J. B. Morton Quotes

Someone's dead," said Malfoy, and his voice seemed to go up an octave as he said it. "One of your people...I don't know who, it was dark...I stepped over the body...I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way.

Our law enforcement agencies have found bodies in the desert, either buried or just lying out there, that have been beheaded.

Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to be ruled by a human mind, a treausre of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyors.

Murder had a blood red door on the other side of which was everything unimaginable to everyone.

'Shetland' is adapted from the novel 'Red Bones.' The book is based around an archaeological dig, and the mystery starts with the murder of the elderly woman who crofts the land where the dig is happening.

I think books should have secrets, like people do.

I love to get in the library and just spend days researching characters.

I'm a bookworm.

I developed 'Trapped' because I was fascinated with the idea of a terrible crime in a small town cut off from the rest of the world.

I was reading Agatha Christie as a little boy.

[His] library was a fine dark place bricked with books, so anything could happen there and always did. All you had to do was pull a book from the shelf and open it and suddenly the darkness was not so dark anymore.

We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library, whose walls are covered to the ceiling with books in many different languages. The child knows that someone must have written those books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the the languages in which they are written. The child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books, a mysterious order, which it does not comprehend but only dimly suspects.

In the dark morning silence, I placed a gun to her head. She wore red dresses, but now she lay dead.

Besides, who wants to read about success, anyway? Successful serial murderers, maybe.

If I'm not a murderer," asked Corny, "how come I keep killing people?

There is no murder. We make murder, and it matters only to us.

He kissed her and killed her then dumped her body in the river.

A young woman is dead. I don’t care. You probably don’t care. The police don’t care. The papers don’t care. The punks for the most part don’t care. The only people that care are (I suppose) her parents and (I’m almost certain) the boy accused of murdering her.

There's nothing like a headless corpse to bring a touch of excitement into one's life.

When the phone rang, Parker was in the garage, killing a man.

"Can't sleep with a dead man in my closet." "You killed someone?" asked Ben with interest.

Another murder I committed made the front page.

There are, fortunately, very few people who can say that they have actually attended a murder.

Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he will always see that word: murder—immortally inscribed upon the pediment of that vast slaughterhouse—humanity.

It's always bad news when you kill your date