Hot Crime Quotes & Sayings

Nothing in the world tasted as good for breakfast as stolen rolls with some butter and jam and a mug of milky coffee. Nothing tasted better than a venial sin. — Ian Rankin

His anger seemed out of proportion to the crime. Men. Give them an orgasm and they want ... well, probably more orgasms. — Kate Meader

If everybody in the world despises you and hates you, sees your features as ugly and simian, makes jokes about your ways of talking, calls you stupid and beneath contempt; if you have no history, no heroes, and no future where a hero might lead, then you might begin to hate yourself.... And then one hot summer's night you just erupt and go burning and shooting and nobody seems to know why. — Walter Mosley

The policemen had clearly been there all morning: four big white tea mugs from the canteen were drained and drip-stained, red-and-gold wrappers from caramel log biscuits were folded into interesting shapes on one side of the table, rolled up into tight little balls on the other. — Denise Mina

She should pull away, even though she had begged for it with her smart mouth. She should punish him for every crime he'd perpetrated. For being too good-looking, too sexy, too everything. But the kiss was like him - just too damn good. Warm and brutal, providing answers to questions she never knew she had. He teased with his tongue along the seam of her mouth, seeking that last nudge of acceptance as if it was his God-given right.
She parted her lips, and like a predator hinged on her threshold, he took. — Kate Meader

Affliction hardens and discourages us because, like a red hot iron, it stamps the soul to its very depths with the scorn, the disgust, and even the self-hatred and sense of guilt that crime logically should produce but actually does not. — Simone Weil

Logan glanced at the clock on the cooker: nearly five minutes fast. The room was bathed in the pale orange glow of the overcast sky, the back garden a jungle of silhouettes and shadows through the window. He filled the kettle, then poured half of it out, before sticking it on to boil. The growing rumble drowned out the babble on his Airwave handset as DI Bell got his firearms team into place. — Stuart MacBride

I circled among the narrow, San Franciscan streets of Mt. Adams until night fell, then dropped down St. Martin's to Paradrome and up to Ida, where I parked beneath an arching willow some three houses down from Tray Leach's home. I'd bought five styrofoam cups full of coffee at a little grocery on St. Regis, and, as I sat there watching the western sky go purple and then deep blue, I flipped the plastic lid off one of them. It was bad, bitter coffee. But I was feeling numb and disoriented after Cornell Street and I had to keep alert all night long. — Jonathan Valin

I sauntered to the kitchen, where the lone pot of afternoon coffee had been reduced to thick black syrup. Glad that no one was around to watch, I filled a Styrofoam cup halfway with the molten matter, swished it, and sniffed. Nose of burning rubber, with light tar accents. I topped it off with Sparklett's, then nuked it. Kills the germs. — Denise Hamilton

When you get to Hell, I'll be sitting in the hot tub waiting."
Cate Harlow, PI — Kristen Houghton

It was precisely midnight when he stepped through the door. Taylor had said he wanted everyone in the Incident Room an hour before first light the next day, but Perez wasn't ready for sleep. As he switched on the kettle to make tea, he remembered he hadn't eaten since lunchtime and stuck sliced bread under the grill, fished margarine and marmalade from the fridge. He'd have breakfast now, save time in the morning. — Ann Cleeves

Same reason why young women on juries are not a good idea, they don't get it. They're not in that same life experience of paying the bills, doing the mortgage, kids, community, crime, education and health care. They're like healthy and hot and running around without a care in the world ... I just think, excuse them, so they can go back on Tinder and Match. — Kimberly Guilfoyle

Kara knew all he recognized was T and A on a string and he was nothing more than a sleazy puppeeter , so long as there were souls for sale he was ready to buy .. — Saira Viola

Eamonn Carr was coming in with tea on a tray, and what looked like home-made biscuits. Paula took her drink gratefully, but saw that Guy just sipped his and put it down on a well-placed coaster. — Claire McGowan

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 — Jasper Fforde

You weren't kidding about the rolls," Rebus said, taking another bite.

"Bacon just the right side of crispy," Robert Chatham agreed.

They were seated across from one another at a booth with padded seats and a Formica-topped table. Mugs of dark-brown tea and plates in front of them, Radio Forth belting out from the kitchen. — Ian Rankin

Its aura distorts hard edges. Shimmering vortices of discoloration boil off, swirling, licking the
cold night air with bright spectral fire. Violence and death, this one's still hot. — Michael Allan Scott

Rebus drank his coffee and felt his head spin. He was feeling like the detective in a cheap thriller, and wished that he could turn to the last page and stop all his confusion, all the death and the madness and the spinning in his ears. — Ian Rankin

In the morning, Bosch sat on the rear deck of his house and watched the sun come up over the Cahuenga Pass. It burned away the morning fog and bathed the wildflowers on the hillside that had burned the winter before. He watched and smoked and drank coffee until the sound of traffic on the Hollywood Freeway became one uninterrupted hiss from the pass below. — Michael Connelly

It's a crime to be that hot and yet, that evil. — E.C. Newman

Hamlet is to Macbeth somewhat as the Ghost is to the Witches. Revenge, or ambition, in its inception may have a lofty, even a majestic countenance, but when it has "coupled hell" and become crime, it grows increasingly foul and sordid. We love and admire Hamlet so much at the beginning that we tend to forget that he is as hot-blooded as the earlier Macbeth when he kills Polonius and the King, cold-blooded as the later Macbeth or Iago when he sends Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to death. — Harold Clarke Goddard

Dalgliesh reflected that one of the minor hazards of a murder investigation was the inordinate amount of caffeine he was expected to consume. But he wanted the interview to be as informal as possible, and food or drink always helped. — P.D. James

Nothing goes so well with a hot fire and buttered crumpets as a wet day without and a good dose of comfortable horrors within. The heavier the lashing of the rain and the ghastlier the details, the better the flavour seems to be. — Dorothy L. Sayers

What did you tell me, Jesse? Sure Jake, Stephanie will do exactly what you tell her. Sure Jake, protecting her will be a piece of cake. "
Snorting in disbelief, he added, "Being at war is safer compared to this shit, and it's a hell of a lot easier than looking after your girlfriend. — Nina D'Angelo

Violent crime is a solved problem - all they have to do is repeal the laws that keep those intelligent, capable, and responsible men and women from arming themselves, and violent crime evaporates like dry ice on a hot summer day. — L. Neil Smith

With forbidden, seething Havana waiting to open up nearby, South Beach is a riot of loose luxe and easy sleazy, where dancing the night away amid hundreds of tanned, undulating bodies is a standard prelude to hot, anonymous sex. — Maureen Orth

Long Distance II

Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.

You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.

He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.

I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call. — Tony Harrison

For some crime committed by my ancestors in the dark and forgotten days, I came into the world already tarred and feathered. With shyness. It hurts terribly
every bit as much as hot tar choking every pore
and I wish I could be rid of it. But it hurts a lot less than having someone try and peel the shyness off. That's like being flayed alive. — Geraldine McCaughrean

Guthrie handed him the mug, a wee pout pulling his pale face out of shape. With his semi-skimmed skin, faint ginger hair, and blond eyebrows he looked like a ghost that had been at the pies. "Milk, two sugars. — Stuart MacBride

I paused in the act of opening the door and looked at him with what were probably cartoon-wide eyes. "Wait a second," I said. "So, you're best friends with a hot vampire chick who likes leather."
"Yeah."
"And together, you fight crime?" I couldn't help it. I cracked up. — Rachel Caine

That is the true crime that fairy tales commit - making people like me think that we counted in this world. I was neither hot nor in shape. I was just a normal boy in an extraordinary world, and stories like that, no matter how misleading and destructive, would always appeal to people like me. — John Goode

As Ruth only knows one priest (one male priest that is) she's not that surprised to find Father Hennessey waiting for her at one of the long tables, a cappucino in front of him. 'Hallo Ruth, sorry to call in on you like this.'

'That's OK.'

'Are you going to get yourself a drink? This coffee's really very good. It's truly terrible, the stuff they serve at the police station.'

'I know.' Ruth has had her own experience of Nelson's coffee. She wonders if it's a way of torturing suspects until they confess. In contrast, the coffee at the university is excellent. Ruth gets herself an espresso. She thinks that she is going to need the energy. She has a feeling that, like the visit from Nelson all those years ago, this conversation is going to complicate her life. — Elly Griffiths

Alice Gray returned with a lacquered Japanese tray bearing two steaming cups, a sugar bowl, and a little pitcher of milk. I took a seat on the sofa. The coffee was strong and bitter. I lightened it with some milk. My hostess settled into one of the wing chairs. "Vee says Beth is missing," she said, sipping her coffee. — Janet Dawson

Nelson's first thought is that Father Hennessey looks as bad as he does. The priest is still an intimidating presence, with his rugby player's shoulders and boxer's nose, but his eyes are shadowed and he looks as if he hasn't slept. He puts his hat on the floor and accepts a cup of coffee. 'I'm giving up coffee for Lent,' he says. 'Better make the most of it.'

'This stuff's enough to make you give up coffee for life,' says Nelson. 'I should know. I've drunk about a gallon of it.'

Father Hennessey smiles and drinks his coffee in silence for a few minutes. — Elly Griffiths