Hitman Quotes

Even though he was inside the house, I could still hear Vlad’s sardonic mutter of “Where’s a tissue when I need one?” I turned my face away from Bones after a long moment, ending our kiss, and called out, “If you’re not too busy watching Hitman, I hear Dracula 2000 is a good movie.” “Vicious,” came Vlad’s reply, amusement clear in his tone.

Eh, I’ll be inside,” Vlad said with another soft scoff. “For some reason, I feel the urge to watch Hitman followed by Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Presidents, Senators, Congressmen, Governors, Mayors, Judges and Justices all fall prey to the Hitman.

You have to open up to the world and learn optimism...Contentment with the past, happiness with the present, and hope for the future. Learned optimisim.

Crooked politicians stood in the way of our President until the Hitman doled out justice for them.

I'm talkin' about you. Stop pretending you're normal. You're insane. Make that work for you.

Any instructions?” Carpenter said. “Yeah,” Shane said. “Shoot anybody who looks at Agnes funny. And anybody else you don’t like. I’m getting tired of this shi*.” “Somebody needs a hug,” Carpenter said. “Humor,” Shane said. “Har.

was he connected to the hitman? I didn't worry about it

Okay, Shane," Agnes said as Brenda's clock gonged midnight. "I got Joey in the kitchen, a cop in the front hall, a dead body in the basement, and you in my bedroom. Where do you want to start?

Your job is to be the hardest motherfucker in your platoon," he said while pointing at me across the desk. "Do that, and everything else will fall into place." He added that I was assigned to Bravo Company, call sign Hitman, and wished me luck.

if you do not want me to break your wrist with one squeeze of my hand, you will do two things immediately, First you will remove your hand from my woman's purse. Second, you will remove your hand from my shirt. It's attached to the body that belongs to the owner of the purse.

Before you lost your mind, how did you make a living?" "I was a hitman for the Mafia. Are you done crying yet?" "I wasn't crying! And I wish you were a hitman because, if I had money, I'd hire you right this minute to knock yourself off.

Be happy she’s crying,” he said. “That’s when you know they still feel something for you. The time when they look at you with dry eyes is when you’ve lost them.

I’ve seen your butthole and that pretty much makes us BFFs.

He was a bureaucrat, not a hitman, and most of the time that's what supervillainy looks like in real life.

He's forbidden fruit, and I'm Eve standing in front of the apple

I think for a minute, trying to invent a good lie, and come up with nothing. Hitmen are bad liars.

You got shot at and you still got me an air conditioner.

I know he’s a sociopath. I don’t care. We all have our issues. But he’s my sociopath,

I want a hero. A big strong, handsome prince to come rescue me from my miserable life. But since one has not arrived, I must rescue myself. -Daisy

War kills everybody, including the ones who live.

But then, I do not know what love is. I know lust and anger. Despair and satisfaction. But love? No. That is not for me.

If Nick is darkness with a kernel of light inside him, I am light with the matching kernel of darkness. It's what makes us so perfect for one another.

And when you had nothing, extra meant everything.

It is clear to me that Daisy can never be left alone. She is too trusting and too willing to try out new things without the leavening effect of fear.

How could I ever be disappointed in you, Regan? You’re a little damaged. So am I. Maybe we’re both a little more fucked-up than normal, but we’ll be nice and fucked-up together.

No, it's not gun-holder, it's Gunhilda.

Sugar, you’re allowed to feel any damn way you want.” Just don’t cry because your tears hurt worse than a knife wound to the gut.

You’re mine, Regan Porter. You don’t get to decide if you die or not. Because if you do, you’re destroying me, too.

Tell me you like my nipples and everything will go back to normal.

She doesn’t know,” Cate said. “Kellen is a secret. I didn’t think my mother would approve.” “Why wouldn’t your mother approve?” Pugg asked. “It’s my job,” Kellen said. “I kill people. It pays well, but it’s not universally socially acceptable.

This book is dedicated to all my readers out there who need to escape reality. To be told you’re a ‘good girl’ by a morally grey, tattooed mafia hitman. Keep flicking those pages. I’ve got you. Keller is waiting for you…

You were trying to take care of my sister in all that bullshit. Thank you,” I tell her. “Now come over here and kiss me like the hero I am.” This puts a smile on her face, and she clambers onto my lap. I ignore the fierce burn on my side and the one in my shoulder, because who cares about that? I’ve got a warm armful of Regan Porter in my lap. Fighter. Survivor. Kickass human being. “I tell you I love you?” “Not yet.” “Love you, babe,” I croak out.

I would rend anyone limb from limb who tried to come between Regan and me. From now on, the only one who will hear her scream when she comes is me. The only man who will get to taste the nectar between her legs is me. The only cock that will ever pleasure her, from this moment until I never draw another breath, is mine.

Fighter, you're the least fucked-up of all the people I know. You're like the normal control in a sample full of crazy.

Damn, Regan, but you have the prettiest laugh. I think I need to hear that more often.

I write the way I do because some women don't want red roses and champagne--they need black roses and knives.

Do not be seduced by those big-box come-ons, full of “complete sets” of extraneous cookware. A complete set is whatever you need, and maybe all you need is a wok and a hot place to grill your bacon. In a pinch, I can do it all with my good heavy nonstick frying pan. Besides the obvious braising, browning, and frying, I can make sauces and stir-fries in it, toast cheese sandwiches and slivered almonds, use the underside to pound cutlets, and in a pinch probably swing it to defend my honor. If I could find a man that versatile and dependable, I’d marry him.

In different circumstances, if we were alone in a dark corner of some bar back home, I’d back her right up to the wall and tell her that not only would she like being owned by me, but she’d fucking beg for it.

He is bad in bed. I can see the roommate masturbating after the man falls asleep. I place the crosshairs over his heart. It would be a mercy killing. A man who goes to sleep without satisfying his woman deserves punishment. He sleeps through her self-pleasure? Death is too kind.

I’m coming inside you in three seconds. Pull off if you don’t want a bunch of my swimmers attacking your eggs.

What are we going to do with the body?" She had visions of dragging it into the swamp, whispering, "Here, gator, gator," and she made a little sound of distress at the thought.

Look at me closely. Ask yourself: Do I look scared?

I don’t think hiding from a hitman qualifies as a honeymoon.” “If you’re fucking in a house that isn’t yours after recently getting married, I’d say it qualifies as a honeymoon.

Alexsandr, the old warlord, trained me to think as well as kill. Elena taught me to hate. This woman? She is teaching me to . . . love. For her, for my sister, I will find peace for us if I have to kill everyone in the south of Moscow to achieve it.

ALBINOS DEMAND ACTION ON MOVIE SLUR The albino community demanded action yesterday to stop their unfair depiction as yet another movie featured an albino as a deranged hitman. “We’ve had enough,” said Mr. Silas yesterday at a small rally of albinos at London’s Pinewood Studios. “Just because of an unusual genetic abnormality, Hollywood thinks it can portray us as dysfunctional social pariahs. Ask yourself this: Have you ever been, or know anyone who has ever been, a victim of albino crime?” The protest follows hot on the heels of last week’s demonstrations when Colombians and men with ponytails complained of being unrelentingly portrayed as drug dealers. —Extract from The Mole, July 31, 2003

Daniel’s mouth continues to nuzzle mine. “You okay?” “I’m okay,” I breathe against his lips. “You want tongue?” Oh god. For some reason, I find it arousing that he’d ask me. Like it’s all totally my call. He’s only giving me what I ask for, and that makes him safe. So I breathe out a quiet, “Yes,” and wait for the kiss to change.

The priest and the receptionist joyfully and contentedly shared their genuine dislike of the world, including the entirety of the Earth's population. The burden was now only half as great, since each of them could take on three and a half billion people rather than seven billion alone.

He has me on a piece of string, dangling. Helpless. He wants to cut it and let me fall to my death. But he can't. He'd miss me too much. I smirk and take a step closer.

Lucius, my love. The only one to make me feel real emotions. But I had to put a bullet in his head.

If only children could be free of all that crap previous generations had gathered up for them, he said, perhaps it would bring some clarity to their lives.

As he drove away from his handiwork, knowing he'd left no survivors, the killer looked at the rising smoke and gave himself a pat on the back for another assignment well done...

place the crosshairs over his heart. It would be a mercy killing. A man who goes to sleep without satisfying his woman deserves punishment. He sleeps through her self-pleasure? Death is too kind.

Impatiently, I grip the offensive hand in mine. “If you do not want me to break your wrist with one squeeze of my hand, you will do two things immediately. First, you will remove your hand from my woman’s purse. Second, you will remove your hand from this shirt. It is attached to the body that belongs to the owner of the purse.

Grab hold of the headboard with your one hand, for stability,” I tell her. She does but her pussy is still about an inch too high. I think she’s afraid she’s going to break my face or something, but if anything is breaking off it’s my dick because it is so goddamned hard right now a stiff wind could shatter it. “Lower baby. Sit on me.” “Won’t I suffocate you?” she worries but lowers until that juicy pussy is resting right on top of my mouth. “Oh, baby, if only.

You’re probably good at taking lip, aren’t you?” I mutter more to myself than to my bodyguard, clawing through the suitcase for a T-shirt that isn’t tight on me. “Like a CIA operative, right? Do bodyguards go to bodyguard school? Are you like the hitman in Hitman?” He adjusts his cuffs. “You know the rule about fight club?” I give him a surprised look. “So you can talk!” He raises a single eyebrow. “I will be right outside your door if you need me. You have to be down at the lot in twenty minutes. I suggest you hurry.” Then he takes his burly frame and saunters out of the room. I shove my head into a clean shirt and pull my arms through just as my phone blips. There’s a message. Well, two messages. Gail 8:36 AM —HIS NAME IS LONNY. BE NICE. “Lonny?” That name definitely is not fit for a three-hundred-pound machine of total annihilation, but okay

Did you enjoy that?” His eyes narrow and now he’s frowning, like he’s not entirely sure he understands the question. “Did I enjoy eating your pussy? Wasn’t it obvious?” “Just answer the question.” “I could eat that pussy for hours and never get tired of the way you taste,” Daniel tells me, and his fingers skim up my spine again. “Love your honey on my tongue and the way you shiver when I touch your clit. So, yeah, I fucking loved it.

Thank you...for loving me when I can't even believe in myself. For seeing something worthwhile in me that no one else sees...

It feels kind of cool to come back from work every day without having killed anybody.

At least God never showed his face in Iceland. Olie tells me it wasn’t even created by him. No wonder it’s the most peaceful country in the world.

(War either makes you a fascist or a fag.)

When it came down to it—them or me—I chose me without blinking.

French bread? Is that a special term for a woman’s pussy?

I think I got your nut hair in my teeth!

What difference does his job make?” “What if he’s an undertaker? Or a hitman?” “Undertakers and hitmen need love too, Merry. Probably more than other people.

Get in the car.” “I’m trying to, but I can’t see. Your penis is blinding me. Is that the bright staff of Gandalf the White?” “What?” “Does the tip glow when you’re excited?

How reassuring. A discount hitman.

Humanity, in general, is a potpourri of many traits. For example: stinginess, self-involvedness, jealousy, ignorance, stupidity, and fearfulness. But also: kindness, cleverness, friendliness, forgiveness, considerateness -- and generosity. Not all of these traits find room in every soul.

Fuck if I know,” he says. “I bought him on Amazon.” He rushes over to the sex swing and kneels next to it. “Look at his blow-up penis! I nearly died blowing him up. When his penis popped out, I was laughing so hard on top of already being air deprived from blowing him up that I nearly passed out.

I know he’s an assassin and I’m just his bizarre hacker partner in crime, but he is . . . different. More than a friend. In fact, if we weren’t in the situation we were in, I’d call him my best friend. No one else ever takes care to make sure that I’m comfortable like he does. It’s small things that tell me he’s thinking of me and my quirks even when I’m not in my own head. No one, not even my brother Daniel, is so attuned to my needs.

Oh yeah. I can feel you, sweetheart. I can feel that you are turned on. If you were a little higher you could place one of those teacup breasts into my mouth. I'd love to suck one of your tits until each one is good and hard. Do you think you'd feel that between your legs? I can’t wait until my mouth is all over you and I’ve licked and sucked on every inch of your skin at least twice.

You think I’m scared to die, you bastard? I’m not. But you shot me three times and I’m still here. Back from the dead. How many times do you need to try before you give up, eh? Seriously Kong, you’re a lousy hit-man. I mean, look at me - I’m still fucking alive.

Leave it to the army to mechanize an erection.” “Laugh now, funny girl,” Shane said. “That’s gonna be a bridge in about a minute.” “And that bridge can hold over sixty tons,” Carpenter said. “So it’s a strong erection,” Lisa Livia said, looking at Carpenter. “Oh,

Placing his suitcase on the seat next to him, he unbuttoned his suit jacket, loosened up his necktie and removed his fedora. He kept his custom eye wear on and made himself comfortable, looking more like a Wall Street accountant than the cold killer he'd become...

Where's my Italian lace? Where's my bouffant sleeves? Where's my goddamn hoop skirt?" The same place as your goddamned morals, you worthless tramp. "It's been modernized, Brenda," Agnes said. "When you pass something on to someone else, you have to expect changes. You don't get it back.

The muffin halves popped up from the toaster on the counter behind him, and she stood up to get them, the scent of her mixing with the hot yeasty smell of the muffins, and the buttery, peppery smell of the eggs, and the fat, spicy smell of the sausage, and Shane lost track of where he was in conversation.

So, Mr. Shane, you felt you had the right to come down here and bespoil my crime scene because …” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “I thought he might need assistance,” Shane lied. “And the untoward angle of his neck did not tell you that he was beyond any earthly assistance you might render?” “I’m not a doctor, sir,” Shane said. “Neither are you a miracle worker, son,” Xavier said. “Should you find any other bodies in my jurisdiction, you will refrain from attempting to raise them from the dead.

Faye tilted her head slightly. “When was your first kill?” Winston met her stare for a long while, then exhaled. “I was nineteen, fighting a war I probably shouldn’t have been fighting, but it’s not like I knew that at the time.” “Mm. Did you regret it?” Winston grinned, but she could see the dark edges to it. “What? You think I come from some tragic backstory, blondie? That I’m a broken little boy who kills to fill that hole inside of my chest where my soul used to be? Nah. This ain’t one of them stories. I can’t dance or roll my tongue, but I can kill people pretty good. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at and when I lay my head down at night, I sleep like a baby. I don’t see their faces. Never have. Probably never will.” A chill spilled through her. The matter-of-fact nature of his confession scared her more than almost anything else she’d ever heard him say.

Jessie, grab a wiener and stick it in my muffin.” “Wait, what?” her assistant asked.

If you’d like, perhaps you could lend some of your warmth to the place,

I found my angel and made her mine. No, I have to keep her. Safe. Happy. Untouched by anyone but me. Forever.

I think it even winked at me.” “Oh my god. Get out of my car.

I feel very Eat, Pray, Love right now, but specifically that scene in the movie where Julia Roberts just cries. Yeah. I feel like that but Black and tipsy.

...Belief is strong. Stronger than rationality. Fear, love hope -all rational emotions, but they sway people more fiercely than any fact-based argument.

My dad was a shooter, or submission wrestler, and he loved to stretch anyone who dared to show up at his door. I remember him stretching the daylights out of Father Roberts, the Catholic priest who baptized all the Hart kids. Father Roberts got closer to God in my father’s basement dungeon than he felt comfortable with. But Stu was non-denominational; he stretched a rabbi once too.

I love cats, they're great; intelligent, affectionate, lovable, and this one was particularly nice, so picking it up and giving it a few slaps and a bit of a rough time was galling, even though it was unfortunately necessary. See, if you're hiding in someone's spare bedroom waiting for them to turn in for the night, the last thing you need is a cat meowing at the door trying to get in to see you because you've been stroking it all day. A bit of a shake and a growl in the cat's face and that's all that's usually needed for it to give the spare room and the horrible bastard inside a wide berth for the rest of the night.

Seinfeld was typically American in that show. He was a pretty funny guy, but he had no sense of style. Tacky like a Texan tux. Tasteless dressing and tasteful jokes. That's Seinfeld for me. I would have preferred it the other way around.

Jackson guides Henry toward my lap. “Why are you in on this too?” Henry asks. “What can I say? I’m in love and when I’m in love, I give my babe anything he wants. If he wants his Daddy to sit on his lap, then I’m going to make sure his Daddy sits on his lap.

The interesting thing is that Dauber, who drove the rig to Wisconsin, and his wife were murdered in 1980 and were among the killings charged in the Family Secrets trial that began in 2007. I heard that one of the reasons he was whacked had something to do with that lipstick deal.

I’ll also correct the record about Tony’s personality, his gambling, his womanizing, how violent and tough he really was, and some inside information behind the adoption of his son, Vincent. When you finish reading this you’ll know the real Tony Spilotro and why the Outfit lost Las Vegas.

Jolie. That’s her name. Jolie Dubois. I don’t bother writing it down, because it’s already engraved on my brain. There are claws in my chest, rearranging organs and making me new. Making me into whatever she needs me to be. I will worship her. I will find this sweet girl and protect her from any harm. She is mine to guard, to keep, to marry. To fuck. I’ve never had much interest in females. They are merely objects that need to be avoided so I can kill the men I am contracted to execute. They are occasional, faceless tools of comfort. This one is my angel. She was sent for me. My singing blood is telling me so.

Firstly, being a local councillor, he was probably a cunt! A real 'book-waving-starch-underpants-wearing-precedent - quoting-sub-section-paragraph-thee-looking-up' sort of arsehole who lived his life by the numbers and reported his neighbours if they so much as tried to put up a bird-table without planning permission.

There was something very poetic about lying on the hay, beneath the polythene roof. This was how we had spent our first night, on the hay next to the bull in Harry Mann’s barn. During the 18 days in-between we had slept in a posh hotel, a canal boat, a student house, a pub, a tent in a car park, a hitman’s sitting room, an elderly lady’s spare bedroom, a hostel, a bunk house, a farm house, our own self-contained flat, our own house, and now we were back on the hay. We had gone full circle. Out of all of the different types of accommodation, our two nights on the hay were undoubtedly our most comfortable. Next time you hear the nativity story, don’t feel sorry for Mary and Joseph; they had it very lucky indeed.

Lefty openly attacked the Gaming Commission and its chairman, future U.S. Senator Harry Reid. An encounter between Lefty and Reid was dramatized in a scene in Casino, in which actor Dick Smothers played a character based on Reid. Although there was some Hollywood in that scene, Tony had told me that Reid was in fact viewed as an ally and did receive special treatment and comps at the Stardust. What Reid did in return for those comps I don’t know, but I do know that with the Mob you don’t get something for nothing. There is no doubt in my mind that Reid took some action or inaction that benefited the Outfit. Anyway, the battle between Lefty and the Commission was a hot topic in Vegas and was widely reported in the newspapers and on TV, exactly what the crime families wanted to avoid.

The door suddenly opened. A leggy young brunette took two steps into the office and stopped short. Her brown eyes widened, she hastily excused herself and turned to leave. Pérez’s jaw dropped as he looked up at her high heels and ankles. He crawled out from under the desk and turned questioningly to his partner. Thorne didn't hesitate. He took one swift stride from behind, clamped a hand tightly over her mouth, and pulled her back into the room, disregarding her wildly flailing legs and frantic attempts to claw his hands away. He shut the door with a backward thrust of his foot. "What do we do now?" Pérez whined. "Observe." Thorne spoke calmly, as would a professor demonstrating a familiar operation to a beginner. Using both hands, he briskly snapped her neck. She stopped struggling.

Wow," Agnes said, looking at her bridge. "Was it good for you?" Lisa Livia said. "It was good for me." "That bridge was built for tanks," Shane told Agnes proudly. "It'll take your wedding traffic and then some. It's even better than what you had." "Thank you," Agnes said to him, trying not to sound hero-worship-y. "But it's temporary," Lisa Livia said, leaning on Carpenter a little. Carpenter put his arm around her. "And I'm thinking the price is right," Agnes said, and sipped her coffee as Shane settled his arm around her. "And my mother is going to have a stroke," Lisa Livia said. "It's a beautiful bridge," Agnes said, and tried to forget all the hell swirling around her and the need to be practical and not get hurt. She could be smart tomorrow. Tonight she had a bridge and she was holding on to him.

1 and 2. The United States represents less than 5 percent of the world’s population; it consumes more than 25 percent of the world’s resources. This is accomplished to a large degree through the exploitation of other countries, primarily in the developing world. Point 3. The United States maintains the largest and most sophisticated military in the world. Although this empire has been built primarily through economics—by EHMs—world leaders understand that whenever other measures fail, the military will step in, as it did in Iraq. Point 4. The English language and American culture dominate the world. Points 5 and 6. Although the United States does not tax countries directly, and the dollar has not replaced other currencies in local markets, the corporatocracy does impose a subtle global tax and the dollar is in fact the standard currency for world commerce. This process began at the end of World War II when the gold standard was modified; dollars could no longer be converted by individuals, only by governments. During the 1950s and 1960s, credit purchases were made abroad to finance America’s growing consumerism, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, and Lyndon B. Johnson’s Great Society. When foreign businessmen tried to buy goods and ser vices back from the United States, they found that inflation had reduced the value of their dollars—in effect, they paid an indirect tax. Their governments demanded debt settlements in gold. On August 15, 1971, the Nixon administration refused and dropped the gold standard altogether.   Washington

So, Mr. Shane, you felt you had the right to come down here and bespoil my crime scene because …” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “I thought he might need assistance,” Shane lied. “And the untoward angle of his neck did not tell you that he was beyond any earthly assistance you might render?” “I’m not a doctor, sir,” Shane said. “Neither are you a miracle worker, son,” Xavier said. “Should you find any other bodies in my jurisdiction, you will refrain from attempting to raise them from the dead.” “Yes,

The bacterial defense system was soon found to involve at least two critical components. The first piece was the "seeker"-an RNA encoded in the bacterial genome that matched and recognized the DNA of the viruses. The principle for the recognition, yet again, was binding: the RNA "seeker" was able to find and recognize the DNA of an invading virus because it was a mirror image of that DNA-the yin to its yang. It was like carrying a permanent image of your enemy in your pocket-or, in the bacteria's case, an inverted photograph, etched indelibly into its genome. The second element of the defense system was the "hitman." Once the viral DNA had been recognized and matched as foreign (by its reverse-image), a bacterial protein named Cas9 was deployed to deliver the lethal gash to the viral gene. The "seeker" and the "hitman" worked in concert: the Cas9 protein delivered its cuts to the genome only after the sequence had been matched by the recognition element. It was a classic combination of collaborators-spotter and executor, drone and rocket, Bonnie and Clyde.

Points 1 and 2. The United States represents less than 5 percent of the world’s population; it consumes more than 25 percent of the world’s resources. This is accomplished to a large degree through the exploitation of other countries, primarily in the developing world. Point 3. The United States maintains the largest and most sophisticated military in the world. Although this empire has been built primarily through economics—by EHMs—world leaders understand that whenever other measures fail, the military will step in, as it did in Iraq. Point 4. The English language and American culture dominate the world. Points 5 and 6. Although the United States does not tax countries directly, and the dollar has not replaced other currencies in local markets, the corporatocracy does impose a subtle global tax and the dollar is in fact the standard currency for world commerce. This process began at the end of World War II when the gold standard was modified; dollars could no longer be converted by individuals, only by governments. During the 1950s and 1960s, credit purchases were made abroad to finance America’s growing consumerism, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, and Lyndon B. Johnson’s Great Society. When foreign businessmen tried to buy goods and ser vices back from the United States, they found that inflation had reduced the value of their dollars—in effect, they paid an indirect tax. Their governments demanded debt settlements in gold.