David Fincher Quotes

It's always a fascinating subject - a serial killer let loose on a small community. It always holds, it's always scary.

I am, after all, a thriller writer. I routinely delve into the darkest chambers of the human heart. I've written about murder, kidnapping, depravity, horror, violence, and disfigurement.

Oh good. I love being bait for a homicidal mutilator." Stephanie Plum

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

If I'd known how wrong I was - if I'd had any idea of the awful night that lay ahead - I'd have run after him and never returned to that disgusting circus of blood, that revolting circus of death.

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

In a brilliant fusion of fact and fiction, Jayne Anne Phillips has written the novel of the year. It's the story of a serial killer's crimes and capture, yes, but it's also a compulsively readable story of how one brave woman faces up to acts of terrible violence in order to create something good and strong in the aftermath. Quiet Dell will be compared to In Cold Blood, but Phillips offers something Capote could not: a heroine who lights up the dark places and gives us hope in our humanity.

On his Hannibal Lector mask: I've got it at home. I wear it to bed every night.

I thought that Mr. Clutter was a very nice gentleman. I thought so right up to the moment that I cut his throat.

When I watched Lifetime original movies, it took me a day or two to get over the idea that the cute boy next door is actually a serial killer.

Then she did see it there - just a face, peering through the curtains, hanging in midair like a mask. A head-scarf concealed the hair and the glassy eyes stared inhumanly, but it wasn’t a mask, it couldn’t be. The skin had been powdered dead-white and two hectic spots of rouge centered on the cheekbones. It wasn’t a mask. It was the face of a crazy old woman. Mary started to scream, and then the curtains parted further and a hand appeared, holding a butcher’s knife. It was the knife that, a moment later, cut off her scream. And her head.

Have I mentioned that I expect death around every turn, that every blue sky has a safe sailing out of it, that every bus runs me over, that every low, mean syllable uttered in my direction seems to intimate the violence of murder, that every family seems like an opportunity for ruin and every marriage a ceremony into which calamity will fall and hearts will be broken and lives destroyed and people branded by the mortifications of love?

I'm even afraid to lay down with you at night, because when you go to bed at night, mean woman, you got an ice pick in your hand.

They held each other and wept as the night closed its fist around their tiny shelter, and the world below them seethed with killers both living and dead.

The bathroom door swings open. Emma sees the blood painting my skin and the red rivers carved on my body. Emma sees the wet knife, silver and bone. The screams of my little sister shatter mirrors.

Oh! think what anxious moments pass between The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods, Oh! 'tis a dreadful interval of time, Filled up with horror all, and big with death!

Let's say you have an ax. Just a cheap one, from Home Depot. On one bitter winter day, you use said ax to behead a man. Don't worry, the man was already dead. Or maybe you should worry, because you're the one who shot him.

Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favor. . . .

75%-90% of the murders that occur in black and Latino communities are solvable. Everybody knows who did it or somebody knows. The reason nobody talks is because snitches get stitches and people aren't bulletproof.

We're dodging bullets and this is right after we've just seen [inaudible] shot and we're running and the woman who John accused of being out to kill us and everyone thought he was kidding. When we see her she appears and she's after us.

And what did you do last night, Dexter? Oh, I played with my dolls while a friend chopped up my sister.

I've been followed home late at night. I've been shot at on the highway.

No doubt Jack the Ripper excused himself on the grounds that it was human nature.

Villains are usually the worst casuists, and rush into crimes to avoid less. Henry VIII. committed murder to avoid the imputation of adultery; and in our times, those who commit the latter crime attempt to wash off the stain of seducing the wife by signifying their readiness to shoot the husband.