Cop Motivational Quotes

In the earliest years, when you could still drive a Volvo 240 without feeling self-conscious, the collective task in Ramsey Hill was to relearn certain life skills that your own parents had fled to the suburbs specifically to unlearn, like how to interest the local cops in actually doing their job, and how to protect a bike from a highly motivated thief, and when to bother rousting a drunk from your lawn furniture, and how to encourage feral cats to shit in somebody else’s children’s sandbox, and how to determine whether a public school sucked too much to bother trying to fix it.

My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Practical jokes are a demonstration that the distinction between seriousness and play is not a law of nature but a social convention which can be broken, and that a man does not always require a serious motive for deceiving another. Two men, dressed as city employees, block off a busy street and start digging it up. The traffic cop, motorists and pedestrians assume that this familiar scene has a practical explanation – a water main or an electric cable is being repaired – and make no attempt to use the street. In fact, however, the two diggers are private citizens in disguise who have no business there. All practical jokes are anti-social acts, but this does not necessarily mean that all practical jokes are immoral. A moral practical joke exposes some flaw of society which is hindrance to a real community or brotherhood. That it should be possible for two private individuals to dig up a street without being stopped is a just criticism of the impersonal life of a large city where most people are strangers to each other, not brothers; in a village where all inhabitants know each other personally, the deception would be impossible.

The atmosphere sets the tone for what is to take place in that space at that time. Your attitude impacts the atmosphere. How is your current attitude affecting the atmosphere and your desired outcome?

I don’t like cops. I mean, it’s all well and good that they’re out there defending us against anarchy and all, but most of the cops I’ve met are suspicious of everything and everyone. Every little thing needs to have a motive behind it. As a rule I find them cynical and too analytical, very one-plus-one-equals-two types. There’s no way a cop would take me at my word. I mean, I could just see myself walking up to the police counter and saying, ‘Hey, I have some information about a murder. I’m a psychic, so please take me seriously.’ They’d laugh in my face as they locked me up in the looney bin. And what if I was right? What if the information I had did help them? You can bet that instead of taking my gift seriously they’d think I had something to do with the crime. No, I don’t want any part of it. There’s no way I can prove how I got my information, and cops are big on proof. They’d want some evidence as to how I knew such and such. Well, in my profession, proof is a hard thing to come by. I live in an intangible world. I don’t know why I know things, I just do, and that doesn’t translate well in the world of your average lawman.

The thin blue line of service, Is not for self-serving narcissists. When your sole concern is society, Only then can you uphold justice.

First, test your motives. If you don’t test your motives, you might be testing God. And that’s not a good idea. Make sure you’re asking for the right reasons. Are you ready to obey, regardless of God’s answer? Is the fleece a cop-out? If you’re looking for an easy answer without any effort, good luck with that. The driving engine must be a genuine desire to honor God no matter what. Second, delayed obedience is disobedience. Make sure the fleece isn’t a delay tactic. If it’s a subject God has already spoken on, don’t try His patience. Make sure the fleece isn’t a substitute for faith. Remember, faith is taking the first step before God reveals the second step. There is a time to seek God’s will, but there is a time to act on it too. Third, set specific parameters in prayer. If you don’t define the fleece, it’s easy to come up with false negatives or false positives. Notice the specificity of Gideon’s fleece. And don’t discount the fact that it required divine intervention.

Please don't apologize for what you write. For some people your words will never be enough. If you write a female Jedi they’ll complain she’s evil. Write a gay Holmes they’ll complain he isn’t black. Write a transgender cop they’ll complain he isn’t the hero. Here’s the thing about that: You personally can’t write all the wrongs. You can write gay-positive stories, women-motivated tales, or whatever you write that gives voice to people who are often marginalized. What you can’t possibly do is give voice to every one. And some people will complain about that, and for them nothing you write will ever be enough. So when they tell you your trans cop, your bad ass Jedi, your gay Holmes isn’t good enough—don’t listen. Make the world better in the way you do it. Those people are not living in your skin, you are. They’re not writing, you are. So write what’s inside you, make it beautiful and affirmative, give yourself and others a voice, but please don’t apologize to people who would never, ever apologize to you.

and maybe he was a good cop until he got promoted to detective. Now he thinks he’s got enough power, he can do whatever he wants. But sometimes that’s the very thing that brings men like him down. They get so arrogant they make mistakes,

Daredevil: "You want to use what's on that drive just to avenge your husband? It's not worth it. You're special I get it. . .I mean it. The bad guys took somebody you love, and it hurt worse than anything you could ever have imagined. Me, too. They took my dad. Your buddy, Frank? They took his wife AND kids. Want to know who else has that story? Go to the Avengers mansion and throw a stick. Everyone I know has lost someone in that way. And it never stops aching. And I'm sorry, but that does not elevate you. What does make you special is that you have game. Obviously, and focus. I've seen you in action. You've got the stuff. Put it to good use." Rachel Cole-Alves: "You know what gives me strength? My loss. We're alike. Admit it: Nobody who's a stranger to that particular pain could EVER be as driven as us." Daredevil: "NEVER! Don't ever say that to me ever again. That is a repellent statement. It's a vomitous insult to every cop-- every Fireman-- Every soldier alive who steps up to fight for those who can't! I am Sorry for your Loss! But if you genuinely believe that only the Death of a loved one can motivate a human being to take up a cause...then get your pathetic, cynical ass out of my way so I can do my job!

Daredevil: "You want to use what's on that drive just to avenge your husband? It's not worth it. You're special I get it. . .I mean it. The bad guys took somebody you love, and it hurt worse than anything you could ever have imagined. Me, too. They took my dad. Your buddy, Frank? They took his wife AND kids. Want to know who else has that story? Go to the Avengers mansion and throw a stick. Everyone I know has lost someone in that way. And it never stops aching. And I'm sorry, but that does not elevate you. What does make you special is that you have game. Obviously, and focus. I've seen you in action. You've got the stuff. Put it to good use." Rachel Cole-Alves: "You know what give me strength? My loss. We're alike. Admit it: Nobody who's a stranger to that particular pain could EVER be as driven as us." Daredevil: "NEVER! Don't ever say that to me ever again. That is a repellent statement. IT's a vomitous insult to every cop-- every Fireman-- Every soldier alive who steps up to fight for those who can't! I am Sorry for your Loss! But if you genuinely believe that only the Death of a loved one can motivate a human being to take up a cause...then get your pathetic, cynical ass out of my way so I can do my job!

This feeling of irritability and alienation meant I was malleable. Have you ever tried to argue with someone who doesn’t want anything from you? It’s hard. Have you ever noticed in a row with someone that no longer loves you that you have no recourse? No tools with which to bargain. If you stroll up to a stranger and tell them that unless they comply with your demands they’ll never see you again, it’s unlikely that they’ll fling themselves at your feet and beg you not to go. They’ll just wander off. When people are content, they are difficult to maneuver. We are perennially discontent and offered placebos as remedies. My intention in writing this book is to make you feel better, to offer you a solution to the way you feel. I am confident that this is necessary. When do you ever meet people that are happy? Genuinely happy? Only children, the mentally ill, and daytime television presenters. My belief is that it is possible to feel happier, because I feel better than I used to. I am beginning to understand where the solution lies, primarily because of an exhausting process of trial and mostly error. My qualification to write a book on how to change yourself and change the world is not that I’m better than you, it’s that I’m worse. Not that I’m smarter, but that I’m dumber: I bought the lie hook, line, and sinker. My only quality has been an unwitting momentum, a willingness to wade through the static dissatisfaction that has been piped into my mind from the moment I learned language. What if that feeling of inadequacy, isolation, and anxiety isn’t just me? What if it isn’t internally engineered but the result of concerted effort, the product of a transmission? An ongoing broadcast from the powerful that has colonized my mind? Who is it in here, inside your mind, reading these words, feeling that fear? Is there an awareness, an exempt presence, gleaming behind the waterfall of words that commentate on every event, label every object, judge everyone you come into contact with? And is there another way to feel? Is it possible to be in this world and feel another way? Can you conceive, even for a moment, of a species similar to us but a little more evolved, that have transcended the idea that solutions to the way we feel can be externally acquired? What would that look like? How would that feel—to be liberated from the bureaucracy of managing your recalcitrant mind. Is it possible that there is a conspiracy to make us feel this way? If we were cops right now, we’d look for a motive. If our peace of mind, our God-given right to live in harmony with our environment and one another, has been murdered, who are the prime suspects? Well, who has a motive?

Life is like driving on the road. You will sometimes encounter speed limits, speed bumps, speed cops, slippery roads and sharp curves. The road will not always be flat, regardless of the vehicle you drive. What is important is to arrive at the right destination despite the variations as you advance.

Up in homicide, an authoritarian shift commander is even more likely to be held in contempt by his detectives—men who would not, in fact, be on the sixth floor of headquarters if they weren’t eighteen of the most self-motivated cops in the department. In homicide, the laws of natural selection apply: A cop who puts down enough cases stays, a cop who doesn’t is gone. Given that basic truth, there isn’t much respect for the notion that a cop shrewd enough to maneuver his way into homicide and then put together forty or fifty cases somehow needs to have a shift commander’s finger in his eye. Rank, of course, has it privileges, but a homicide supervisor who exercises his divine right to chew ass on every conceivable occasion will in the end create a shift of alienated sergeants and overly cautious detectives, unwilling or incapable of acting on their own instincts.

As the cops say in the movies, I had motive, means, and opportunity

I don’t like cops. I mean, it’s all well and good that they’re out there defending us against anarchy and all, but most of the cops I’ve met are suspicious of everything and everyone. Every little thing needs to have a motive behind it. As a rule I find them cynical and too analytical, very one-plus-one-equals-two types. There’s no way a cop would take me at my word. I mean, I could just see myself walking up to the police counter and saying, "Hey, I have some information about a murder. I’m a psychic, so please take me seriously." They’d laugh in my face as they locked me up in the looney bin. And what if I was right? What if the information I had did help them? You can bet that instead of taking my gift seriously they’d think I had something to do with the crime. No, I don’t want any part of it. There’s no way I can prove how I got my information, and cops are big on proof. They’d want some evidence as to how I knew such and such. Well, in my profession, proof is a hard thing to come by. I live in an intangible world. I don’t know why I know things, I just do, and that doesn’t translate well in the world of your average lawman.

The seemingly ubiquitous axiom that cops are racists has led to this age where non-compliance during police engagement is an encouraged strategy e.g. Eric Garner and Freddie Gray. Undoubtedly, the motive is financial since filing frivolous civil suits against cops for a financial settlement has become a new lottery system. However, confrontation instead of compliance will continue to lead to fatal consequences, and that’s what BLM gleefully envisions.

But Sol was asleep. Sol was snoring. Billy and the gang grabbed ahold and tried to lift him out of it but Sol was as heavy and loud as a whale that had swallowed a foghorn and Billy was getting nervous. Sol was snoring loud enough to wake up Billy’s dead grandmother and right now that was the last person to whom Billy wanted to explain himself. Every attempt at waking Sol was met with cow-like inertia. ‘It aint no use,’ whined Billy, ‘we’ll have to leave him and hope he stays dumb.’ Billy Panacea and the gang cleared out, leaving Sol sound asleep in a corner. The cops had a field day. There was more evidence than they could comprehend, and god knows he had a motive. ‘So you finally did it eh Joe?’ said Chief Henry Blince. ‘That’s right Chief,’ said Solitary, beaming. ‘I did it alright. My prints are all over this premises.’ Sol was sentenced to twenty years, and he sat in his cell chuckling at what could be achieved with a well-measured dose of sleeping tablets. Two weeks later Billy Panacea and the gang brought Sol’s contentment to an end when, in a fit of remorse and criminal fraternity, they nitroed the jail and busted him out.

My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.