Best 1001 quotes in «thriller quotes» category

Remember. Observe, assess and act. No hesitation. No remorse.

Remember what I told you about family secrets.” People will kill to keep them, she thought now as she looked at Marianne McGraw. The woman’s rocking didn’t change as Nikki stepped deeper into the room.

Revenge hardly mends anything. The son of a bitch you want to crush does not exist. The son of a bitch is your own self.

Revenge requires taking oneself apart from the noise of men and of things, even from what resembles them; only the twisted soul remains. The consequences of my actions can not be remedied nor can they be wiped away. Eight deaths I must atone for in the afterlife. I’m cursed in both worlds. But one more job and my obligation ends. One more kill and I am free. – Akira Sato, Twisted Threads

Ricordare significa riscrivere. Fotografare significa sostituire. Penso che gli unici ricordi affidabili siano quelli dimenticati. Sono la camera oscura della mente: intonsi, intatti, incontaminati.

Sal turned, an eye stalk hanging from his teeth.

Sandy’s was one of those places that made poor, white trash feel like high-class consumers. This was the kind of place you’d take your mistress to, but never your wife. Wives expected better. Mistresses were impressed by the blandness of the over-priced wine and the vast Italian menu options.

Schreeuwen heeft geen zin, er is niemand die je hier kan horen," zegt de man nog.

Shame washes over me, violent and hurtful. I can’t reach my goal unless I do something so cheap I might get nightmares for a long time to come. Always think of yourself first.

Shadowed beneath his brow bone were cold dark eyes containing secrets and sadness, bitterness and grief.

She began sobbing again. “I’m not ready to die.

She barely saw him through the darkness, but her throbbing arm was enough to announce his presence. Hot breath blew against her ear, raising goosebumps on her neck. "If I can't have you, nobody can.

She always had her eyes set on the light. But Sade couldn’t take his off of the darkness, because the second he did, it would devour him, and then her.

She breathed an enormous sigh, looked at Poirot, Looked away, and suddenly blurted out, "You're too old. Nobody told me you were so old. I really don't want to be rude but - there it is. You're too old. I'm really sorry." She turned abruptly and blundered out of the room, rather like a desperate moth in lamplight. Poirot, his mouth open, heard the bang of the front door. He ejaculated: "Non d'un nom d'un nom...

She cursed under her breath. Eddie watched the EBs react, the younger ones recoiling with silent gasps. "Better watch your language. There are children present. I think you're freaking them out." "Sure, I'm the one freaking them out.

She had her sonar continually set for excuses to entertain, to bring together influential and powerful people in a mix that hummed, sizzled, throbbed, and sometimes burst into flames. But I was delighted to be her excuse tonight.

She had refused to draw the monster. She feared to give him form.

She fished a gum wrapper and pen from her bag and wrote down her number. "I'd like to stay friends with you and Jason. That's my cell number. You can call me any time you want, except at two-thirty-six in the morning." Alice cocked her head. "How come I can't call you at two-thirty-six/" "I need that minute to sleep," Jessica said, smiling.

She gave herself a hard twist and fell into a sitting position, staring at me with those maggot-filled doll’s eyes.

She had traveled to more cities, had experienced more scenes, than anyone she knew, and still she had come away from it all with only an abysmal sense of dissatisfaction. When would it all begin, the good part of this story she was living? When would she find her destiny, her purpose? When would she have the control her mother wielded, the drive her father possessed? When would she cease living the same wretched days over and over? Why was she still feeling empty and meaningless? Why—after all this time—did her purpose in life still escape her?

She had known it was bad, call it a mother’s instinct, but she’d known this was the knock that was going to scoop her insides out and leave her barely able to stand; merely a shell with nothing good inside anymore.

She had the soft presence of a fish hook in the eye.

She knew with chilling and absolute certainty she was next.

She knew half of the correspondents had broken under the excruciating pressure. And the other half who said they had made it, simply lied. She also knew there was a good chance she would too. But it was still worth it. Because if Viola wanted anything approaching a deeper meaning, she knew it existed in moments filled with injustice and cruelty. That’s where true human nature lay for her. Not because of the ferocity itself but because of what came with it, true human heart and compassion.

She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.

She played me with a bad hand, and I fell for it every time.

She remembered dating. She remembered feeling excited and reveling in the unknown. Dating was like hopscotch for giants. An adult game that made the heart jump instead of the feet. A game she used to enjoy.

She said that the mummy and the daddy took their daughter up onto the moor. They had a picnic. They’d brought all of her favourite food – cheese sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off and strawberry-pink cupcakes – and when the little girl had finished eating, she looked around for her mummy and the daddy. But they’d gone. They’d left Evelyn on the moor by herself.

She slapped him. Hard. "Tell me!" she screamed, "TELL ME!". "The truth is...I am a liar," Jack said quietly. "Don't be one with me," she sobbed, "it hurts." "The lies or the truth?" he asked.

She shivers. ‘I can’t understand why anyone would want to live out there. You’d be totally isolated.’
 I do. I could imagine waking up each day and instead of looking out of the window and seeing the moor in the distance, you’d be in the heart of it, feeling the wind turn, the storm rage, the rain lash, hear the plovers piping.

She's a princess and you're a jock," he says. He thrusts his chin toward Bronwyn, then at Nate. "And you're a brain. And you're a criminal. You're all walking teen-movie stereotypes.

She smiled as though someone had just offered her, the oldest virgin in town, a fully functioning Kingsize Vibro vibrator and a deluxe inhibition bypass.

She smiled at him like a freshman invited to the senior prom. It made my blood boil.

She’s insecure, impulsive, fragile, emotionally incontinent, can’t handle rejection, and although she tries extremely hard to hide it, she craves approval like a junkie craving a fix. What can I say, Frank? She’s an actress.

She stared at Raven in a long second of shocked silence, before sagging to the floor.

She tugged the sleeves down over her hands, stretching the fabric until the seams reached her fingernails. Then she locked her fingers around them to ensure they stayed down. Veda fought the urge to rip those sleeves from Coco’s grip and force her to wear them appropriately, or at the very least roll them up so she wouldn’t be tempted to yank at them. She could remember a time when she’d had the same habit, back in middle school. As if hiding her hands behind a thin piece of fabric would protect her from the world.

She shoved her hands in the deep silk-lined pockets…where she felt the cold steel of a revolver.

She was floating in the midst of a black sea, in the darkest of nights, with no hope or care to see light again. She was a mere wave away from drowning in blackness.

She was found in her apartment yesterday. Dead.” About time.

She was crying over shoes. I wanted to slap her. I wanted to take those shoes and smash her head in.

She was in so fast that she didn’t have a chance to scream. The icy cold water stole her breath away…

Simon stopped listening. He realised he'd had enough. Enough of the theories, enough of the mystery, enough of the bullshit. Enough of the soldiers and guns and MI5. Enough of bugs in phones and in people he cared about. Enough of not being cared about back. Enough of uncertainty and lies and civilisation, collapsing or not. Enough of is part in it, his place, his role; the character of Simon Parfitt and all the baggage it entailed.

Simon's brain tried to comprehend the situation. 'Was an international supermodel really holding Doc Gutson, leader of the infamous Bloodworth Gang, captive?

Simon shook his head. 'I don't want to be a hero. I'd rather abandon the technology altogether, sit on a hill and speak to my neighbours by smoke-signal.

Since I met you, for lack of a better term, I could tell that you were operating on a different frequency. That you—that you were like me, basically. I’m not sure if I give you the same vibe or if I just have my own personal knack for sensing these things, but, the entire first night we met, I was trying to figure you out. And your defensiveness just confirmed it for me. You’re hiding something.

Since her diagnoses she has been fading like a light bulb with cancer’s hand on the rotary dimmer.

Smiling, he handed Landry the bloody aluminum bat Warnick had used. ‘Time to die, old man,’ he said.

Sir, you do understand that - officially - I'm not actually a centurion. I haven't even been assigned to a legion yet.' The general continued writing as he spoke. 'What was the name?' 'Corbulo, sir.' 'Corbulo, you have an officer's tunic and an officer's helmet; and you completed full officer training did you not?' Cassius nodded. He could easily recall every accursed test and drill. Though he'd excelled in the cerebral disciplines and somehow survived the endless marches and swims, he had rated poorly with sword in hand and had been repeatedly described as "lacking natural leadership ability." The academy's senior centurion had seemed quite relieved when the letter from the Service arrived. 'I did, sir, but it was felt I would be more suited to intelligence work than the legions, I really would prefer -' 'And you did take an oath? To Rome, the Army and the Emperor?' 'I did, sir, and of course I am happy to serve but -' The General finished the orders. He rolled the sheet up roughly and handed it to Cassius. 'Dismissed.' 'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I just have one final question.' The General was on his way back to his chair. He turned around and fixed Cassius with an impatient stare. 'Sir - how should I present myself to the troops? In terms of rank I mean.' 'They will assume you are a centurion, and I can see no practical reason whatsoever to disabuse them of that view.

Smiles were rare in this house. Smiles had to be bought and paid for.

Snowmageddon. Dirty glacial clouds hammered the city's anvil. On the District of Columbia’s northwestern edge, gusts of snow rolled across the Park Road Bridge like volcanic ash.