Fbi Profiler Quotes

It’s all cloak and dagger right now. That’s what happens when you’re a serial killer dating a FBI profiler who hunts serial killers.

Life may not be perfect, at least it offered moments that were perfect enough.

Most people don't need the help of strangers to screw up their lives; most of them are quite capable of doing it themselves!

Oh, for the love of God. There is no agent more agent than you. I swear you have pin-striped ties encrypted into your DNA. When you die, the coffin is going to read Property of the FBI.

The more I questioned these guys, the more I came to understand that the successful criminals were good profilers.

And part of brilliance isn’t just solving a problem; it’s seeing a problem no one else realizes is a problem yet.

To the sexual offender, possession is power, and total possession is absolute power.

And a man and woman should fight. Frankly, they should have a good head-to-head battle about every six months, then make love until they break the box springs.

Irresponsible is only irresponsible if you fail. Succeed, however; and irresponsible quickly becomes merely unorthodox.

It’s true that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But no one says that strength doesn’t come at a price.

Winners never quit, quitters never win

We are what we repeatedly do. —Aristotle

Without the sense that individuals are responsible for their own actions, and that there are appropriate consequences to violating society's most basic values, the concepts of morality and right and wrong become meaningless. And then you have no society.

You swim and you keep swimming without a thought in your head because that’s what you have to do. And you do the push-ups and you jog and you do all the things beyond exhaustion because you have to. Then one day you’ll discover you’re in the zone and you don’t feel your legs anymore, you don’t feel your arms anymore. You exist just as motion. That’s the zone. Then you can do anything.

Quincy, boyfriends apologize, shrinks analyze. Which are you?

I wonder if that’s how I look to others; like I’m normal and functional, too, when in fact, I feel completely emptied out.

With serial killers, for example, about the only safe generalization is that an inexplicably large percentage of them are named Wayne or Ricky Lee.

Even the most honest person will tell a lie.

Someone acts like a maniac does not necessarily mean he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing

Good things can be forged from bone-deep fury.

It was not the past that broke you. - It was the empty future, the endless string of days filled with none of the people who mattered most.

We all wear masks. And the more we have to hide, the more accomplished the veneer.

Sometimes I think rage is like a furnace, and I’ve been angry for so many years now, I’m perpetually heated from the inside out.

It’s all cloak and dagger right now. That’s what happens when you’re a serial killer dating a FBI profiler who hunts serial killers. Somehow, my simple life got very complicated.

Do you ever feel alone in a crowded room? That when other people laugh, you don't get the joke? That everyone knows something-the secret to life, the true meaning of happiness-that you will forever fail to understand?

The truth is, genius and depression have always gone hand in hand. Which was why I spent so many afternoons, sitting at the piano, playing and playing, because my father said my music soothed his spirit and allowed him to rest in a way a truly great mind could never completely be at ease.

All were dissected or decapitated or sexually assaulted after death. He cut leg meat from two of his victims into a macaroni casserole he prepared and ate. Kemper bludgeoned his mother with a hammer as she slept. He sawed off her head, had sex with her corpse, and carved out her larynx and shoved it down the garbage disposal.

The results are about as meaningful as a sixth toe - gives you something to look at, but doesn't do a damn thing.

So let's catch this son of a bitch, so I can return to my classes, and finish up my degree. Then I'll join law enforcement, neglect my own family, and the cycle will be complete.

Then we did the best we could, all we could. He was the enemy, Kimberly. He took their lives. And God help both of us, but sometimes the enemy is simply that good.

Dad, I don't know why I'm still alive... Because God took pity on me, Kimberly. Because without you, I think I would've gone insane.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl in a big house who loved her father so much she was sure he would never leave her. But he did. And now this.

But welcome to the world of being a survivor. You make it out alive, and yet you spend the rest of your life wondering woulda, coulda, shoulda.

I never believed Jacob was human. But sometimes, like a lot of predators, he did a decent impression of one.

We are both women who understand there’s no point to the coulda, woulda, shouldas of life.

Real life happens in real time, and decisions have to be made in an instant.

As Evelyn slid to a stop in the center of the hallway, Butler calmly shook his head. Then he lifted his machine gun and fired.

There was no mistaking her daughter's handwriting. And the words... "If you're reading this, I'm already dead.

People think they want knowledge. Until they have it, of course.

The human mind is complex. Telly can be both explosive and cunning. Impulsive and brilliant. One does not negate the other.

It’s not easy, though, being brilliant. Nor being married to one.

COURTHOUSES WERE THEIR own special kind of madness.

The academic world is competitive. For ideas, grants, students, funding.

being a math genius doesn’t necessarily translate to financial gain. Lots of geniuses die poor.

She didn't remember feeling nervous, as though someone was stalking her, watching her every move.

The FBI and the Secret Service each published reports in the first three years, guiding faculty to identify serious threats. The central recommendations contradicted prevailing post-Columbine behavior. They said identifying outcasts as threats is not healthy. It demonizes innocent kids who are already struggling. It is also unproductive. Oddballs are not the problem. They do not fit the profile. There is no profile. All the recent school shooters shared exactly one trait: 100 percent male. (Since the study a few have been female.) Aside from personal experience, no other characteristic hit 50 percent, not even close. “There is no accurate or useful ‘profile’ of attackers,” the Secret Service said. Attackers came from all ethnic, economic, and social classes. The bulk came from solid two-parent homes. Most had no criminal record or history of violence. The two biggest myths were that shooters were loners and that they “snapped.” A staggering 93 percent planned their attack in advance. “The path toward violence is an evolutionary one, with signposts along the way,” the FBI report said.

YOU SPEND ENOUGH time chasing a dog to get back a precious black boot, you start to think like a dog. Spend the rest of your time chasing criminals, and you learn to think like a criminal.

She's such a lovely woman, he'd tell me time and time again. I'd nod, because my mom is such a lovely woman. And charming and smart. Can't argue with any of that. She's also a fucking wack job.

You don’t become a teacher without having some level of optimism. And you don’t stay in the field if you don’t believe that everyone, from bitter teens to burnt-out administrators, can change. I

My family's loud. Not big, but definitely demonstrative. My father still grabs my mother around the waist and tries to lure her into dark corners. As an adult, I appreciate their relationship. As a kid...Hell, we were scared to death not to announce ourselves before walking down a darkened hall.

He said that a killer comes to hunting humans gradually. The appetite builds from a young boy’s undifferentiated anger and morbidity of mind to a search for ever more violent pornography, the visual and written material that Ted believed had shaped and focused his fantasy world. Then comes the window peeping, followed eventually by crudely conceived and unsuccessful assaults. In Ted’s case, these gave way, over time, to a sophisticated taste for the chase and its aftermath: the selection of what he called “worthy” victims, pretty and intelligent young daughters and sisters of the middle class, nice girls whom Ted desired to possess, he said, “as one would possess a potted plant, or a Porsche.

You know those FBI shows on TV? Where they do the profiling?” “Yeah.” “Cops hate that stuff. While it's all well and good to sit behind a desk and have assigned characteristics and fancy medical names for criminals,” Jerry said in a prissy voice, “at the end of the day, you just don't know what anybody's gonna do. You gotta prepare for everything. Human beings are unpredictable. After three decades with PD, I still get surprised.

Tell me, have you done much circus work in your life?' [asked Mulder]. Nutt drew himself up to his full height. 'And what makes you think I've ever even gone to a circus, let alone been a slave in one?' he demanded... Finally Mulder managed to say, 'I didn't mean any offense.' 'Offended? Why should I be offended?' Nutt demanded. 'It's human nature to make quick judgements of people based only on their looks. Why, I have done the same thing to you.' 'Have you?' said Mulder. 'And what have you concluded?' 'I have taken in your all-American face, your unsmiling expression, your boring necktie. I have decided you work for the government,' Nutt said. 'You are- an FBI agent.' 'Am I really?' Mulder said. 'I hope you get my point,' Nutt said. 'I want to show how stupid it would be to look at you as a type, rather than as an individual.' 'But I am an FBI agent,' Mulder said, showing Nutt his badge. There was a loud silence. Then Nutt said, 'Sign the book please.

On his first day in charge of his new command, Hazelwood inspected the MPs’ living quarters and equipment. “They were pretty awful,” he says. “I picked up one soldier’s rifle and discovered that it was rusted shut. “The first sergeant said, ‘Sir, here’s your chance to establish your authority. Court-martial the soldier.’ “I said, ‘No, I think I’ll put him on the lead Jeep on tomorrow’s four a.m. convoy escort—with this weapon.’ “That PFC spent the entire night cleaning his weapon.

Because this devil is definitely an older man, probably foreign. The FBI would classify him as a type IV killer, the worst kind and difficult to catch. A type IV serial killer has no remorse, doesn’t understand the concept. He has what they call an anger-excitation profile. The whole process he performs is his own way to sexual gratification. This man kills for sport. He’s not out of control, quite the opposite in fact. Most importantly, in regard to your daughter’s safety, the rules of his game are that he must murder strangers. He doesn’t kill people he knows. So if your daughter’s with people she knows then she cannot be with the killer.

Any person who seeks to isolate you physically is a potential danger. If you enter into a relationship, a group, an organization, or a cult and you sense that this person is trying to isolate you from family, friends, co-workers, or people you feel comfortable with, you are dealing with a dangerous personality. If people care for you, they want you to flourish and be happy, to be with your friends. If they want to keep you from others (and they have all sorts of ways of achieving that, including using guilt or shaming your friends and family), just be aware that dangerous personalities use isolation for control. Everyone from Jim Jones to Ted Bundy used isolation to control their victims. Avoid it if possible. This also includes avoiding getting into vehicles

The profilers’ plan to coax me out of the woods resembled a comedy skit. During their search of my Cane Creek trailer, the feds had found dozens of books on the Civil War. And interviews with my friends confirmed that I was a bona fide Civil War buff. The profilers looked at all this Civil War “stimuli” and concluded that my hiding in the mountains was a form of role-playing. Starring in my own Civil War fantasy, I was a lone rebel fighting for the Lost Cause, and the task force was a Yankee army out to capture me. To talk On August 16, the task force pulled out of the woods while Bo and his rebels went in. They had to look the part, so the FBI profilers dressed them in white hats with the word “REBEL” stenciled in red letters across the front; and around their neck each rebel wore a Confederate flag bandanna.me into surrendering, they needed some of my rebel comrades to convince me that the war was over and it was time to lay down my arms. Colonel Gritz and his crew were assigned the role of my rebel comrades. They were there to “rescue” me from the Yankee horde. Bo’s band of rebels pitched camp down in Tusquitee, north of the town of Hayesville. Beginning at Bob Allison Campground – the place where I’d abandoned Nordmann’s truck – they worked their way west into the Tusquitee Mountains. They walked the trails, blowing whistles and yelling “Eric, we’re here with Bo Gritz to save you.” They searched for a week. I lost it when I heard on the radio that the profilers had dressed Gritz’s clowns in “REBEL” hats and Confederate flag bandannas. I laughed so hard I think I broke a rib.

Hoover fed the story to sympathetic reporters—so-called friends of the bureau. One article about the case, which was syndicated by William Randolph Hearst’s company, blared, NEVER TOLD BEFORE! —How the Government with the Most Gigantic Fingerprint System on Earth Fights Crime with Unheard-of Science Refinements; Revealing How Clever Sleuths Ended a Reign of Murder and Terror in the Lonely Hills of the Osage Indian Country, and Then Rounded Up the Nation’s Most Desperate Gang In 1932, the bureau began working with the radio program The Lucky Strike Hour to dramatize its cases. One of the first episodes was based on the murders of the Osage. At Hoover’s request, Agent Burger had even written up fictional scenes, which were shared with the program’s producers. In one of these scenes, Ramsey shows Ernest Burkhart the gun he plans to use to kill Roan, saying, “Look at her, ain’t she a dandy?” The broadcasted radio program concluded, “So another story ends and the moral is identical with that set forth in all the others of this series….[ The criminal] was no match for the Federal Agent of Washington in a battle of wits.” Though Hoover privately commended White and his men for capturing Hale and his gang and gave the agents a slight pay increase—“ a small way at least to recognize their efficiency and application to duty”—he never mentioned them by name as he promoted the case. They did not quite fit the profile of college-educated recruits that became part of Hoover’s mythology. Plus, Hoover never wanted his men to overshadow him.

you'll wonder again, later, why so many psychologists remain so vocal about having more and better training than anyone else in the field when every psychologist you've ever met but one will also have lacked these identification skills entirely when it seems nearly every psychologist you meet has no real ability to detect deception. You will wonder, later, why the assessment training appears to have been reserved for the CIA and the FBI is it because we as a society don't want to imagine that any other professionals will need the skills? And what about attorneys? What about training programs for guardian ad litems or anyone involved in approving care for all the already traumatized and marginalized children? You'll have met enough of those children after they grow up to know that when a small girl experiences repeated rapes in a series of households throughout her childhood, then that little girl is pretty likely to have some sort of "dysfunction" when she grows up. And you won't have any tolerance for the people who point their fingers at her and demand that she be as capable as they are it is, after all, a free country. We all get the same opportunities. You'll want to scream at all those equality people that you can't ignore the rights of this nation's children you can't ignore them and then get pissed when any raped and beaten little girls and boys grow up to be traumatized and perhaps hurtful or addicted adults. No more pointing fingers only a few random traumatized people stand up later as some miraculous example of perfectly acceptable societal success and if every judgmental person imagines that I would be like that I would be the one to break through the barriers then all those judgmental people need to go back in time and prove it, prove to everyone that life is a choice and we all get equal chances. You'll want anyone who talks about equal chances to go back and be born addicted to drugs in complete poverty and then to be dropped into a foster system that's designed for good but exploited by people who lack a conscience by people who rape and molest and whip and beat tiny little six year olds and then you will want all those people to come out of all that still talking about equal chances and their personal tremendous success. Thank you, dear God, for writing my name on the palm of your hand. You will be angry and yet you still won't understand the concept of evil. You'll learn enough to know that it's not politically correct to call anyone evil, especially when many terrible acts might actually stem from a physiological deficit I would never use the word evil, it's not professional but you will certainly come to understand that many of the very worst crimes are committed by people who lack the capacity to feel remorse for what they've done on any level. But when you gain that understanding, you still will not have learned that these individuals are more likable than most people that they aren't cool and distant that they aren't just a select few creepy murderers or high-profile con artists you won't know how to look for a lack of conscience in noncriminal and quite normal looking populations no clinical professors will have warned you about people who exude charm and talk excessively about protecting the family or protecting the community or protecting our way of life and you won't know that these types would ever stick around to raise kids you will have falsely believed that if they can't form real attachments, they won't bother with raising children and besides most of them will end up in prison you will not know that your assumptions are completely erroneous you won't understand that many who lack a conscience keep their kids close and tight for their own purposes.

of Edgar Allan Poe’s 1841 classic “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” may have been history’s first behavioral profiler.

Shit, I'm being played like a fucking violin!" Rainie blinked. "Since when did you take up swearing?" "Yesterday. I'm finding it highly addictive. Like nicotine." "You're smoking, too?" "No, but I haven't lost my deep and abiding love for metaphors.

Stop psychoanalyzing me! Be less therapist, more man --" "Man? Last time I tried being a man, you looked at me as if I was going to hit you. You don't need a man, Rainie. You either need a blow-up doll or a damn saint!

I'm from Georgia, honey. We consider all women dangerous; it's part of their charm.

Sugar and fat a socially acceptable drugs.

Face it, you and Quincy have a genuine meeting of the minds. That's serious shit, Rainie. You can go an entire lifetime without finding anyone who matches like that. I know I have.

You have to have faith...I know it's hard, but at some point, you have to believe. Some people are evil, some people will hurt you, but not everyone will. And trying to stay safe by going at it alone doesn't work in the end. Isolation is not protection. I know. I thought it would be easier if I never opened up to my family, if I never got too close. Then I lost my dauther, and it hasn't been any easier at all. I am falling apart... But I am going to put myself back together...I am going to find the son of a bitch who did this. And if I have to be angry to do that, I'll be angry. And if I have to stop sleeping and start swearing and behave like an utter jerk, I'll do that, too. I'm coping, Rainie, and nobody ever said coping had to be pretty.

never hesitated. I mean, I always suspected I was a bit of a psychopath, but as we all know...psychopaths aren’t necessarily monsters. They’re just...unemotional. Detached. Able to become such great surgeons, CEOs, lawyers...even profilers for the FBI...

psychopaths aren’t necessarily monsters. They’re just...unemotional. Detached. Able to become such great surgeons, CEOs, lawyers...even profilers for the FBI...

One sister. Younger, of course. I terrorized her for most of our childhood. On the other hand, every time I fell asleep in the family room, she put makeup on my face and took pictures. So I guess it evens itself out. Plus, I'm the only man you'll ever meet who understands just how hard it is to remove waterproof mascara. And I guess I'll never run for political office. The photos alone would ruin me.

We're going to find this girl, we're going to save the day, and then we're going to walk out of this park so we can nail the bastard. Deal? You are a woman after my own heart.

Her hand now rested on the top of her left thigh. Where she had the knife strapped, he guessed, and immediately felt his gut tighten with a shot of good, old-fashioned male lust. He did not know why an armed woman should be so arousing, but man oh man, this one was.

You know what gets to me, though? You know what's truly ironic? What? She needed us. She was exactly the kind of person that my father and I have sworn our lives to protect. She wasn't tough. She made bad choices. She drank too much, she dated the wrong men, she believed anyone's pack of lies. God, she desperately needed someone to save her from herself. And we didn't do it. I spent so much of my childhood resenting her. Crying, complaining Mandy who was always upset about something. Now, I just wonder why we didn't take better care of her. She was in our own family. How could we fail her so completely?

I was always proud of him. Even when he had to leave in the middle of birthday parties or missed them altogether. His job sounded so larger-than-life to me. Like something a superhero would do. People got hurt. And my father went to save the day. I missed him, I'm sure I had tantrums, but mostly I remember feeling proud. My daddy was cool.

Profiling is like writing. You can give a computer all the rules of grammar and syntax and style, but it still can’t write the book.

It occurred to her that after what he must have seen in the course of his FBI profiling work, death by garden tools was probably a fairly tame scenario.

Every single sexual deviation is overwhelmingly dominated by white males. And most sexually related ritualistic crimes are committed by white males.

Analysis of her modus vivendi (how she lived)

Many people think of a narcissist as someone who perhaps names hotels after himself or always wants to be in the spotlight—maybe a character on reality TV.

No. I joined the FBI so I could be heavily armed, and also help others.

Mac was the romantic. He brought her flowers, remembered her favorite song, kissed her on the back of her neck just because. She was the type-A workaholic. Every day an agenda, every hour a task that needed completing. She worked too hard, compartmentalized too little, and probably would have a nervous breakdown before the age of forty, except that Mac would never allow it. He was her rock; while, most likely, she was his ticket to sainthood.

No doubt about it: Mac would make an excellent mother.

Is he a renegade, works best by himself, alienates those in authority? Actually, that would be you, dear. True

So you've studied psychobabble and you've attended half of the FBI Academy. What does that make you? Someone who also lost her sister. And her mother, too, for that matter. Trump. In the contest of who has gotten dumped on more by life, I believe I just won.

As long as individual men and women have the power and agency to exercise free will and choice, evil will continue to exist, and it must be challenged and fought.

No matter how big the hammer is, you can’t pound common sense into stupid people.

Faith is seeing the brilliant countenance of God shining up at us from every creature.

You’re…poisoned candy. Enticing on the outside. Lethal where it counts.

It's human nature, Rainie. We're all looking for something to believe in, and someone to blame.

Once, when she’d taken the initiative to rub down the window casings with ammonia, Jim had even complimented her. She’d beamed at him, married one year, already eight months pregnant and as eager as a lapdog for his sparing praise. Later, Lieutenant Difford had explained to her how ammonia was one of the few substances that rid surfaces of fingerprints.

Broken people are dangerous, because they know how to survive.

Even a clown can get away with murder, Justine. Ask John Wayne Gacy.

It would be up to FBI profilers and the investigative support unit at Quantico, Virginia, to penetrate this criminal’s mind. John Douglas pioneered behavioral profiling for the FBI. He and others developed the investigative tool from over 25 years of interviews with convicted killers, arsonists, rapists, and bombers. John Douglas: “When someone asks for a profile, what they are looking for are characteristics which include a gender, age, race, sometimes body typing, educational level, and occupational type.

You officially have an agent fetish.” “It’s comfort television.” “It’s a show about a group of FBI agents profiling serial killers,” I say incredulously. “Well…” She pauses, thinking. “It’s comforting knowing they’re gonna catch them.” “You’re nuts.

Once you learn to think like another creature, you can anticipate what it will do and react before it ever acts. If that sounds a little Hollywood, then you've seen your share of movies about impossibly clairvoyant FBI profilers who can "see with the eyes of the killer." But out there on the Kalahari plains, mind-throwing was a very real and potentially deadly talent.

For two years, she and Cassie had been inseparable. And then one night, Cassie had disappeared from her bed. In her place, her abductor had left his calling card, a macabre nursery rhyme. Cassie had never come home.

My colleague Roy Hazelwood, who taught the basic profiling course for several years before retiring from the Bureau in 1993, used to divide the analysis into three distinct questions and phases—what, why, and who: What took place? This includes everything that might be behaviorally significant about the crime. Why did it happen the way it did? Why, for example, was there mutilation after death? Why was nothing of value taken? Why was there no forced entry? What are the reasons for every behaviorally significant factor in the crime? And this, then, leads to: Who would have committed this crime for these reasons? This is the task we set for ourselves.

It had been a quiet night. For the past few months, Baldwin had been tasked to the Middle Tennessee Field Office, ostensibly working as a regional profiler. Baldwin had been working cases for the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit out of Quantico peripherally, consulting when needed. He wasn’t exactly in retirement, but on a pseudo sabbatical, allowing him to be in Nashville with Taylor. The arrangement was working wonderfully until this phone call, the familiar voice booming in his ear.

Je ne veux plus faire de cauchemars. Je ne veux plus chercher à atteindre une petite fille que je ne peux pas sauver. Le monde est cruel. Notre boulot est sans espoir. Je ne sais même plus comment aimer. J'ai juste besoin de haïr.

Fucking fuck," I hissed, putting my gun away, then running my hand through my hair in agitation. Not only had an undercover agent made his way into my organization, but he'd been equipped with a cyanide capsule? I wasn't high profile enough of a target to warrant that level of planning... not from the FBI anyway. But if Adam Puck—whoever the fuck he really was—had infiltrated my team as a double agent, who was to say he wasn't double-crossing the FBI too? Ugh. What a goddamn mess.

You’re profiling me, for one, which would likely put you to be somewhere in that field, given the ride and attire. Your friend has an expensive suit that he wears to impress, but yours is less flashy. Your posture around him and good-natured ribbing towards him leads me to believe you’re equals, despite the financial difference. So I’m assuming he comes from money, and you’ve earned your own way. The SUV isn’t a standardized version. The blacked out windows are too dark to be legally tinted, but I know the FBI are given certain leniencies due to security risks. So am I right?” I really hate the way he continues to smile, as though he’s only more intrigued instead of freaked out. I wanted to freak him out. “You’re not a paid profiler, not FBI, and not affiliated with any military unit,” he says, confusing me. “Your outfit is bohemian chic, meaning you’re less worried about your outward appearance and more concerned with comfort. You sit alone by choice, and dismiss any attention sent your way. At first glance, you’re too feminist for your own good. At second glance, you’re someone who is hard to get close to because trust isn’t something you share too often. It keeps you from being hurt by people, but it also keeps you from having anyone in your life. At night, when you close your eyes and allow yourself to be vulnerable…that’s the only time you dare to wonder what it’d be like to be with someone.