C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.


Carcasses bleed at the sight of the murderer.


I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.


No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize.


Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.


  • Murder itself is past all expiation,
  • The greatest crime that nature doth abhor.
  • Goffe.

  • Is there a crime
  • Beneath the roof of heaven, that stains the soul
  • Of man, with more infernal hue, than damn’d
  • Assassination?
  • Cibber.

  • Murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
  • With most miraculous organ.
  • Shakespeare.

  • Murder may pass unpunish’d for a time,
  • But tardy justice will o’ertake the crime.
  • Dryden.

    Murder, like talent, seems occasionally to run in families.

    George Henry Lewes.

  • One to destroy is murder by the law,
  • And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
  • To murder thousands takes a specious name,
  • War’s glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
  • Young.

    Every unpunished murder takes away something from the security of every man’s life.

    Daniel Webster.

    Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.


    Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.


  • Other sins only speak, murder shrieks out.
  • The element of water moistens the earth,
  • But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.
  • Webster.

  • Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
  • Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
  • The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
  • Making the green one red.
  • Shakespeare.

  • Come, thick night,
  • And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
  • That my keen knife see not the wound it makes
  • Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
  • To cry, hold, hold!
  • Shakespeare.

  • ’Twas not enough
  • By subtle fraud to snatch a single life;
  • Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell
  • To sate the lust of power: more horrid still,
  • The foulest stain and scandal of our nature,
  • Became its boast. One murder made a villain;
  • Millions a hero.
  • Dr. Porteus.

  • The scream of rage, the groan, the strife,
  • The blow, the gasp, the horrid cry,
  • The panting, throttled prayer for life,
  • The dying’s heaving sigh,
  • The murderer’s curse, the dead man’s fix’d, still glare,
  • And fears, and death’s cold sweat—they all are there!
  • Dana.

  • Twice it call’d, so loudly call’d,
  • With horrid strength, beyond the pitch of nature;
  • And murder! murder! was the dreadful cry.
  • A third time it return’d with feeble strength,
  • But o’ the sudden ceas’d, as though the words
  • Were smother’d rudely in the grappl’d throat,
  • And all was still again, save the wild blast
  • Which at a distance growl’d—
  • Oh! it will never from my mind depart!
  • That dreadful cry, all i’ the instant still’d.
  • Joanna Baillie.