HISTORY IS A bath of blood,” wrote William James,

It is blood which moves the wheels of history.

History is a blood-drenched enigma and the world an error.

Attack and defence, want and war, victory and defeat, lordship and thraldom, all sealed with the seal of blood: this from henceforth is the History of Man.

History has taken it upon itself to disprove the narrow-minded and the liars with a long trail of blood.

The slain fueled the lamps of a world latched to nights, our whole century brightened by blood.

War, dreadful war, and Tiber flood
I see incarnadined with blood.

Madness, chaos, bone-deep mayhem, devastation of innumerable souls—while we scream and perish, History licks a finger and turns the page.

Who has fully realized that history is not contained in thick books but lives in our very blood?

History is the essence of innumerable biographies.

...The blood of roses, splashed with the blood of angels, and of demons.

I blush to think of our origins—our hands are steeped in blood and crime. And there is no letup to the slaughter and pillage.

The sea is nothing but a library of all the tears in history.

When you’re in this room, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s soaked in history. It just washes over you. I mean, it’s not even like it’s in the past. You’re in history. You’re in it.