Quotes About Murder

Miklos said he's applied to be night clerk at a Ramada Inn near the beach. He said the waiting list was two pages long. 'But I got more experience than most.' 'You're not kidding,' Garcia said. 'Good luck with that job.' 'Thank you,' Miklos said. 'Good luck with your murder.

If chimpanzees have consciousness, if they are capable of abstractions, do they not have what until now has been described as human rights? How smart does a chimpanzee have to be before killing him constitutes murder? What further properties must he show before religious missionaries must consider him worthy of attempts at conversion?

We need more than anniversary sentimentalism and holiday piety and patriotism. Where necessary, we must confront and challenge the conventional wisdom. It is time to learn from those who fell here. Our challenge is to reconcile, not after the carnage and the mass murder, but instead of the carnage and mass murder. It is time to fly into one another's arms. It is time to act.

Their conscious, deliberate act of murder takes the irreplaceable value of life from another. A murderer, by his own choice to kill, forfeits the right to his own life.

Every murderer thinks the victim needed killing.

The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in religion. You could tell by the knives (it's not murder if you do it for a god).

A book has been taken. A book has been taken? You summoned the Watch, Carrot drew himself up proudly, because someone's taken a book ? You think that's worse than murder? The Librarian gave him the kind of look other people would reserve for people who said things like What's so bad about genocide?

You just put that sword away, sir, please, said the voice of Lance-Constable Vimes. You will not shoot me, you young idiot. That would be murder, said the captain calmly. Not where I'm aiming, sir.

Someone got killed up here.... It was outside. A tall man. He had one leg longer'n the other. And a beard. He was probably a hunter. How'd you know all that? I just trod on 'im.

There were a lot of things he could say. Son of a bitch! would have been a good one. Or he could say, Welcome to civilization! He could have said, Laugh this one off! He might have said, Fetch! But he didn't, because if he had said any of those things then he'd have known that what he had just done was murder.

It's a pervasive and beguiling myth that the people who design instruments of death end up being killed by them. There is almost no foundation in fact. Colonel Shrapnel wasn't blown up, M. Guillotin died with his head on, Colonel Gatling wasn't shot. If it hadn't been for the murder of cosh and blackjack maker Sir William Blunt-Instrument in an alleyway, the rumour would never have got started.

Lord Downey was an assassin. Or, rather, an Assassin. The capital letter was important. It separated those curs who went around murdering people for money from the gentlemen who were occasionally consulted by other gentlemen who wished to have removed, for a consideration, any inconvenient razor blades from the candyfloss of life

Think of what it means to manually strangle someone. How personal it is. The close contact. Skin to skin. Your hands against her flesh. Pressing her throat as you feel her life drain away.' Rizzoli

But that doesn't explain the apparently random killing of women and children. No, there was something else behind it, the same thing that's inspired ritual murder cults around the world. Vast numbers of people have been sacrificed for a variety of beliefs. Whether you kill to terrify your enemies or to appease gods like Zeus or Kali, it all gets down to one thing: power.

Was the house being watched? They could not see the Wolf Men, and more importantly, Catherine could not smell them. So taking a chance, they ran up the steps to the front door and rang the bell. It was opened almost at once. "Come in, come in quickly," said Mrs. Poole. "Poor Miss Frankenstein has killed a man!

You felt no sorrow? No shame? Then? Yes, shame, maybe. Maybe sorrow, too, a little. I knew it was terrible. I felt that it was, of course. But still—you see— Yes, I know. That Miss X. You wanted to get away. Yes—but mostly I was frightened, and I didn't want to help her. Yes! Yes! Tst! Tst! Tst! If she drowned you could go to that Miss X. You thought of that? The Reverend McMillan's lips were tightly and sadly compressed. Yes. My son! My son! In your heart was murder then.

I was a chief justice. And before that, I was a district court judge, handled major felonies, including capital murder cases; and I handled major civil litigation.

Last but not least among serial killer methodologies, we have women who kill their own children.

The greatest crime in a Shakespeare play is to murder the king.

I knew there was an old axe down cellar; that is all I knew.

That didn't reassure me much; Alphonse's idea of good manners consisted of remembering to bury all the bodies.

When a murderer their victim's corpse the wounds open and bleed again to show everyone who the murderer is. That means that one of you must have murdered him, doesn't it?

For the passage time cannot undo the crime of murder, since the victim is gone of from mortal reach and has no tongue or sign to forgive the one who wronged him.

When a murderer touches their victim's corpse the wounds open and bleed again to show everyone who the murderer is. That means that one of you must have murdered him, doesn't it?