Murdered Quotes

“Plants are more courageous than almost all human beings: an orange tree would rather die than produce lemons, whereas instead of dying the average person would rather be someone they are not.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“I am obsessed with the process of creation.”
― Zdzilsaw Beksinski, The Fantastic Art of Beksinski

“Most people do not mind dying, as long as that does not happen today.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Funny how physics didn't go away when you were murdered.”
― Rachel Caine, Last Breath

“My sin murdered Him. And out of this self-loathing shame borne of the understanding that I could perpetrate such a heinous act, I am barely able to raise my head sufficiently to ask what crazed insanity would prompt Jesus to walk out of an empty tomb for the single purpose of pursuing a decaying soul that murdered Him? And I would be wise to consider that the question itself is asked only because I have yet to touch the barest periphery of God’s love despite the fact that because of an empty tomb it stands right in front of me.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough, An Intimate Collision: Encounters with Life and Jesus

“Her mother admonished through closed lips, the sound a mother can make mean anything from "pick up your socks" to "we are very disappointed you have murdered those orphans.”
― Thomm Quackenbush, Danse Macabre (Night's Dream, #2)

“If I don't get murdered/Rob or have troubles/problems... somebody else should have them. This is called "Ballance".”
― Deyth Banger

“About time,” Brianna said.
“Hey, sorry, we were kind of busy,” Quinn snapped. “And I didn’t exactly realize I was on a schedule.”
“I don’t like what I have to do here,” Brianna said. She handed Quinn the note.
He read it. Read it again.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded.
“Albert’s dead,” Brianna said. “Murdered.”
“What?”
“He’s dead. Sam and Dekka are off in the wilderness somewhere. Edilio’s got the flu, he might die, a lot of kids have. A lot. And there are these, these monsters, these kind of bugs . . . no one knows what to call them . . . heading toward town.” Her face contorted in a mix of rage and sorrow and fear. She blurted, “And I can’t stop them!”
Quinn stared at her. Then back at the note.
He felt his contented little universe tilt and go sliding away.
There were just two words on the paper: “Get Caine.”
― Michael Grant, Plague

“It looks like you’ll be dying in Hellfire after all, Captain!” Slaughter shouted. “Just like your family in that Georgia shack did. Ha! Oh yes, I heard their screams inside! It was music to my ears!”
Tom shouted back across the flames. “Whether you die by my hands today or not, you’ll be the one in Hell, with your twin Lucifer, you MURDERING BASTARD!”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“Those reporters, writers, photographers, and editors are the best Americans I know. They cherish the ideals of their imperfect profession and of the Republic whose freedoms, equally imperfect in practice have so often made those ideals real. They want desperately to do good, honorable work. In spite of long hours and low pay, they are insistently professional. They are also brave.

I can't ever forget that in Indochina 65 journalists were killed in the course of recording the truth about that war. . . .Reporters and photographers did not stop dying when Vietnam was over. They have been killed in Lebanon and Nicaragua, in Bosnia and Peru, and in a lot of other places where hard rain falls.

I can't believe that these good men and women died for nothing. I know they didn't. They died because they were the people chosen by the tribe to carry the torch to the back of the cave and tell the others what is there in the darkness. They died because they were serious about the craft they practiced. They died because they believed in the fundamental social need for what they did with a pen, a notebook, a typewriter, or a camera. They didn't die to increase profits for the stockholders. They didn't die to obtain an invitation to some White House dinner for a social-climbing publisher. They died for us.

As readers or journalists, we honor them when we remember that their dying was not part of a plan to make the world cheaper, baser, or dumber. They died to bring us the truth.”
― Pete Hamill

“No matter what his father did to him, he never deprived his child from eating, during dinner, he had hidden a knife behind him, turned to his father who still had been stuffing his face with meat.
He still remembered the feeling when he stuck the knife with full force into his father’s neck, despite the butter knife being blunt and rough it did the job just right”
― Jules Rae, Blind Murder

“You murdered my friend,' the beast snarled. 'Murdered him, skinned his corpse, sold it at the market, and then said he deserved it, and yet you have the nerve to question my generosity?' How typically human, he seemed to silently add.

'You didn't need to mention the loophole.' I stepped so close the faerie's breath heated my face. Faerie's couldn't lie, but they could omit information.

The beast snarled again. 'Foolish of me to forget that humans have such low opinions of us. Do you humans no longer understand mercy?' he said, his fangs inches from my throat.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“This was his first trip on the Ossifar Distana, his first real splash in life. Look what it got him. Mister Smiff liked anonymity. He kept a low profile, often traveling under assumed names, claiming to be anything from a banker to a (very) successful life insurance salesman. He’d never broken the law, at least not irreparably. He was quite generous, well liked, sponsoring many charities anonymously – which is why it was so surprising to find him floating face down in the private spa in his apartment, murdered. He had been murdered, unless it was a freak shaving accident. Those old razors weren’t called cut-throats for nothing. Yikes.”
― Christina Engela, Dead Man's Hammer

“Surrender to a police officer and risk being assaulted or murdered.”
― Steven Magee

“Call 911 and be murdered by the attending officers.”
― Steven Magee

“I was passed out cold while my family was murdered. It's hard to fall more lowly that that.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“Rhys smiled a bit, but the amusement died as he said, 'Tamlin was younger than me- born when the War started. But after the War, when he'd matured, we got to know each other at various court functions. He...' Rhys clenched his jaw. 'He seemed decent for a High Lord's son. Better than Beron's brood at the Autumn Court. Tamlin's brothers were equally as bad, though. Worse. And they knew Tamlin would take the title one day. And to a half-breed Illyrian who'd had to prove himself, defend his power, I saw what Tamlin went through... I befriended him. Sought him out whenever I was able to get away from the war camps or court. Maybe it was pity, but... I taught him some Illyrian techniques.'

'Did anyone know?'
...
'Cassian and Azriel knew,' Rhys went on. 'My family knew. And disapproved.' His eyes were chips of ice. 'But Tamlin's father was threatened by it. By me. And because he was weaker than both me and Tamlin, he wanted to prove to the world that he wasn't. My mother and sister were to travel to the Illyrian war-camp to see me. I was supposed to meet them halfway, but I was busy training a new unit and decided to stay.'

My stomach turned over and over and over, and I wished I had something to lean against as Rhys said, 'Tamlin's father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin- from me- where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn't. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.'

I began shaking my head, eyes burning. I didn't know what I was trying to deny, or erase, or condemn.

'It should have been me,' he said, and I understood- understood what he'd said that day I'd wept before Cassian in the training pit.

'They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river- to the nearest camp. Tamlin's father kept their wings as trophies. I'm surprised you didn't see them pinned in the study.'

I was going to vomit; I was going to fall to my knees and weep.
...
Rhys merely continued. 'When I heard, when my father heard... I wasn't wholly truthful to you when I told you Under the Mountain that my father killed Tamlin's father and brothers, I went with him. Helped him. We winnowed to the edge of the Spring Court that night, then went the rest of the way on foot- to the manor. I slew Tamlin's brothers on sight. I held their minds, and rendered them helpless while I cut them into pieces, then melted their brains inside their skulls. And when I got to the High Lord's bedroom- he was dead. And my father... my father had killed Tamlin's mother as well.'

I couldn't stop shaking my head.

'My father had promised not to touch her. That we weren't the kind of males who would do that. But he lied to me, and he did it, anyway. And then he went for Tamlin's room.'

I couldn't breathe- couldn't breathe as Rhys said, 'I tried to stop him. He didn't listen. He was going to kill him, too. And I couldn't... After all the death, I was done. I didn't care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he'd come to kill me because he didn't want to risk standing against them. I was done with death. So I stopped my father before the door. He tried to go through me. Tamlin opened the door, saw us- smelled the blood already leaking into the hallway. And I didn't even get to say a word before Tamlin killed my father in one blow.'

'I felt the power shift to me, even as I saw it shift to him. And we just looked at each other, as we were both suddenly crowned High Lord- and then I ran.'

He'd murdered Rhysand's family. The High Lord I'd loved- he'd murdered his friend's family, and when I'd asked how his family died, he'd merely told me a rival court had done it. Rhysand had done it, and-

'He didn't tell you any of that.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury