Best 72 quotes in «assassin quotes» category

Assassins take no pride in fighting fairly. We take pride in winning.

A man feared that he might find an assassin; Another that he might find a victim. One was more wise than the other.

A short while later, as I stare down at the bodies of the six men I have just killed, I cannot help but wonder: Do I love killing? Of a certainty, I love the way my body and weapons move as one; I revel in the knowledge of where to strike for maximum impact. And of a certainty, I am good at it.

Breaking into the building was easy. Too easy for an assassin like me.

By God, you Assassins are a cheery bunch, eh? All frowns and furrowed brows.” He glared at me. “Captain Kenway. You have remarkable skill.” “Ah, thanks, mate. It comes natural.

Can you be an assassin without killing anyone?" Onora shot her an odd look. "I ... don't know. I don't think so." "Is there a name for people who have those skills?" Mara asked. "Yes. Dangerous," I said. Mara rubbed her hands together as a gleam lit her eyes. "Oh, I like that. I want to be dangerous.

C'etait un jour de fete. Mais l'haine se repete. Laissez pas la peur dominer le coeur, Si on veut que l'amour soit vainqueur

Es un shock bastante grande darse cuenta de que las únicas personas con las que te puedes identificar son asesinos psicópatas.

Fear is an assassin; if you let it in your life, it will kill your dreams.

Fine, it’s decided.” Vain resumed his stride. “I’ll do all the killing, and you do all the stuff that an Avun-Riah does. Whatever the hell that is.

He dropped the phone back onto its cradle, began to turn around and felt a sudden ice-cold furrow open up in his side. Strength drained from his legs, and a moment later he sank to his knees. There was warmth now that ran over the initial and persistent cold. Mohammed was confused, and barely noticed the briefcase being removed from his grip. He heard the click of a cell phone opening, and a soft beeping as a number was dialed. 'The package is in my possession,' a female voice said, and the phone clicked shut.

He loved his job, which allowed time to do it without comparing his performance to others'. He loved the economics of death: hastening a person's passage into the afterlife not only provided him with a good living: it gave work to coroners, beat cops, detectives, crime scene technicians, the people who made fingerprint powder and luminal and other sundry chemicals and devices - not to mention firearm, ammunition, coffin, and tissue manufacturers - obituary writers, crime reporters, novelists.

He pauses then, studying me. “How would you have done it?” His question surprises me. “You mean how would I have killed you?” “Yes. Do you have a favorite method for such things?” Since he knows I am an assassin, there is no need to be coy. “I prefer a garrote. I like the intimacy it allows me when I whisper reminders of vengeance in their ears as they die. But in your case, I had sharpened my favorite knife especially for the occasion.” His brows quirk up. “Why no garrote for me?” I look pointedly at his thick neck, bulging with muscle and sinew. “I do not have one big enough,” I mutter.

Her bare feet whispered across the floor as she approached him with the sort of stealth that only small children and trained killers possess.

Her lungs, like moldering cheesecloth sacks, hung visible between cracked and yellowing ribs. Her internal organs, long absent, only flaked brown gristle clung to her spine. Sparse clumps of pale hair clung to the few shreds of flesh still gripping her skull. Five other Cotardist assassins stood mutely behind her. Though none looked to be such an advanced state of decay, they all showed signs of rot and neglect.

I’m not in the torturing business, but I am in the monster-killing business.

In my unfortunately infrequent encounters with real passion, I'm rarely as careful as I ought to be. The rationalization goes something like: With all the bullets and mortar rounds I've survived, I must be immune to sexually transmitted diseases. Stupid, I know. More likely, fate will indulge its taste for irony by killing me with AIDS os some other unpleasant alternative.

I remember having an argument with Alan, I said the Queen's not just going to call the guy up and send him out to do it. And Alan says, well, how would a monarch give orders to her assassin.

I think in the corridors of power these dangerous kinds of orders are issued in a much more vague way, passed down two or three levels of command before they're given to the assassin.

It's the secrecy surrounding drone strikes that's most troubling. . . We don't know the targeting criteria, or whether the rules for CIA and military drone strikes differ; we don't know the details of the internal process through which targets are vetted; we don't know the chain of command, or the details of congressional oversight. The United States does not release the names of those killed, or the location or number of strikes, making it impossible to know whether those killed were legitimately viewed as combatants or not. We also don't know the cost of the secret war: How much money has been spent on drone strikes? What's the budget for the related targeting and intelligence infrastructures? How is the government assessing the costs and benefits of counterterrorism drone strikes? That's a lot of secrecy for a targeted killing program that has reportedly caused the deaths of several thousand people. (117-118)

It would be either a very skilled or very unwise man to steal from an assassin.” - Taliesin

I’ve always wondered though,” Orn mused aloud, “what does God need with a starship?” “Are you going to make that stupid quip every time we pass a missionary ship?” “Until they learn a new position.

I will get your some clothes, a sword, and your very own assassin to join you on your quest." "Ooh, just what I've always wanted. A man whose job title had the word ass in it not once, but two times.

«Mamá, papá, lo he conseguido, ya he visto lo que es real en mí.He alcanzado a consciencia cada uno de mis sueños, lo he logrado... ya soy... el asesino de mis pesadillas.» Ergon.

Miho. You're an angel. You're a saint. You're a blessing from above. You're Mother Theresa. You're God.

On tue un homme, on est un assassin. On tue des millions d'hommes, on est un conquérant. On les tue tous, on est un dieu. Kill a man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a god.

Orcs do not have enemies.” Monde tried to search for the proper term, “We have…adversaries.” “Isn’t that the same thing?” “Depends on who’s winning the war.

She better be capable of achieving something of the greatness that a cure for cancer would give the world or as damned good of an assassin as he was. If she possessed none of that, she should at least be the kind of woman with both a personality and face that could make any man question his better judgment. There weren’t enough of those in the world, at least not in the world he knew.

Sir Arthur stopped at the bottom of the hill and awaited the charging rider. The horseman halted in front of Sir Arthur and mud flew in all directions. “Who are you?” demanded Sir Arthur. He stared into the masked face and turbaned head of an assassin. Rufus's heart stopped. A gasp escaped his frozen lips and his legs wobbled. Sir Arthur asked again, “Who are you?” The man dismounted and drew from his golden sash a long scimitar. He approached Sir Arthur. The knight lifted his sword and the duel began.

Some of my favorite quotes are: A genius is not one who knows all, but knows where to look it up. Unknown The sign of true genius is being able to explain the most complex ideas in the simplest terms. Albert Einstein

So much simpler, to kill for gold. It did not matter what anyone thought about that. The only rules he abided were those of the Old One, and she cared nothing for war beyond forcing mortals to consider the price of it.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on the day he was to kill a king […] White to be bold. White to not blend into the night. White to give warning. For if you were going to assassinate a man, he was entitled to see you coming.

Tell them the Night Angel walks. Tell them Justice is come.

That little girl was dead and in her place stood a cold-blooded killer.

The assassin nodded. His eyes glinted in amusement, holding her gaze for a moment too long. And perhaps she saw his expression soften...but she didn't want to read too much into it. She gave him a little wave and turned to leave, her heart pounding strangely in her chest. She remembered the brush of his strong calloused hands, his long nimble fingers, and his arms trapping her against the railing, She thought of his full attention upon her, observing each small movement, every flaw and breath. Tomorrow they would train again. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She hoped he didn't notice her response to his touch-but deep down inside, she knew he saw everything.

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…

The hand-plucked rose loses meaning as life is leached. Red love, once clutched to breast, putrefies and is thrown to the midden. The hand leaked life as meaning was pucked. Putrefaction clutched love and was thrown to the midden.

The hit-woman opened the door. No dead body on the floor. Thank God. I heard an unearthly roar and then Jordan charged Liz from where she’d been hiding beside the door. She tackled her to the floor and stabbed her through the wrist with a small switchblade. The hit-woman shrieked and let go of the gun, allowing Jordan precious seconds to bat it across the room. She landed a couple hard punches to the assassin’s nose, bloodying it, before the other woman got the upper hand. She grabbed a handful of Jordan’s ponytail and slammed her head into the edge of the coffee table. Jordan cried out, but didn’t let go of the knife. She withdrew it and held it against the assassin’s throat, shouting, “Move again and I’ll kill you, puta!” Liz panted madly, but stayed put. Jordan glanced up at me. “You okay?” “Alive,” I said through a grimace. “Not okay.” “Good enough.” She returned her gaze to the woman pinned beneath her and glared. “The police are on their way. And not the nice, human police. Angels. Get any ideas about trying to kill me again and you won’t even get to deal with them.” “I’ve been in jail before,” Liz said, attempting to recapture her former arrogance. “I’ll get over it.” Jordan leaned down a few inches, lowering her voice. “Really? How’d you like to return without your tongue?” Liz’s eyes went wide, as did mine. “You wouldn’t dare.” “You shot my best friend. Multiple times. Lex talionis.” “You can’t kill me. You’re not a policewoman. You’re just a girl.” “No. I’m a Seer. You and the rest of your friends had better learn the difference between a sheep and a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Until then…” She lifted her fist and punched Liz hard in the temple. The assassin went out like a light. “Vaya con dios, bitch.

The Jews have made him [Yahweh] the assassin of the human species, to make room for the religion of the Jews. The Christians have made him the murderer of himself, and the founder of a new religion to supersede and expel the Jewish religion. And to find pretence and admission for these things, they must have supposed his power or his wisdom imperfect, or his will changeable; and the changeableness of the will is the imperfection of the judgement.

The life that you are about to embrace is not that of a soldier or a commando. It is the way of the assassin.

The men and women who continue to hold Lynn's mind hostage against her will believe the future will be tilled with terrorism, death, destruction and a challenge to the survival of America. They believe Lynn and the other lab rats must still respond to their programming for they are the second line of defence against enemies from within and without and the first line of offence in a catastrophe which would require the recreation of America's constitutional government. They are still intent on preparing Lynn for the day when she will he necessary for battle. One summer day, all these dark realisations came flooding upon Lynn and she knew if she was ever to free herself, she needed to get immediate help.

The pair stood watching each other, still as statues, moments ticking by like hours as the gale howled about them. "You have very good ears, sir." she finally said. "You have better feet, Pale Daughter. I heard nothing." "Then how?" The boy offered a dimpled smile. "You stink of cigarillo smoke. Cloves, I think." "That's impossible. I'm upwind from you." The boy glanced at the shadows moving like snakes around his feet. "Seems to be raining impossible in these parts.

The weapon of the advocate is the sword of the soldier, not the dagger of the assassin.

They do not learn, fixed in their ways as they are. You are naïve to think otherwise. It’s an illness, Assassin, for which there is but one cure.’ ‘You’re wrong. And that’s why you must be put to rest.’ ‘Am I not unlike those precious books you seek to save? A source of knowledge with which you disagree? Yet you’re rather quick to steal my life.’ ‘A small sacrifice to save many. It is necessary.

Who might you be?” she demanded. “A wretched lord of cacophony and sheer decibels? Or a ruthless assassin of harmony?

Women who go into the harem do not come out. It is a permanent position." [...] "I am not going in as a woman. I am going in as an assassin. So we have nothing to fear.

You can't escape an assasin," He leaned forward, shadows swallowing his eyes. "Hangings, bumbling bureaucrats, dishonest crewman, jail - those you can talk your way out of, you try hard enough. But this kind of death is the is the only kind of death.

You want to come back to the bank vault?” Jack says. The bank vault. That’s what Jack calls his house.

Assassins: they got sass and live on sin.

Being an assassin means knowing when to kill - and when not to kill.