#murder

It's like pretending to be Santa and then stabbing someone with a candy cane! ↗

— J.B. Stanley

#christmas #humor #murder #pretend #santa

I killed my clone. It’s not murder, it’s partial suicide. I want a stiff drink, but not alcohol. I want formaldehyde. ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#humor #murder #humor

Abby could smell his hot breath in her face. It reeked like dead apples left to rot in the scorching summer sun. ↗

— Greever Williams

#demon #murder #death

It felt odd to have interrupted the life of someone she knew nothing about, to kill someone she had only just met, as though killing needed intimacy, deep knowledge of the other, to make it all right. ↗

— Pamela Freeman

#murder #self-defense #death

Unnatural death always provoked a peculiar unease, an uncomfortable realization that there were still some things that might not be susceptible to bureaucratic control. ↗

— P.D. James

#murder #death

If you don't like the path your life has taken, choose another. ↗

— Robert G. DeMers

#murder #mystery #life

I wish I could find MY books listed on GOODREADS - DODGING JOE, THE WOMAN WHO WOULDN'T EXPLAIN, THE BITTER GRAPES - ll available through Amazon and Createspace - ↗

— Saaskia Aark-Bennett

#general-giction #love #murder #treachery #love

I am an ordinary sort of fellow, not braver than other people, but I hate to see a good man downed, and that long knife would not be the end of Scudder if I could play the game in his place. ↗

— John Buchan

#fortitude #knives #loyalty #men #murder

The door closed behind her (Phoebe), and the two men regarded each other for a moment. Viktor spoke first. "I must have your promise, Coach, that you won't hurt her." Dan: "I won't." Viktor: "You spoke a little too quickly for my taste. I don't quite believe you." Dan: "I'm a man of my word, and I promise I won't hurt her." He flexed his hands. "When I murder her, I'll do it real quick so she won't feel a thing." Viktor sighed. "That's exactly what I was afraid of. ↗

— Susan Elizabeth Phillips

#murder #threat #threats #men

There are men who put the weight of a coffin into their deliberations as they bargain for Cashmere shawls for their wives, as they go up the staircase of a theatre, or think of going to the Bouffons, or of setting up a carriage; who are murderers in thought when dear ones, with the irresistable charm of innocence, hold up childish foreheads to be kissed with a ‘Good-night, father!’ Hourly they meet the gaze of eyes they would fain close forever, eyes that still open each morning to the light. . . God alone knows the number of those who are parricides in thought ↗

— Honoré de Balzac

#men