Suicide Squad Quotes

Have you noticed how easily the very young die? They make the best martyrs for any cause, the best soldiers, the best suicides. It's because they're held here so lightly: they haven't yet accumulated loves and responsibilities and commitments and all the things that tie us securely to this world. They can let go of it as easily and simply as lifting a finger. But as you get older, you begin to find things that are worth holding onto, forever.

Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes Power.

In the case of suicide, people think that no fight was involved they merely think that the person couldn't take it and felt weak. They forget all the mental struggles the person faced because the were invisible and sometimes unspoken and unexposed to anyone. This attitude of society is wrong.

We're bad guys, it's what we do.

But this is what I know about people getting ready to walk of the edge of their own lives: they want someone to know how they got there. Maybe they want to know that when they dissolve into earth and water, that last fragment will be saved, held in some corner of someone's mind; or maybe all they want is a chance to dump it pulsing and bloody into someone else's hands, so it won't weigh them down on the journey. They want to leave their stories behind. No one in all the world knows that better than I do.

Hello, madness, my old friend. *

Over the years, our society has become fascinated with characters who are not fully evil or fully good, but instead lie somewhere in the middle. Our obsession with antiheroes and antivillains is a result of social ideals being rewritten. We are unmaking the concept of wickedness. As the popularity of the 'heroes' in Batman, The Punisher, and Suicide Squad shows, the lines between heroes and villains have become blurred.

You're suicidal.You know how impossible this sounds?" "Yes." I pause. "But I don't really have much choice." "Well,go on.What about the square?" "Diversion." My eyes lock onto Kaede's. "Create chaos in Batalla Square, as much chaos as you can manage. Enough chaos to force most of the soldiers guarding the back exits to enter the square and help contain the crowd-if only for a couple of minutes. That's what the electro-bomb might help you with. Set it off in the air, and it'll shake up the ground in Batalla Hall and around it. It shouldn't hurt anyone, but it'll definitely stir up some panic. And if the guns in the vicinity are disabled,they can't shoot at Day even if they see him escaping along a rooftop.They'll have to chase him or try their luck with less accurate stun guns." "Okay,genius." Kaede laughs, a little too sarcastically. "Let me ask you this, though. How the hell are you going to get Day out of the building at all? You think you're going to be the only soldier escorting him to the firing squad? Other soldiers will probably flank you.Hell,a whole patrol might join you." I smile at her. "There will be other soldiers. But who says they can't be Patriots in disguise?" She doesn't answer me,not in words. But I can see the grin spreading on her face, and I realize that even though she thinks I'm crazy,she has also agreed to help.

I know. Being evil is great. Who else besides super-villains and fortune five hundred companies can get away with not paying taxes?

Because once I didn't care about the rules anymore, I had all the power.

Flag: What are you really up to? Waller: You want the big picture? Flag: No, I like being fed a steady stream of crap and kept in the dark like a mushroom.

Now I'm a glorified bureaucrat holding on by my fingernails as we all slide into super-powered chaos. A voice of reason in a world gone mad.

How close, Frost?" "Real close, boss. I swear on my life." Joker slowly looked up, eyes glistening with black hope. The fire in his madness was still burning. "If you're going to swear, swear on something that matters.

Cult Mother- Now what does your spirit animal say to you? Thugs- Uhm...Uh... -King Shark smashes through the roof- King Shark- Hi. My name is Trixie. I like to party.

You're looking...good enough to eat. Figuratively speaking, I'm strictly vegan.

(after Monster T shot himself) "Smart guy," Joker said, and he laughed. "Lotta brains.

Doctor Harleen Quinzel, one of Arkham’s most brilliant and dedicated psychiatrists, was no more. Electroshock. What a wonderful way of destroying a soul, the Joker thought as he watched Quinzel’s eyes roll up into their sockets and dribble pour from between her lips.

Joker: Question. Would you die for me? Harley Quinn: Yes. Joker: That's too easy. Will you... Would you live for me? ... Hmm? Harley Quinn: Yes. Joker: Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! ... Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. You want this? Harley Quinn: I do. Joker: Say it. Say it. Say it! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... Harley Quinn: Please?! Joker: Mm, God, you're so... good!

Are we but mirrors to one another? I'll be your mirror. And you can be mine. It's the nature of this world; I see my damage in your damage. And maybe that's some of the measure of love-- the kindness we give to those who are too damaged to even perceive it. Not falling in love, but staying in it. Regardless of what comes.

If her mind had held even the smallest chance of a future, she would have had no reason to tell me anything at all, whether or not it could send her to prison. But this is what I know about people getting ready to walk off the edges of their own lives: they want someone to know how they got there. Maybe they want to know that when they dissolve into earth and water, that last fragment will be saved, held in some corner of someone's mind; or maybe all they want is is a chance to dump it pulsing and bloody into someone else's hands, so it won't weigh them down on the journey. They want to leave their stories behind. No one in all the world knows that better than I do.

Malina and Parsons are of particular interest in this book’s research, as Ghislaine Maxwell’s brother-in-law Roger Malina’s father was this very man—Frank Malina—one of the original “Rocketmen” from the “Suicide Squad” and a good friend of Jack Parsons, whose own iconoclastic interests in turn involved devotion to the dark teachings of Aleister

Heh. Deny it all you want, colonel. At heart, we're both flip sides of the same coin: wolves who don't fit in the pack.

Harley was incensed. “Flag’s paying you for joining? Hell. I should be getting at least 79% of whatever you get. I mean, being a babe and such.

I want to build a team,” she explained, “of very bad people who I think can do some good—like fight our next war, or defeat the next Superman.

Buildings had collapsed-once tall and mighty, now headstones for the thousands buried underneath.

You’re dead,” she cried. “I got better.

Do not say this oath. Thoughtlessly. Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes....POWER.

When you don't want to wake up forever that's really sad and that's really bad as well - Fight suicidal thoughts

Impressed, he watched her disappear into the hellish brew. She was gone. Forever, he thought. Problem solved. He turned from the edge of the platform and dusted off his hands, but then he paused and touched his heart. “What is this? I feel something. Pain? Maybe. Food poisoning? That’s a possibility. Love? Impossible. No way. Could never happen.” The pain was in his heart, and it wasn’t going away. “Nonono… This can’t be. I do not fall in love. Certainly not with a crackpot. I don’t need someone to complete me. I’m loony enough for two families.

I snuck through the front door. Shooing Coop before me, I beelined for the stairs and the safety of my bedroom. I hoped to avoid notice for a few minutes—my clothes were dirty and smoke-tinged, my hair a tangled mess. But it was not to be. Whitney swung from the kitchen before I could blink. “Tory!” Smiling brightly, she smoothed her apron with manicured fingers. “I was just about to wonder what you’d gotten up to!” Whitney winked to assure me she was joking, but the cloying attempt at humor annoyed me anyway. It made me want to actually tell her. I was out on Loggerhead, fighting with a group of genetic freaks, when a black-ops military attack squad tried to capture me. Oh, and Ben and I made out on his boat. You? I smothered the suicidal notion.

Or possibly- forgive me- you simply haven't decided what you want from life yet; you haven't found anything that you truly want to hold onto. That changes everything, you know. Students and very young people can rent with no damage to their intellectual freedom, because it puts them under no threat: they have nothing, yet, to lose. Have you noticed how easily the very young die? They make the best martyrs for any cause, the best soldiers, the best suicides. It's because they're held here so lightly: they haven't yet accumulated loves and responsibilities and commitments and all the things that tie us securely to this world. They can let go of it as easily and simply as lifting a finger. But as you get older, you begin to find things that are worth holding onto, forever. All of a sudden you're playing for keeps, as children say, and it changes the very fabric of you.

For as long as I could remember, a part of me had been waiting for the day it would happen; with the cunning that comes to people whose minds have been stripped to one desire, she picked the only day we weren't waiting for.

And yet what must strike any twenty-first-century reader who follows the course of the summer crisis of 1914 is its raw modernity. It began with a squad of suicide bombers and a cavalcade of automobiles. Behind the outrage at Sarajevo was an avowedly terrorist organization with a cult of sacrifice, death and revenge; but this organization was extra-territorial, without a clear geographical or political location; it was scattered in cells across political borders, it was unaccountable, its links to any sovereign government were oblique, hidden and certainly very difficult to discern from outside the organization.

I rent," I said. "I'm probably two paychecks from the street. It doesn't bother me." Daniel nodded, unsurprised. "Possibly you're braver than I am," he said. "Or possibly - forgive me - you simply haven't decided what you want from life yet; you haven't found anything that you truly want to hold onto. That changes everything, you know. Students and very young people can rent with no damage to their intellectual freedom, because it puts them under no threat: they have nothing, yet, to lose. Have you noticed how easily the very young die? They make the best martyrs for any cause, the best soldiers, the best suicides. It's because they're held here so lightly: they haven't yet accumulated loves and responsibilities and commitments and all the things that tie us securely to this world. They can let go of it as easily and simply as lifting a finger. But as you get older, you begin to find things that are worth holding on to, forever. All of a sudden you're playing for keeps, as children say, and it changes the very fabric of you.

I like fighting and I like killing,” Boomerang said, and he laughed. “And when I kill I feel good. So your theory’s all shot to hell.” “But that blissful feeling is only temporary. Kills are like drugs. You need more and more to get that same feeling again. Today it’s one kill. Tomorrow two. Next week it’ll take a dozen. Not only is there no end in sight, but after a while you forget why you ever started. Your need for relief, rather than your intellect, takes over—and it is insatiable.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her soul with his madly hypnotic eyes, the same color as his chemical birthplace. “Would you die for me?” he asked. Quinzel nodded with certainty. “Yes.” “No. That’s too easy.” He leaned in closer, his eyes drawing her in. “Would you live for me?” He then smiled The Smile, and it scared the hell out of her. Quinzel trembled. There was a power about him she could not deny, and she wanted that power to ravage her. He was a lion about to swallow a mouse, and she could hardly wait another instant to be devoured. But he wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Not yet. “Will you embrace me and only me?” he demanded. She nodded vigorously. Of course. There’ll never be anyone else. “Will you bind your spirit to mine, in hate?” If not you, who else? Bind me. Bind me any way you want. “Do you consign your soul to me?” Duh. What do you think I’ve been trying to do? C’mon. Let’s do this already. “Do you laugh at the world in disgust?” Always have. Always will. ’Specially if we can laugh at it together. All she said to him was, “Yes.” Joker backed away. He stared at her, studied her. He was the doctor now, and she the patient, but he still needed to make sure. “Do not say this oath thoughtlessly,” he said, his expression serious. “Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes power. Do you want it? Do you really want it?” She looked at him with undying love in her eyes. “I do,” she joyously said. “I do.” “Then goodbye, Dr. Quinzel.” He

Suicide Squad – İntihar Timi izle HD 2016 Dc firmasının en iyi komedi filmi İntihar Timi izle geliyor. Dc comics bildiğiniz gibi çizgi romanlarıyla ünlü. Şimdide sinema sektöründe ki zenginliği fark etmiş olacak ki tüm çizgi romanlarını yavaş yavaş sinemaya aktarıyor. İlk olarak superman ile başladı batman ile devam etti.Şimdi sıra 2016 filmleri kategorisinde olan yeni film Suicide Squad yani İntihar Timi filminde. Yapımın çizgi romanı bilmeyenler için belirtiyim en çok kötü karakter bulunan hikayesi. Tanıdık kötü filmde çok. Bazıları; Joker, Harley Quinn, Deadshot. Sizce bu kadar ünlü kötü karakterin çok olduğu bir yapım kötü olabilir mi ? Elbette hayır. Batman olarak filmde Ben Affleck, ezeli düşmanı Joker olarak ise Jared Leto var. Will Smith de Deadshot karakterine hayat vermiş. Vizyon tarihi 12 Ağustos 2016 olan İntihar Timi filmi tam bir yıldızlar kadrosu. Aksiyon filmleri arasında fragmanından gördüğümüz kadarıyla muhteşem bir yapım olacak. Bu muhteşem filmin yönetmenliğini David Ayer üstelenmiş. Yönetmen gerçekten işini harika yapan biri ve bu filmde yer alması gayet yerinde bir tercih. Çalışıcağı oyuncuları ekibi kendisi seçer. Yine seçtiği kadro yeteneğini gösteriyor. Suicide Squad izle yenler den yapımcıyı merak eden olduysa Dan Lin üstlenmiş. Oyuncuları ise Will Smith, Ben Affleck, Jared Leto, Jesse Eisenberg ve Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje. İntihar Timi izle isteyenler için sitemizde full ve 1080p olacak. İntihar Timi türkçe dublaj izle arayanlar ise biraz bekledikten sonra sitemizde bulabilecekler. İntihar Timi izle dikten sonra yorumlarınızı filmgo olarak bekliyoruz. İntihar Timi full izle için hazır bekliyoruz.

Possibly you're braver than I am," he said. "Or possibly--forgive me--you simply haven't decided what you want from life yet; you haven't found anything that you truly want to hold onto. That changes everything, you know. Students and very young people can rent with no damage to their intellectual freedom, because it puts them under no threat: they have nothing, yet, to lose. Have you noticed how easily the very young die? They make the best martyrs for any cause, the best soldiers, the best suicides. It's because they're held here so lightly: they haven't yet accumulated loves and responsibilities and commitments and all the things that tie us securely to this world. They can let go of it as easily and simply as lifting a finger. But as you get older, you begin to find things that are worth holding onto, forever. All of a sudden you're playing for keeps, as children say, and it changes the very fabric of you.

- Question. Would you die for me? - Yes. - That's too easy. Will you... Would you live for me? ... Hmm? - Yes. - Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! ... Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. You want this? - I do. - Say it. Say it. Say it! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... - Please?! - Mm, God, you're so... good! ― Joker & Harley Quinn

- Question. Would you die for me? - Yes. - That's too easy. Will you... Would you live for me? ... Hmm? - Yes. - Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! ... Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. You want this? - I do. - Say it. Say it. Say it! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... - Please?! - Mm, God, you're so... good! ―― Joker & Harley Quinn

I've heard of more ways to die in this war than I knew there were corpses. I've heard there isn't a battle where both sides don't shoot their own men -- sometimes on purpose and sometimes for mercy, but most of the time by mistake. I've heard boys on both sides are killing themselves, so they don't burn or smother or drown or starve, or pass whatever they're dying of to others. I've heard about guerrillas and murders and firing squads. I've reached the point where I don't know if anyone ever just dies from the other side's bullets.

Nihangs, the body of militant ascetics who for generations had served as ‘the suicide squads of the Khalsa armies’.

The M1A3 Abrams was a man-killer. Colonel J. “Lonesome” Jones thanked the good Lord that he had never had to face anything like it. The models that preceded it, the A1 and A2, were primarily designed to engage huge fleets of Soviet tanks on the plains of Europe. They were magnificent tank busters, but proved to be less adept at the sort of close urban combat that was the bread and butter of the U.S. Army in the first two decades of the twenty-first century. In the alleyways of Damascus and Algiers, along the ancient cobbled lanes of Samara, Al Hudaydah, and Aden, the armored behemoths often found themselves penned in, unable to maneuver or even to see what they were supposed to kill. They fell victim to car bombs and Molotovs and homemade mines. Jones had won his Medal of Honor rescuing the crew of one that had been disabled by a jihadi suicide squad in the Syrian capital. The A3 was developed in response to attacks just like that one, which had become increasingly more succesful. It was still capable of killing a Chinese battle tank, but it was fitted out with a very different enemy in mind. Anyone, like Jones, who was familiar with the clean, classic lines of the earlier Abrams would have found the A3 less aesthetically pleasing. The low-profile turret now bristled with 40 mm grenade launchers, an M134 7.62 mm minigun, and either a small secondary turret for twin 50s, or a single Tenix-ADI 30 mm chain gun. The 120 mm canon remained, but it was now rifled like the British Challenger’s gun. But anyone, like Jones, who’d ever had to fight in a high-intensity urban scenario couldn’t give a shit about the A3’s aesthetics. They just said their prayers in thanks to the designers. The tanks typically loaded out with a heavy emphasis on high-impact, soft-kill ammunition such as the canistered “beehive” rounds, Improved Conventional Bomblets, White Phos’, thermobaric, and flame-gel capsules. Reduced propellant charges meant that they could be fired near friendly troops without danger of having a gun blast disable or even kill them. An augmented long-range laser-guided kinetic spike could engage hard targets out to six thousand meters. The A3 boasted dozens of tweaks, many of them suggested by crew members who had gained their knowledge the hard way. So the tank commander now enjoyed an independent thermal and LLAMPS viewer. Three-hundred-sixty-degree visibility came via a network of hardened battle-cams. A secondary fuel cell generator allowed the tank to idle without guzzling JP-8 jet fuel. Wafered armor incorporated monobonded carbon sheathing and reactive matrix skirts, as well as the traditional mix of depleted uranium and Chobam ceramics. Unlike the tank crew that Jones had rescued from a screaming mob in a Damascus marketplace, the men and women inside the A3 could fight off hordes of foot soldiers armed with RPGs, satchel charges, and rusty knives—for the “finishing work” when the tank had been stopped and cracked open to give access to its occupants.

-Deadshot, ¿qué ves por tu lado? -Una enorme pila humeante de todo saliendo mal.

I wouldn’t want to try to take this guy out with anything less than a scoped rifle. Which is something that’s hard to confuse with expiration by natural causes. The hell with it, I thought. Risks are one thing. This looks like suicide. If Tatsu wanted him dead that much, I’d recommend a six-man squad and firearms. Much as I would have liked to do something to buy Tatsu’s continued goodwill, this one wasn’t worth it.

By the end of 2004, U.S. operations in Iraq had been rough enough to antagonize the Sunni population without imposing the draconian methods armies habitually employ to control a population. In the spring of 2006, the coalition was losing on the two major fronts that accounted for most of the fighting. In Anbar to the west, al Qaeda controlled the population; in Baghdad to the east, Shiite death squads were driving our the sunnis, while al Qaeda's suicide bombings continued. Yet, the conditions had already been set for a turnaround without precedent in combating an insurgency. In less that three years, two giant institutions steeped in 200 years of traditions-the Army and Marines-adopted new doctrines and turned around a losing war. This was equivalent to GE and Ford starting afresh in new business lines and turning a profit in three years. A lack of soldiers is frequently cited as the basic flaw after the invasion. This is mistaken. There were 140,000 soldiers, plus 100,000 contractors in support roles, in Iraq in 2003. Adding troops would not have accomplished much because the two-headed command...lacked a plan, a counterinsurgency doctrine, and proper training. With the Pentagon's agreement, Bremer had disbanded the Iraqi Army, and the Iraqi police were ineffective. More American troops operating alone under a doctrine of attack and destroy would have exacerbated the rebellion.

The years between the end of the Second World War and 2010 or 2011, Pinker designates the long peace.19 It is a peace that encompassed the Chinese Communist revolution, the partition of India, the Great Leap Forward, the ignominious Cultural Revolution, the suppression of Tibet, the Korean War, the French and American wars of Indochinese succession, the Egypt-Yemen war, the Franco-Algerian war, the Israeli-Arab wars, the genocidal Pol Pot regime, the grotesque and sterile Iranian revolution, the Iran-Iraq war, ethnic cleansings in Rwanda, Burundi, and the former Yugoslavia, the farcical Russian and American invasions of Afghanistan, the American invasion of Iraq, and various massacres, sub-continental famines, squalid civil insurrections, blood-lettings, throat-slittings, death squads, theological infamies, and suicide bombings taking place from Latin America to East Timor. Alone, broken, incompetent, and unloved, the Soviet Union lumbered into oblivion in 1989. The twentieth century had come to an end.

See, if you’re nice to people, they’ll turn into fire skeletons and fight giant glowing man-gods.

Isnuck through the front door. Shooing Coop before me, I beelined for the stairs and the safety of my bedroom. I hoped to avoid notice for a few minutes—my clothes were dirty and smoke-tinged, my hair a tangled mess. But it was not to be. Whitney swung from the kitchen before I could blink. “Tory!” Smiling brightly, she smoothed her apron with manicured fingers. “I was just about to wonder what you’d gotten up to!” Whitney winked to assure me she was joking, but the cloying attempt at humor annoyed me anyway. It made me want to actually tell her. I was out on Loggerhead, fighting with another group of genetic freaks, when a black-ops military attack squad tried to capture me. Oh, and Ben and I made out on his boat. You? I smothered the suicidal notion. Mad impulses had stirred the pot enough for one night. “Studying.” The one line they always seemed to buy. “Practice test in a few days.

They are honourable and precious to me, these books, in proportion to their great heroism. They are like members of a suicide squad who do not hesitate to engage the enormously superior enemy, life, upon my behalf.

Thermopylae three hundred were to be in effect a suicide squad, of a peculiarly Spartan kind

Beyond the shops though, Shtawrah was no different from the rest of the Biqai' The day I arrived there, I passed by the smouldering ruins of a training camp for the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine General Command on the edge of town. A squad of Israeli F16s had flattened it the day before. I was curious about the raid and asked Ghazali, whose supermarket was Shtawrah's main grocery store, if the raid worried him. He shrugged, "We're in business, what can we do?" Actually, Ghazal's answer made perfect sense. There was nothing any of the Lebanese in the Biqai' could do about a roster of neighbours that included Hezbollah, the Japanese Red Army, Baader-Meinhof, Sendero Luminosa, the PFLP, Abu Nidal, ASALA and half a dozen other suicidal and or genocidal terrorist groups. As long as the Israeli airforce continued to shoot straight, the Lebanese could get on with life and make a little money, especially if they took care of their own safety. Ghazali's clerks carried 9mm semiautomatics in shoulder holsters; and his assistant, whose office was behind a bulletproof window, kept an AK47 with a drum magazine on his desk and a clear field of fire down the aisles.

It was the year of the Joker in Gotham and beyond. The Caped Crusader was nowhere to be seen – it was not an age of heroes – but his arch-rival in the purple frock coat and striped pantaloons was ubiquitous, clearly delighted to have the stage to himself and hogging the limelight with evident delight. He had seen off the Suicide Squad, his feeble competition, but he permitted a few of his inferiors to think of themselves as future members of a Joker administration.