Best 67 quotes in «serial killers quotes» category

When we see something like this we forget the most important and most obvious thing…those butterflies will never fly again.” “It’s unnatural, and yet it’s so seductive…” “That’s exactly the effect that death has on some individuals. That’s why serial killers exist.

You can't stop the thought about hell, probably you know that it doesn't exist as far as I can tell you and some other type of sources. But what happen with the serial killers?? THe brutal killers, they go to heaven??? - Really?? So there isn't communication between hell and heaven so they put all in one place?? - WTF, how big this soul planet is it? 200000000000000000000000000 People even and more are there and everyday you see new born child or children and old people or young people die.... Okay some die because of start of smoke at early age, other people start to smoke and drink alcohol because other have said them it's incrediable to drink, you aren't a human without a drink, you can't be in our group if you don't drink and many other stuff (as Alan Macmillan Orr said in his book The Little book of life)... - Did you knew that there are stuff which believers don't know or know and still believe?? You should check out the holy book what's said think little and then do whatever you are on the way to do. - As first I just read a an article called "Souls do not Exist Evidence from Science & Philosophy Against Mind-Body Dualism" what I read it will blow your mind. I'm sure if you believe in god the % will go low or probably you will change you direction... As far as I'm on the road I can tell that there are people which read this and this and this and continue to believe, but it's WRITTEN BLACK ON WHITE THE TRUTH AND THEY PREFER TO STAY IN THE COMFORT ZONE, BECAUSE THERE IS COMFORT IF THEY COME HERE THERE WON'T BE COMFORT FOR THE FEW WEEKS, MONTHS OR EVEN YEARS, THEY NEED TO BUILD EVERYTHING LIKE AGAIN, LIKE YOU HAVE RESET YOUR SCORE AT GAME AND YOU START AGAIN AND AGAIN...

You think that drinking with a serial killer takes you into the midnight currents of the culture? I say bullshit. There's been twelve TV documentaries, three movies and eight books about me. I'm more popular than any of these designed-by-pedophile pop moppets littering the music television and the gossip columns. I've killed more people than Paris Hilton has desemenated, I was famous before she was here and I'll be famous after she's gone. I am the mainstream. I am, in fact, the only true rock star of the modern age. Every newspaper in America never fails to report on my comeback tours, and I get excellent reviews.

All what stuck in my mind was what the judge had said, and that was during the assault there must have been some passive co-operation on my part. Added to the fact that the Wests had only been fined £25 each for each of the charges against them, a total of £100 was all that I was worth.

As an adult, Jared Carter shot his wife six times, then ran out of bullets. When the police showed up twenty minutes later, they found him on his knees on the kitchen floor, fist clenched around the barrel of the gun, striking her corpse with the butt over and over. It was as if he'd stored up every punch anyone had ever landed on him, and now he was letting them all out again.

Also, serial killers, child killers, they’re hot, they’re the new cool kids, the new vampires, the new zombies, everybody’s favourite spook monster.

Also, the killing of small animals is the entrance ramp onto the serial killer superhighway. Damn. I bet the cat knows that. He picked me because I can't hurt him, or I'd be fulfilling my biological destiny. So I'm screwed. The cat stays. Unless you'll kill him...How does fifty bucks sound?

Animals don’t do this.

As a child, I was attractive to paedophiles. I suppose being indecently assaulted when I was 13 years old should have warned me that there were some weird and dangerous men out there, but I had got over that episode in my life.

...do you have someone you can stay with? Hell, stay with your mother. The Pentagon doesn’t have the security system she’s got.” I really would rather die. “I’m not putting my mother in the path of a serial killer. Thanks for the thought.” “God help the serial killer who tackles your mother,” Riordan muttered.

At 31 years of age, Fred West was a big man trapped in a little man’s body. He thought himself to be a gynecologist and Warren Beatty look-a-like all rolled into one … the surgeon and the stud.

Bravery isn't when you go looking for trouble; bravery is when trouble comes looking for you.

But what my colleagues and I have found and have tried desperately to get across to others in the business of correction and forensic psychology is that dangerousness is situational. If you can keep someone in a well-ordered environment where he doesn’t have choices to make, he may be fine. But put him back in the environment in which he did badly before, his behavior can quickly change.

Gosnell is African American, and there is a persistent myth that serial killers are all white men. But that’s not true. There are serial killers from all ethnic groups: White, African American, Hispanic, and Asian.

Emma stared at the ceiling of the hotel room. Her thoughts went over every memorial, each picture, the families and children left behind. At this point it was a nightly routine. Some people counted sheep. Emma counted her father’s victims. One by one.

Eventually everyone dies, but death, in various forms and ways, still comes as a shock. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Or they consign you to flames. The flesh sizzles and the bones crackle. be grateful it happens in that order.

Her mother told her once that her father was sick. That the sickness made him do it. She made it seem logical. As if he was lying in a hospital bed with cancer rather than rotting in a prison cell for rape and murder.

He easily gathered her in his arms; Gramma was made up of skin and bones and hate and crazy - and hate and crazy don't weigh anything.

Her body was spattered with tiny bits of the reverend’s flesh and blood, like someone had combined shrimp and tomato soup and then forgot to put the lid on the blender.

He was distracted by a brief surge of adrenaline as he remembered the girl’s blood-soaked body. Flesh separated and puckered, he had left her in such a manner that her sacrification would be remembered. The recollection aroused him. Death and sensuality combined to create a unique vision of purity and abhorrence. Though he had experienced doubts since beginning, he knew the mission he had been tasked with was necessary. It had given him a purity of purpose. These women needed to be punished, all in her name. And yet he felt guilt. Not enough to consume him, but enough to have it niggling away in the back of his mind like a parasite infecting his very soul. May God forgive me for the deeds I committed on Kelly, no heart no heart.

I am honored and humbled by the fine reviews my new book "Why We Lover Serial Killers" is receiving.

How miserably hypocritical, you might say, but no sooner am I offered a chance to flee Hell than I yearn to stay. Few families hold their relations as closely as do prisons. Few marriages sustain the high level of passion that exists between criminals and those who seek to bring them to justice. It’s no wonder the Zodiac Killer flirted so relentlessly with the police. Or that Jack the Ripper courted and baited detectives with his - or her - coy letters. We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired.

I always thought of myself as being the unluckiest girl I knew. I was, I believed, a ‘jinx’ and I was ‘jinxed’, or so I thought!

If sensing so badly of yourself you also sense a need to make me sense that, then I sense sadly that you cannot make better sense … sadder still if you cannot sense my sincerity.

If sensing of yourself so badly that you also sense a need to make me sense that, then I sense sadly that you cannot make better sense ... sadder still if you cannot sense my sincerity.

I familiarize myself with every detail of their crimes and loathe what they did. At the same time, I may feel tremendous empathy and sorrow for what they went through in their young lives that contributed to their adult behavior

If you sense so badly that you also sense a need to make me sense that, then I sense sadly that you cannot make better sense ... sadder still if you cannot sense my sincerity.

I had to wonder, though, if there's something about a murderer, particularly a confident one, that gives him a certain charisma or charm that I, in particular, am susceptible to. I mean, there's a reason more women are attracted to Dracula than repelled by him. I made a resolution to myself. From now on, I'd assume that every man I was attracted to was a murderer until proven otherwise. Perhaps it wasn't the most promising strategy for starting a relationship, but I might live longer.

I had forgotten the fact that I had been raped, something no one would understand, how could anyone forget something as traumatic as being raped?

In the same library book that taught me about Theia and how the moon was made, I read that Earth travels two hundred million miles around the sun between fall and spring. Some people die without ever having left their hometown, and yet they could be ninety million miles from where they were born. We're all just ants, riding a bus on a highway too long to comprehend.

I knew I hadn’t been the most innocent of victims, but I didn’t deserve this. DC Smith stood and grinned at me as he thanked me and left the room, leaving me to cry and to ponder on his not very adept handling of the situation.

I'm sorry," I say. "I hate feeling like I let you down." "It's okay," she says. She puts her arm around my neck. "In fact, I respect it. Celibacy must take a lot of willpower." I think of all the times I've eaten someone and sworn I'll never do it again.

In court the next morning I sat at a table in the judge’s chambers. On the other side of the table, close enough for me to reach across and touch him, sat Ted Bundy. He’s adorable, I thought, surprised at my first impression, because I’d pictured him in my mind as brooding, dark, intense disdain (p. 83). (Loftus testified as a defense expert for Ted Bundy in 1976, Bundy was found guilty of aggravated kidnapping)

I left the court feeling sure that Rose West would never walk free again. That thought made me happy.

I’m just saying that statistically, a psychopath is more likely to end up as a CEO than a serial killer.

I wished at that moment that the Wests had killed me, it would have been a merciful release from the hell that DC Smith was putting me through. This barrage of questions by DC Smith and his heavy-handedness into this inquiry and his bullying barrack-room interrogation style of interviewing had left me feeling shamed.

I thought they were going to kill me there and then, which would have been a relief. To my horror, they spoke words that I will never forget: ‘We are going to keep you in the cellar and let our black friends use you and when they have finished with you, we will kill you and bury you under the paving stones of Gloucester. There are hundreds of girls there, the police haven’t found them and they wont find you!

Sorry, I thought this room belonged to a red-headed girl. Is this her room?” He checks out the room number beside the door, and I broaden my stance. “What makes you think she’s here?” The guy winces. “I followed her.” A tremor runs through my body, and I have to keep from grabbing his throat and shoving him into the wall. Keep talking, asshole. I won’t have Echo pissed at me when I take a swing at this guy. I’ll allow him to bury himself first. “What do you want with her?” “Noah,” Echo whispers behind me and touches my bare back. “Did he say he followed me?” The guy pulls his hands out of his sagging jeans. “I know this is strange, but I want to talk to her.” “Noah?” Echo inches as if she’s going to peek out, and I slide in front of the door, holding the handle to keep her safely inside. This guy’s going to need a hell of a right hook to get to her. “You need to go,” I say. He rams both fists into his hair, and he’s got dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept. “Look, I know this is insane—” “You’re right—you’re fucking crazy. Guys knocking on hotel rooms of girls without being asked is sick.” I jerk my thumb for him to leave. “Serial killers belong at the next exit.

My idea of a great night is just stayin’ home, reading or playing video games. I’m about as boring as they come, Sorena. I ain’t ever been into stress or drama or excitement. Shit, I’d kill for a nap most days.

Manipulation. Domination. Control. These are the three watchwords of violent serial offenders.

One day soon, you’ll hear a car pull up to your curb, an engine cut out. You’ll hear footsteps coming up your front walk. Like they did for Edward Wayne Edwards, twenty-nine years after he killed Timothy Hack and Kelly Drew, in Sullivan, Wisconsin. Like they did for Kenneth Lee Hicks, thirty years after he killed Lori Billingsley, in Aloha, Oregon. The doorbell rings. No side gates are left open. You’re long past leaping over a fence. Take one of your hyper, gulping breaths. Clench your teeth. Inch timidly toward the insistent bell. This is how it ends for you. “You’ll be silent forever, and I’ll be gone in the dark,” you threatened a victim once. Open the door. Show us your face. Walk into the light.

Once you’d been with Freddie, you wouldn’t go anywhere else.’ (How true this was to prove.) This incessant bragging by Fred West was at best, annoying and at worst, sickening. According to him, he was God’s gift to women.

Robbins had opened Gabby up. Her charred skin was peeled back, and her ribs were removed. She was pink inside, like steak that had been burned on a high heat but remained raw in the middle.

Rose West was starting 10 life sentences with no prospect of ever being released, Fred West had gone to hell, I had got my life back and the media circus had moved on to the next big scoop.

Psychologist: "This, ah, is a new sort of, ah, psychopathology that we're only now beginning to, ah, understand. These, ah, super-serial killers have no, ah, 'type' but, ah, rather consider everyone to be their 'type.'" Gramma: "Did you hear that? Your daddy's a superhero!

She didn’t want to keep talking about him as if everything was okay. Worst of all, she hated sorting through his mail. Reading the hatred people had for her family and worse, reading how others immortalized him into a god for what he’d done.

Serial killers were hopped-up eyeball fuckers and ravaged inner children. They were scary in the moment and as dismissible as an empty box of popcorn.

Shocking, sad, revealing, and deeply researched, this true account of the life and crimes of serial killer Aileen Wuornos will fascinate true-crime fans.

She screamed. Her screaming was beautiful. But, truth be told he missed the crying.

So, whenever the subject of Iraq came up, as it did keep on doing through the Clinton years, I had no excuse for not knowing the following things: I knew that its one-party, one-leader state machine was modeled on the precedents of both National Socialism and Stalinism, to say nothing of Al Capone. I knew that its police force was searching for psychopathic killers and sadistic serial murderers, not in order to arrest them but to employ them. I knew that its vast patrimony of oil wealth, far from being 'nationalized,' had been privatized for the use of one family, and was being squandered on hideous ostentation at home and militarism abroad. (Post-Kuwait inspections by the United Nations had uncovered a huge nuclear-reactor site that had not even been known about by the international community.) I had seen with my own eyes the evidence of a serious breach of the Genocide Convention on Iraqi soil, and I had also seen with my own eyes the evidence that it had been carried out in part with the use of weapons of mass destruction. I was, if you like, the prisoner of this knowledge. I certainly did not have the option of un-knowing it.