Hey, now's not the time to come up with stupid jokes!

And so Yoshimi heard the dry pop one more time. Her forehead felt as if it were being crushed by a car. That was all.

As he ran next to Noriko, a thought suddenly occurred to him. The screaming, their hasty footsteps, and the officer warning them to stop all receded as his mind was occupied with this thought. It might have been inappropriate. And besides… he'd ripped it off. Oh, man. But still he thought this: Together Noriko we'll live with the sadness. I'll love you with all the madness in my soul. Someday girl I don't know when we're gonna get to that place. Where we really want to go and we'll walk in the sun. But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run.

If you could see for yourself then there'd be no need to lend an ear to what others said.

Now once again: '2 students remaining.' But of course they're part of you now.

I just didn't want to be a loser anymore... -Mitsuko Souma

Your life is too precious to risk it by protesting, right?

I hope you fall in love with someone nice and have a good marriage. I might end up dying without knowing what it's like to be in love.

You wear nice clothes, you seek respect, you make a lot of money, but what's the point? It's all pointless. Of course, this kind of meaninglessness might suit this crappy nation. But, you see, we still have emotions like joy and happiness, right? They may not mount to much. But they fill up our emptiness. That's the only explanation I have.

Shinji slowly fell forward onto his face. Debris bounced up on impact. It took less than thirty seconds for the rest of his body to die. The memento of his beloved uncle--the earring worn by the woman he loved--was now stained with the blood running down Shinji's left ear, reflecting the glow from the red flames of the farm building. And so the boy known as the Third Man, Shinji Mimura, was dead.

Little by little - no, a lot by a lot - they all took from her. No one gave her anything. Mitsuko became a hollow shell.

Bugünün dersi birbirinizi öldürmek; ta ki tek kişi kalana kadar.

But I'm willing to take a chance on believing there has to be a way. All I need is someone to believe with me.

Just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand.

On TV they keep their kids. Love them.

They want us scared and stupid. They want us to believe that their way is the only way.

You're so kind, Kazuhiko. That's what I like about you." I like you, too. I love you so much." If he weren't so inarticulate, Kazuhiko could have said so much more. How much her expression, her gentle manner, her pure untainted soul meant to him. How important, in short, her existence was to him. But he wasn't able to put into words. He was only a third-year student in junior high, and worst yet, composition was one of his worst subjects.

-Estoy seguro de que sabes lo que te voy a decir, Shuya pero amar a alguien siempre implica no amar a otros.

Now there's the Niida we all know and loathe.

It's official. Trust is dead.

You were my best friend. I was supposed to know you.

Relax when you need to, but be tense when you need to. The point is to never mix up the two.

We're supposed to strive for harmony, and that's what the art of tea is supposed to accomplish... but harmony is very, very difficult to achieve in this country. Tea ceremony is powerless. But it's also not such a bad thing either. You should enjoy it while you can.

They tried to believe in their classmates. They must have believed that if we could all get together, then we might end up being saved. We should commend them for that. We couldn't do that.

Silly boys. Did you think we were making a silent movie?

Al Dictador le gustan las mujeres de uniforme

Yes, I'm going to die with him. I'm going to die for the sake of Hiroki's love for me and my foolishness.

She looked up at the sky, now tinged with orange. "Please live. Talk, think, act. And sometimes listen to music..." She stopped briefly. "Look at paintings, allow yourself to be moved. Laugh a lot, and at times, cry. And if you find a wonderful girl, then you go for her, and love her.

Hurry and you can have the big crybaby for first kill.

Touch me and I'll gut you like the pig you are.

Kill or be killed little warriors.

Takako looked into Hiroki's eyes and grinned. "You've become quie a stud." "And...you're the most stylin' girl in the world." Takako smiled faintly. She wanted to thank him, but she was out of breath. She just stared at Hiroki's eyes. She was grateful. At least she wasn't going to die alone. The last person to stay with her ended up being Hiroki. And she was grateful. She really was.

Blaming the woman for the loss of a child is like blaming the soldier for the loss of his life in battle.

Actually I do know. Now ask me if I care.

Lord knows my nipples are hard.

First gain the victory and then make the best use of it you can.

Among them is a renegade king, he who sired five royal heirs without ever unzipping his pants. A man to whom time has imparted great wisdom and an even greater waistline, whose thoughtless courage is rivalled only by his unquenchable thirst. At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears. Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young. And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights. A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes. “Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.” And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.

No te agobies, hombre. Digamos que cada uno de nosotros mata a un estudiante. El juego es como un torneo de todos contra todos. Son cuarenta y dos... no, cuarenta estudiantes, así que si matas a cinco o seis, seguramente serás el vencedor.

I was the one who attacked Hiroki. At the very end, when Hiroki managed to achieve his goal.

What I mean is, even a dumbass like me can think everything’s pointless. Why do I get up and eat? It all ends up shit anyway. Why am I going to school and studying? Even if I happen to succeed I’m going to die anyway. You wear nice clothes, you seek respect, you make a lot of money, but what’s the point? It’s all pointless. But… but, you see, we still have emotions like joy and happiness, right? They may not amount to much but they fill up our emptiness.

Together Noriko we'll live with the sadness.I'll love you with all the madness in my soul. Someday girl I don't know when we're gonna get to that place. Where we really want to and we'll walk in the sun. But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run.

En fin, los buenos no siempre se libran, y este juego no es una excepción. Puede que sean los irresponsables quienes terminen ganando. Pero yo respeto a cualquiera que actúa de acuerdo con su conciencia, incluso a riesgo de morir y ser repudiado por todo el mundo.

If I tell you will you go?" "What? I don't get. What do you mean?" "I love you, Kotohiki. I've loved you for a real long time.

Let me get this straight. The man with the gun says stay in your seat and you take that to mean jump around the room like demented grasshoppers.

One thing was absolutely certain—it was a given for Kazuo. Although he might not have particularlyrealized it, or more appropriately, perhaps because he was incapable of coming to such a realization, this was what it came down to: he, Kazuo Kiriyama, felt no emotion, no guilt, no sorrow, no pity, towards the four corpses, including Mitsuru's—and that ever since the day he was dropped into this world theway he was, he had never once felt a single emotion.

I have heard it called a dance, I have heard it called a battle. Some men speak of it with a knowing laugh, some with a sneer. I have heard the study market women chuckling over it like hens clucking over bread crumbs; I have been approached by bawds who spoke their wares as boldly as peddlers hawking fresh fish. For myself, I think some things are beyond words. The color blue can only be experienced, as can the scent of jasmine or the sound of a flute. The curve of a warm bared shoulder, the uniquely feminine softness of a breast, the startled sound one makes when all barriers suddenly yield, the perfume of her throat, the taste of her skin are all but parts, and sweet as they may be, they do not embody the whole. A thousand such details still would not illustrate it.

God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

Si puedes ver las cosas con tus propios ojos, no hay necesidad de que pongas la oreja para averiguar lo que dicen los demás

Angel, shiny armor just means the knight never went to battle." He kissed my temple. "And I'd fight dragons for you.

How do you know I didn't bring you out here to dispose of you in private?

Shogo looked at Shuya and Noriko. "The winner's forced to transfer to another school where he or she is ordered not to mention the game and is instructed instead to lead a normal life. That's all." Shuya felt his chest well up inside and his face froze. He stared at Shogo and realized that Noriko was holding her breath. Shogo said, "I was a student in Third Year Class C, Second District, Kobe, Hyogo Prefecture." He added, "I survived the Program held in Hyogo Prefecture last year.

Listen, everyone, you all have your own circumstances. Some of you come from rich families,and some poor. But your value isn't determined by such things--by things beyond your control. Each one of you must discover your own worth through your own efforts. So... don't make the mistake of thinking you alone are special.

We’re alive. Isn’t that enough?

They're gonna make you a star Shuuya. Just like you always dreamed.

Para entonces ya estaba muerta. En realidad, puede que llevara muerta mucho tiempo. Físicamente, solo unos segundos; mentalmente toda una vida.

The sea breeze blew in, stirring up the smell of the pool and blood, mixing with it. The sound of waves crashing carried on.

He loved me...He loved me so much he sought me out at the risk of being attacked. He was in danger this whole time, with every step. In fact, the wound in his side, the wound on his shoulder...came as a result of him trying to find me.

Tirian, with his head against Jewel's flank, slept as soundly as if he were in his royal bed at Cair Paravel, till the sound of a gong beating awoke him and he sat up and saw that there was firelight on the far side of the stable and knew that the hour had come. "Kiss me, Jewel," he said. "For certainly this is our last night on earth. And if ever I offended against you in any matter great or small, forgive me now." "Dear King," said the Unicorn, "I could almost wish you had, so that I might forgive it. Farewell. We have known great joys together. If Aslan gave me my choice I would choose no other life than the life I have had and no other death than the one we go to.

Kazuhiko could have taken his gun and aimed it at the person behind them. But Sakura wouldn't want that. What she wanted was to leave this world quietly before they got sucked into this horrible massacre. Nothing was more important to him than her. There was no room for compromise. If this were what her trembling soul wanted, then he would follow her. Had he been more eloquent he might have described his feelings as something like, "I'm going to die for her honor." Their two bodies danced in the air beyond the cliff, their hands still clasped together, the black sea under them.

[A] life passed amid the feuds and rivalries of a girls' school had left Prunella not wholly unprepared for battle.

Noriko's right leg dangled from her chair, blood gushing from the wound, staining her white sock and sneaker in bright red, like she had put on one of Santa's boots.

His insides looked like a slop bucket at a sausage factory.

Para entonces ya estaba muerta. En realidad, puede que llevara muerta mucho tiempo. Físicamente, solo unos segundo; mentalmente toda una vida.

You called it right, Megumi. A lot of us will play..And play to win. No sense playing otherwise,hmm.

Kiriyama's neck stretched as he lifted his chin to the night sky. The moon shone brightly, creating delicate shadows on his handsome face.

His shotgun barked, and sparks showered from the muzzle as if it were a flamethrower.

It" was continuing. The game was undeniably in progress. A long funeral procession, a crowd of peoplewearing black. A man in a black suit with a somber know-it-all face addressed them, "Oh, ShuyaNanahara and Noriko Nakagawa? You two, that's right, you're a little early. But you did just pass byyour own graves right here. We carved in the number you two share, No. 15. Don't worry, we'reoffering a special bonus.

I am who I am.And you're you.Even if I'm pretty good at basketball or computers, or popular with the girls, that doesn't make me a better person. You can make people laugh and you're kind. When you're serious, you're much more sincere than I am. Like with the girls. I'm not resorting to the cheap cliche about everyone having something to offer, but i'm saying there are a lot of things I admire about you.

That was it. Shogo stopped breathing. The dim yellow light falling from the ceiling of the pilothouse shone on his pale face. He seemed at ease. "Shogo!" Shuya yelled. He still had more to say. "You'll see Keiko! You'll be happy with her! You're--" It was too late. Shogo couldn't hear anything anymore. But his face just looked so damned peaceful. "Damn it." Shuya's lips trembled along with his words. "Damn it." Holding Shogo's hands, Noriko was crying. Shuya also put his hand on Shogo's thick hand. A thought occured to him. He searched through Shogo's pockets and found the red bird call. He pressed it into Shogo's right hand and closed his hands over it so he could hold it. Shuya then finally burst into tears.

Generation Y are everything you feared. They’re everything your worst nightmares conjured up. They’re lazy, apathetic, unoriginal, scared of innovation, scared of difference, just plain scared. They binge drink. The confuse sex for intimacy. They definitely couldn’t tell you the capital cities of more than five countries. And they really think that Justin Bieber is the Second Coming. Only fifty per cent of Generation Y own more than two books and, yes, they listen to music, but they download it from the internet because content is free, yo. Want, take, have is their battle cry. Ladies and gentlemen, this is my generation and my generation is royally screwed up.

For we were not always burdened by debt, dependent on foreign aid and handouts; in the stories we tell of ourselves we were not the crazed and destitute radicals you see on your television channels but rather saints and poets and — yes — conquering kings. We built the Royal Mosque and the Shalimar Gardens in this city, and we built the Lahore Fort with its mighty walls and wide ramp for our battle-elephants. And we did these things when your country was still a collection of thirteen small colonies, gnawing away at the edge of a continent.

—Deberías saber lo que es la igualdad. Atiéndeme: todo el mundo nace igual. El trabajo de tu padre en el Gobierno de la prefectura no te otorga ningún derecho a privilegios especiales. No eres distinto a los demás. Escuchadme todos —dijo Sakamochi—. Todos vosotros tenéis historias y pasados distintos y personales. Desde luego, algunos de vosotros provenís de familias acaudaladas, otras de familias pobres. Pero circunstancias que están más allá de vuestro control, como las descritas, no deberían determinar lo que sois. Todos vosotros debéis ser conscientes de lo que sois por vuestros propios medios. Así que, Kyoichi, no pretendas convencernos de que eres alguien especial… ¡porque no lo eres!

No," he said. "I don't want you to suffer. Much. But the next time you're in bed with Belikov, stop a moment and remember that not everyone made out as well as you did." I turned back to face him. "Adrian, I never—" "Not just me, little dhampir," he added quietly. "There's been a lot of collateral damage along the way while you battled against the world. I was a victim, obviously. But what about Jill? What happens to her now that you've abandoned her to the royal wolves? And Eddie? Have you thought about him? And where's your Alchemist?

What I mean is, even an ordinary guy like me sometimes can think that everything is pointless. Why do I wake up and eat? It all ends up shit in the end. Why do I go to school and study? Even in the unlikely chance that I become successful in the future, I’m still going to die. You can dress nice and make people envious, or get rich, but none of it means anything. It doesn’t mean a damn thing. Anyway, maybe such meaninglessness is appropriate for this shitty nation. But—and here’s the ‘but'—you and me, we have other emotions like happiness, right? We can find enjoyment. It’s nothing that amounts to much—but isn’t that what fills the emptiness inside us? At least for me, that’s the only answer I know.

Acho que o atual sistema praticado por este país cabe como uma luva aos seus cidadãos. Em outras palavras, sua subserviência aos superiores. Algo do tipo "maria vai com as outras". Dependência de outros e mentalidade de grupo. Conservadorismo e passividade. Se lhe mostram algo que certamente é para o bem público, com motivo nobre, mesmo que seja delação, eles sentem que estão fazendo algo bom. É uma imbecilidade irremediável que serve ao autoconvencimento. É isso. Ou seja, não há lugar para orgulho nem ética. E ninguém pensa por si. Seguimos as ordens sem refletir.

For The Fallen" With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,  England mourns for her dead across the sea.  Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,  Fallen in the cause of the free.  Solemn the drums thrill;  Death august and royal  Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,  There is music in the midst of desolation  And a glory that shines upon our tears.  They went with songs to the battle, they were young,  Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.  They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;  They fell with their faces to the foe.  They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  At the going down of the sun and in the morning  We will remember them.  They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;  They sit no more at familiar tables of home;  They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam.  But where our desires are and our hopes profound,  Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,  To the innermost heart of their own land they are known  As the stars are known to the Night;  As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,  Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;  As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,  To the end, to the end, they remain. 

The old Elsa would’ve watched me with a wild gaze. She would’ve had a battle in those electric blue eyes about whether to fight or to save her energy. Not this Elsa. She doesn’t flinch. She just remains as immovable as a statue. A cold, frigid statue. This isn’t my Elsa. And if I have to break the statue to bring her out, then so be it. She stares up at me with dim eyes. “We’re enemies, aren’t we?” “Maybe.” “Then we’re over,” she says with more strength than needed. I push a stray blonde strand behind her ear, taking my time to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” I murmur near her mouth, “Being enemies doesn’t change the fact that you’re fucking mine.

To Juan at the Winter Solstice There is one story and one story only That will prove worth your telling, Whether as learned bard or gifted child; To it all lines or lesser gauds belong That startle with their shining Such common stories as they stray into. Is it of trees you tell, their months and virtues, Or strange beasts that beset you, Of birds that croak at you the Triple will? Or of the Zodiac and how slow it turns Below the Boreal Crown, Prison to all true kings that ever reigned? Water to water, ark again to ark, From woman back to woman: So each new victim treads unfalteringly The never altered circuit of his fate, Bringing twelve peers as witness Both to his starry rise and starry fall. Or is it of the Virgin's silver beauty, All fish below the thighs? She in her left hand bears a leafy quince; When, with her right hand she crooks a finger, smiling, How many the King hold back? Royally then he barters life for love. Or of the undying snake from chaos hatched, Whose coils contain the ocean, Into whose chops with naked sword he springs, Then in black water, tangled by the reeds, Battles three days and nights, To be spewed up beside her scalloped shore? Much snow if falling, winds roar hollowly, The owl hoots from the elder, Fear in your heart cries to the loving-cup: Sorrow to sorrow as the sparks fly upward. The log groans and confesses: There is one story and one story only. Dwell on her graciousness, dwell on her smiling, Do not forget what flowers The great boar trampled down in ivy time. Her brow was creamy as the crested wave, Her sea-blue eyes were wild But nothing promised that is not performed.

Patriotism,” said Lymond, “like honesty is a luxury with a very high face value which is quickly pricing itself out of the spiritual market altogether. [...] It is an emotion as well, and of course the emotion comes first. A child’s home and the ways of its life are sacrosanct, perfect, inviolate to the child. Add age; add security; add experience. In time we all admit our relatives and our neighbours, our fellow townsmen and even, perhaps, at last our fellow nationals to the threshold of tolerance. But the man living one inch beyond the boundary is an inveterate foe. [...] Patriotism is a fine hothouse for maggots. It breeds intolerance; it forces a spindle-legged, spurious riot of colour.… A man of only moderate powers enjoys the special sanction of purpose, the sense of ceremony; the echo of mysterious, lost and royal things; a trace of the broad, plain childish virtues of myth and legend and ballad. He wants advancement—what simpler way is there? He’s tired of the little seasons and looks for movement and change and an edge of peril and excitement; he enjoys the flowering of small talents lost in the dry courses of daily life. For all these reasons, men at least once in their lives move the finger which will take them to battle for their country.… “Patriotism,” said Lymond again. “It’s an opulent word, a mighty key to a royal Cloud-Cuckoo-Land. Patriotism; loyalty; a true conviction that of all the troubled and striving world, the soil of one’s fathers is noblest and best. A celestial competition for the best breed of man; a vehicle for shedding boredom and exercising surplus power or surplus talents or surplus money; an immature and bigoted intolerance which becomes the coin of barter in the markets of power— [...] These are not patriots but martyrs, dying in cheerful self-interest as the Christians died in the pleasant conviction of grace, leaving their example by chance to brood beneath the water and rise, miraculously, to refresh the centuries. The cry is raised: Our land is glorious under the sun. I have a need to believe it, they say. It is a virtue to believe it; and therefore I shall wring from this unassuming clod a passion and a power and a selflessness that otherwise would be laid unquickened in the grave. [...] “And who shall say they are wrong?” said Lymond. “There are those who will always cleave to the living country, and who with their uprooted imaginations might well make of it an instrument for good. Is it quite beyond us in this land? Is there no one will take up this priceless thing and say, Here is a nation, with such a soul; with such talents; with these failings and this native worth? In what fashion can this one people be brought to live in full vigour and serenity, and who, in their compassion and wisdom, will take it and lead it into the path?