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A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at read more
A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague.
Maybe this is why so many serial killers work in pairs. It's nice not to feel alone in a world read more
Maybe this is why so many serial killers work in pairs. It's nice not to feel alone in a world full of victims or enemies. It's no wonder Waltraud Wagner, the Austrian Angel of Death, convinced her friends to kill with her.It just seems natural. You and me against the world...
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time,
But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time,
But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.
Mordre wol out, that see we day by day.
Mordre wol out, that see we day by day.
Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.
The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.
Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.
The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.
Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn't that give me equal right?
Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn't that give me equal right?
You also, O son Brutus.
[Lat., Et tu, Brute fili.]
You also, O son Brutus.
[Lat., Et tu, Brute fili.]
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
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O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
