Best 63 quotes in «cops quotes» category

Wolf, not dog. You were bitten by a Lycan, not Lassie.

You can't be happy, you was prank again and again and you was just in a trap nothing else. That wasn't him, even this and that guy. You just killed the witnesses and few cops!

Yeah, there are no more “colored” water fountains, and it’s supposed to be illegal to discriminate, but if I can be forced to sit on the concrete in too-tight cuffs when I’ve done nothing wrong, it’s clear there’s an issue. That things aren’t as equal as folks say they are.

All the cops were tied up trying to maintain control, but it was already lost.

Your vehicles are in breach of Pennsylvania state vehicle code and you are driving illegally without proper vehicle tags," the cop bawled. Before we could respond, he added: "Your vehicles will be impounded and crushed." We knew driving through Pennsylvania would be one of the toughest parts of our trip, but this isn't what we had in mind.

Are you the owner of this car?" A cop has something you don't have, something you gave him earlier. "No, I'm just delivering it to Oklahoma City for a lady. " "Do you have plates for this car?" A cop needn't be vicious, but he can be so, safely. "Just those stickers." "Do you have the registration?" Presidents and premiers can annihilate millions, but only a cop can explain away your solitary murder.

About five miles back I had a brush with the CHP. Not stopped or pulled over: nothing routine. I always drive properly. A bit fast, perhaps, but always with consummate skill and a natural feel for the road that even cops recognize. No cop was ever born who isn't a sucker for a finely-executed hi-speed Controlled Drift all the way around one of those cloverleaf freeway interchanges. Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. Your normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side when he sees the big red light behind him ... and then he will start apologizing, begging for mercy. This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop-heart. The thing to do – when you're running along about 100 or so and you suddenly find a red-flashing CHP-tracker on your tail – what you want to do then is accelerate. Never pull over with the first siren-howl. Mash it down and make the bastard chase you at speeds up to 120 all the way to the next exit. He will follow. But he won't know what to make of your blinker-signal that says you're about to turn right. This is to let him know you're looking for a proper place to pull off and talk ... keep signaling and hope for an off-ramp, one of those uphill side-loops with a sign saying "Max Speed 25" ... and the trick, at this point, is to suddenly leave the freeway and take him into the chute at no less than 100 miles an hour. He will lock his brakes about the same time you lock yours, but it will take him a moment to realize that he's about to make a 180-degree turn at this speed ... but you will be ready for it, braced for the Gs and the fast heel-toe work, and with any luck at all you will have come to a complete stop off the road at the top of the turn and be standing beside your automobile by the time he catches up. He will not be reasonable at first ... but no matter. Let him calm down. He will want the first word. Let him have it. His brain will be in a turmoil: he may begin jabbering, or even pull his gun. Let him unwind; keep smiling. The idea is to show him that you were always in total control of yourself and your vehicle – while he lost control of everything.

And then the other guy will look really sheepish, and mumble that, okay, maybe he tried to make a run for it, and maybe he took a drunken swing at the arresting officer, and maybe he made a couple of off-color remarks about law-enforcement professionals, and maybe he’s been hiding from the cops ever since an incident a few years back involving a bleeding hooker, nine pounds of cocaine, and a soiled image of Tipper Gore.

A war on cops? Then the question becomes who are they warring with? Because if you look at the prison system you can tell who the Prisoners of War are. The Black Man. Words are powerful and we must stop these divisive words that tare our country further apart instead of bringing us together.

. ‘Because off-duty cops walk around the city wearing sweatshirts advertising they’re cops all the time, never mind it’s a hundred degrees outside. And never mind you look like the youngest cop ever recruited in the history of policing.’ He tsks at me. ‘Have you never seen 21 Jump Street?

At her words, words of forgiveness from Rose, an honest and just woman, something broke inside of Wince. His tears began to flow. Age seemed to drift from his face like misty ghosts from a morning field. Katie lifted his chin and, holding back her own tears, looked into his eyes. "Thank you, Wince." Eve placed her free hand on his shoulder. "May we hold her now?" Wince nodded and gently released the baby into the waiting arms of her sisters. "You did the right thing, Wince." Rose gave Wince a hug. "And you can help us bury her after Wilson and the Tar Ponds City Police see if they can find anybody to lay charges against after all this time.

But it was a routine traffic stop.” “Lots of cops get blown away during routine traffic stops

But then something happened, Ray, something amazing. Something... "That white cop sitting next to me? He took a long look at my mother when she came in, just like, absorbed her, and then without even turning to me, he just put his hand on my back, up between my neck and shoulder... "And all he did was squeeze. Give me a little squeeze of sympathy, then rubbed that same spot with his palm for maybe two, three seconds, and that was it. "But I swear to you, nobody, in my entire life up to that point had ever touched me with that kind of tenderness. I had never experienced a sympathetic hand like that, and Ray, it felt like lightning. "I mean, the guy did it without thinking, I'm sure. And when dinnertime rolled around he had probably forgotten all about it. Forgot about me, too, for that matter... But I didn't forget. "I didn't walk around thinking about it nonstop either, but something like seven years later when I was at community college? The recruiting officer for the PD came on campus for Career Day, and I didn't really like college all that much to begin with, so I took the test for the academy, scored high, quit school and never looked back. "And usually when I tell people why I became a cop I say because it would keep Butchie and Antoine out of my life, and there's some truth in that. "But I think the real reason was because that recruiting officer on campus that day reminded me, in some way, you know, conscious or not, of that housing cop who had sat on the bench with me when I was thirteen. "In fact, I don't think it, I know it. As sure as I'm standing here, I know I became a cop because of him. For him. To be like him. God as my witness, Ray. The man put his hand on my back for three seconds and it rerouted my life for the next twenty-nine years. "It's the enormity of small things... Adults, grown-ups, us, we have so much power... And sometimes when we find ourselves coming into contact with certain kinds of kids? Needy kids? We have to be ever so careful...

Cops are stupid.

During voir dire, the interviews for jury selection, each person is asked under oath about their experience with the criminal justice system, as defendant or victim, but usually not even the most elementary effort is made to corroborate those claims. One ADA [Associate District Attorney] told me about inheriting a murder case, after the first jury deadlocked. He checked the raps for the jurors and found that four had criminal records. None of those jurors were prosecuted. Nor was it policy to prosecute defense witnesses who were demonstrably lying--by providing false alibis, for example--because, as another ADA told me, if they win the case, they don't bother, and if they lose, "it looks like sour grapes." A cop told me about a brawl at court one day, when he saw court officers tackle a man who tried to escape from the Grand Jury. An undercover was testifying about a buy when the juror recognized him as someone he had sold to. Another cop told me about locking up a woman for buying crack, who begged for a Desk Appearance Ticket, because she had to get back to court, for jury duty--she was the forewoman on a Narcotics case, of course. The worst part about these stories is that when I told them to various ADAs, none were at all surprised; most of those I'd worked with I respected, but the institutionalized expectations were abysmal. They were too used to losing and it showed in how they played the game.

From the start he'd sworn to himself that the job would never make him callous. But here he was, annoyed at someone for having the gall to get murdered when he had other plans.

Hawaii once had a rat problem. Then, somebody hit upon a brilliant solution. import mongooses from India. Mongooses would kill the rats. It worked. Mongooses did kill the rats. Mongooses also killed chickens, young pigs, birds, cats, dogs, and small children. There have been reports of mongooses attacking motorbikes, power lawn mowers, golf carts, and James Michener. in Hawaii now, there are as many mongooses as there once were rats. Hawaii had traded its rat problem for a mongoose problem. Hawaii was determined nothing like that would ever happen again. How could Leigh-Cheri draw for Gulietta the appropriate analogy between Hawaii's rodents and society at large? Society had a crime problem. It hired cops to attack crime. Now society has a cop problem.

His voice was languidly dense, as if he was a little slow on the uptake, but Strike knew that tone came from the man's feeling of complete control.

As cops, our job is simple: do the right thing, at the right time, for the right reasons." -- Detective Alex Landon

Beware of corporate government cops.

Brent knew the first cardinal rule of talking to cops – don’t.

Charles never felt more helpless. To hear a cop calling for help and not be able to respond in what may very well be a life and death situation, drove him insane with anger and frustration.

Dear Police: You can't protect me and be scared of me.

Dez cringed as her boss slammed his door closed. But before she could walk away, he snatched it open again. “And I better not see your ass until after the New Year!” He slammed it again. Dez glared at Bukowski as she headed back to her desk. “I didn’t even do anything.” “You did ask her if she killed Petrov. I think your exact words were, ‘You whacked him, didn’t you? You sadistic bitch.

Good cops make their bosses look good, and Hector was a one-man beauty school.

He knew once he stepped into that kind of environment, again, the options would be limited. He’d no longer have the freedom or control to make any important decisions. He’d be just another pawn to be used on the chessboard by the white shirt bosses, who would likely be making their decisions from a safe distant location and passing them along down the totem pole. It was just how his job worked.

He was done playing cop for a city that did not appreciate its police force.

I hate cops. You're either a cop or a reporter. And I hate cops and newspapermen.

Is there a war on cops? Is there a war on the Black man? Who is going to call a cease fire?

Maybe this is what it feels like for civilians when they see cops doing some of the dirty work. A lot of times they don’t understand what’s happening. They see something they don’t like and it upsets them—because they don’t have the full story, aren’t personally facing the problem, and don’t know how much worse the alternative could be.

Most people are like sheep. Nice, harmless creatures who want nothing more than to be left alone so they can graze. But then of course there are wolves. Who want nothing more than to eat the sheep. But there’s a third kind of person. The sheepdog. Sheepdogs have fangs like wolves. But their instinct isn’t predation. It’s protection. All they want, what they live for, is to protect the flock.

People change sides. You’ve always been a dirty piece of shit cop. You can be bought, Verner!” “Just like you, Ingrid. Just like you.” Conversation between ‘Alis K’ and ‘Jens’ in the novel 'The Informer' by Steen Langstrup

She found it sort of amusing. There was a time when she never would have thought to date a cop. She could not imagine how it would be having to worry every day or night and wonder if her boyfriend would get shot or killed in the line of duty. Yet, here she was lying in bed with one that she only knew for a weekend during the Zombie Apocalypse. Of course, she had a new fear. Would he get infected or killed by zombies. In a way, that also seemed funny to her. It’s something she never dreamed she’d have to worry about.

Stop reacting to the stereotypes and start responding to the individual.

Terrorism is the use of violence or intimidation in the pursuit of a political aim. The highest political aim is the creation and enforcement of law. Cops use violence and intimidation to enforce law. Therefore, all cops are, by definition, terrorists.

The cops got out of the car and came straight towards me. My first thought was, How hypocritical… They head straight for the kid all in black…

I can’t believe our entire tour is being taken out, one by one, all because of some stupid virus. We’ll probably all be dead by the time the day tour starts.

It is a well-worn truth that cops grow callous, a cliché so tattered that it is even common on television. All cops face things every day that are so gruesome, brutal, and bizarre that no normal human being could deal with them on a daily basis and stay sane. And so they learn not to feel, to grow and maintain a poker-faced whimsy toward all the surprising things their fellow humans find to do to each other. All cops practice not-feeling, and it may be that Miami cops are better at it than others, since they have so many opportunities to learn.

It's an insidious thing," Wanda said. "It never happens overnight. This kind of thing crept into our community a long time ago. It latched on. It fed on prejudice. Selfishness. Peoples inability to see life through someone else's eyes. And it grew, bigger and bigger, until we got to a point where some people don't even question why a cop should be allowed to shoot first and ask questions later.

Most undercover cops are vastly skilled at compartmentalization. It is a talent as valued as lying. They seal off their real feelings and create imitation emotions. Easily torn down when it's time to show the badge, drag someone downtown, and sit across from him in an interrogation cell and tell him how fucked he is now.

Screw that lieutenant and screw being suspended or fired! I’ll get another job! One that doesn’t turn me into a human target for every criminal with a grudge against the law because he got his stupid ass arrested for breaking the law and now hates cops!

Tell them to teach them that when they call you nigger to make a rhyme with trigger it makes the gun backfire

The cells of death row are filled with guys who had nothing to hide.

The huge cop funerals with the uniforms and American flags only pound the reality of the loss in deeper. You see all those cops lined up coming to pay their respects and you feel proud for a moment, but then the pain hits you like a sledgehammer. You ask why, but there is never a good enough reason.

The nature of your outcome or problem in large part depends upon you. The side of the road is not the time, nor is it the place to try to prove to a law enforcement officer whether you are right or wrong. That is what the courtroom is for. This is an excellent example of what can happen when we remove the biases that affect the choices we make whenever these interactions take place. The objective for each individual when you are pulled over by an officer of the law is to - Survive the Stop!

Then the bandit turned tail and broke for the open. Greeley hit the sidewalk only seconds after him, big as he was and with a panic-stricken woman to detour around. A slice of hindmost heel was all he saw of the man. The store entrance adjoined a corner; that gave the fugitive a few added seconds of shelter, and as Greeley flashed around it in turn, again the breaks were the lawbreaker's. There was a school midway up the street toward the next avenue. It was a couple of minutes past three now, and a torrent of young humanity came pouring out of the building by every staircase and exit, flooding the street. In through them the sprinting man plunged, knocking over right and left the ones that didn't get out of his way quickly enough. If it had been hazardous to take a shot at him in the store, it would have been criminal out here. The kids parted, screaming in delighted excitement, as Greeley tore through them after the bandit with uptilted gun, but he couldn't just callously knock them flat like the man before him had. He sidestepped, got out of their way as often as they did his, and he began to fall behind the other, lose ground. The kids weren't just on that one street - they had dispersed over the entire vicinity by now, for a radius of a block or more in every direction, in frisky, milling, homeward-bound groups. Through them the quarry zigzagged, pulling slowly but surely away. He kept going in a straight line, because it was to his advantage to do so - the presence of these kids made for greater safety - but he was already far enough in the lead so that when he should finally decide to turn off - the answer was pretty obvious; a taxi or a doorway or a basement. Any of them would do. ("Detective William Brown")

The thing is, I don't even hate cops. To tell you the truth, I actually feel a little sorry for them.

The voices of actual communities are alive in a way no theory could every be even if, for now, it takes the form of tiny acts of resistance. Who doesn't cheat on taxes, avoid cops, or skip class? These acts themselves may not be revolutionary, but they begin to unravel the control from above. Anarchist approaches must be relevant to everyday experiences and flexible enough to address struggles in different situations and contexts. If we can achieve this, then we may thrive in the world after the dinosaurs. We might even be fortunate enough to be in one of the communities that have a hand in toppling them.

This is not a Black problem. It is not a white problem. It is not a police problem. It is a WE problem. We the people, for the people. It is going to take all of us being transparent in order to transform.

Waldo nodded and looked at the policeman's face. Somehow the water that was dripping from the bill of his cap made him appear almost human. Nah, Waldo thought, it would take a lot more than water to wash that look off.