They say all the world loves a lover – apply that saying to murder and you have an even more infallible truth.
Unsolved murders. They always leave me frustrated. Because when a murder goes unsolved, I don’t think it means that the criminals were that smart. I think it means that the police weren’t smart enough.
There are always reasons for murdering a man. On the contrary, it is impossible to justify his living. That’s why crime always finds lawyers, and innocence only rarely.
Murder is the thoroughbred stable. Murder is a shine and a dazzle, a smooth ripple like honed muscle, take your breath away. Murder is a brand on your arm, like an elite army unit’s, like a gladiator’s, saying for all your life: One of us. The finest.
It’s not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it’s the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.
It is the deed that teaches, not the name we give it. Murder and capital punishment are not opposites that cancel one another, but similars that breed their kind.
If our age admits, with equanimity, that murder has its justifications, it is because of this indifference to life which is the mark of nihilism.