Best 72 quotes in «assassin quotes» category

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    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.

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    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

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    Seriously man, what are you waiting for? Get in there - or I will." - Marek Montvene

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    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.

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    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

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    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.

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    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.

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

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

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    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.

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    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…

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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

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    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.

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    There are matters in that book, said to be done by the express command of God, that are as shocking to humanity, and to every idea we have of moral justice, as any thing done by Robespierre, by Carrier, by Joseph le Bon, in France, by the English government in the East Indies, or by any other assassin in modern times. When we read in the books ascribed to Moses, Joshua, etc., that they (the Israelites) came by stealth upon whole nations of people, who, as the history itself shews, had given them no offence; that they put all those nations to the sword; that they spared neither age nor infancy; that they utterly destroyed men, women and children; that they left not a soul to breathe; expressions that are repeated over and over again in those books, and that too with exulting ferocity; are we sure these things are facts? are we sure that the Creator of man commissioned those things to be done? Are we sure that the books that tell us so were written by his authority? ...The Bible tells us, that those assassinations were done by the express command of God. And to read the Bible without horror, we must undo every thing that is tender, sympathising, and benevolent in the heart of man. Speaking for myself, if I had no other evidence that the Bible is fabulous, than the sacrifice I must make to believe it to be true, that alone would be sufficient to determine my choice.

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    There was some violence a year ago. An important kid got shot during an attempted kidnapping while on spring break in Mexico. The Fortune 500 went security crazy. Now rich kids like Jack need a commando team to take a dump.

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

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    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.

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    They worried to an excessive degree about getting gender correct, as if elves gave a shit. Humans could keep their concerns about everyone’s genitalia to themselves.

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    Those who work for the government are never men of their word. -Axel Chambers

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    What is the truth?’ he asked. ‘We place faith in ourselves,’ replied Altaïr (...) ‘We see the world as it really is, and hope that one day all mankind might see the same.’ ‘What is the world, then?’ ‘An illusion,’ replied Altaïr. ‘One we can either submit to – as most do – or transcend.’ ‘And what is it to transcend?’ 'To recognize that laws arise not from divinity, but reason. I understand now that our Creed does not command us to be free.’ And suddenly he really did understand. ‘It commands us to be wise

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    Villainessa Tittel was a hired killer, an assassin by trade. She had enjoyed the best education and had been trained by assassins who had (until then at least) been considered the best in the business. She had turned to ‘cleaning’ as an occupation because she really enjoyed endings more than beginnings – and anyway, she didn’t need to know her mark’s entire pedigree or life’s story, or to have some kind of facetious moral justification just to collect her fee. Unsurprisingly, when she did read – on those rare occasions – her books were always dog-eared from the back.

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    There are matters in that book, said to be done by the express command of God, that are as shocking to humanity, and to every idea we have of moral justice, as any thing done by Robespierre, by Carrier, by Joseph le Bon, in France, by the English government in the East Indies, or by any other assassin in modern times. When we read in the books ascribed to Moses, Joshua, etc., that they (the Israelites) came by stealth upon whole nations of people, who, as the history itself shews, had given them no offence; that they put all those nations to the sword; that they spared neither age nor infancy; that they utterly destroyed men, women and children; that they left not a soul to breathe; expressions that are repeated over and over again in those books, and that too with exulting ferocity; are we sure these things are facts? are we sure that the Creator of man commissioned those things to be done? Are we sure that the books that tell us so were written by his authority?

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    What difference does it make whether you slay him or Horus slays him? He will be just as dead either way." Wakim pauses, apparently considering the matter, as if for the first time. "This thing is my mission, not his." he says at length. "He will be just as dead, either way," Vramin repeats. "But not by my hand." "True. But I fail to see the distinction." "So do I, for that matter. But it is I who have been charged with the task." "Perhaps Horus has also." "But not by my master." "Why should you have a master, Wakim? Why are you not your own man?" Wakim rubs his forehead. "I—do not—really know…. But I must do as I am told.

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    What if Cinderella had been sent to kill the prince?" - Kayden

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

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    Why is it that if a lord or a king sends you to kill a man, it's somehow noble? But if you do this for yourself, it's murder?

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    You could put the sass into assassin

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    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.

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    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.

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    You know that when ex-military personnel start assassinating their own government's agents that something funky is going on.

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

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

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

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    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.

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    Assassins: they got sass and live on sin.

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    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.

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

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    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

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    Dr. Talbon was struck by another very important thing. It all hung together. The stories Cheryl told — even though it was upsetting to think people could do stuff like that — they were not disjointed They were not repetitive in terms of "I've heard this before". It was not just she'd someone trying consciously or unconsciously to get attention. really processed them out and was done with them. She didn't come up with them again [after telling the story once and dealing with it]. Once it was done, it was done. And I think that was probably the biggest factor for me in her believability. I got no sense that she was using these stories to make herself a really interesting person to me so I'd really want to work with her, or something. Or that she was just living in this stuff like it was her life. Once she dealt with it and processed it, it was gone. We just went on to other things. 'Throughout the whole thing, emotionally Cheryl was getting her life together. Parts of her were integrating where she could say,"I have a sense that some particular alter has folded in with some basic alter", and she didn't bring it up again. She didn't say that this alter has reappeared to cause more problems. That just didn't happen. The therapist had learned from training and experience that when real integration occurs, it is permanent and the patient moves on.

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

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

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

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    For me, the worst sin is hypocrisy. The sinner is not the assassin. The sinner's the bastard who hires the assassin.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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