In this image (watching sensual murder through a peephole) Lorrain embodies the criminal delight of decadent art. The watcher who records the crimes (both the artist and consumer of art) is constructed as marginal, powerless to act, and so exculpated from action, passive subject of a complex pleasure, condemning and yet enjoying suffering imposed on others, and condemning himself for his own enjoyment. In this masochistic celebration of disempowerment, the sharpest pleasure recorded is that of the death of some important part of humanity. The dignity of human life is the ultimate victim of Lorrain's art, thrown away on a welter of delighted self-disgust.
Jennifer BirkettMots clés murder decadence artists masochism consumer decadent voyeurism diginty disempowerment self-disgust
And then I recalled those mysterious stories about the waxworkers of the middle ages and the public reprobation attached to their trade. Did they not live in cellars, in the eternal twilight propitious for enchantments and apparitions? Their visionary art (who, more than they, evoked a truer image of life?) was closely related to that of magicians: bewitchments were carried out with wax figures, witch trials are full of them, and one particular legend haunted me above all, that of the modeler from Anspach, who slowly squeezed the soul and the life out of his model in order to animate his painted waxwork and then, having finished his work of art, awaited nightfall to go and bury the corpse in the ditch at the city walls.
Jean LorrainMots clés murder models waxworks
He scraped through the dark sand to the center house, two stories, both pouring bands of light into the fog. There was warmth and gaiety within, through the downstairs window he could see young people gathered around a piano, their singing mocking the forces abroad on this cruel night. She was there, proptected by happiness and song and the good. He was separated from her only by a sand yard and a dark fence, by a lighted window and by her protectors.
He stood there until he was trembling with pity and rage. Then he fled, but his flight was slow as the flight in a dream, impeded by the deep sand and the blurring hands of the fog. He fled from the goodness of that home, and his hatred for Laurel throttled his brain. If she had come back to him, he would not be shut out, an outcast in a strange, cold world.
Mots clés love murder masculinity
The greatest thrill is not to kill but to let live.
James Oliver CurwoodMots clés kindness murder peace war killing pity
Anyone can put paint on a canvas, but only a true master can bring the painting to life. Anyone can kill, but only a genius can make murder an art.
Shaun JeffreyMots clés art murder genius kill paint master canvas
Mots clés murder fitting-in memoir bullying italian discrimination nonfiction bully true-crime boston boston-harbor boston-history castle-island cirignano dorchester drinking-and-driving forced-busing gas-shortage irish-mob osracism south-boston southie whitey-bulger
Mr. Buckley, let me explain it this way. And I'll do so very carefully and slowly so that even you will understand it. If I was the sheriff, I would not have arrested him. If I was on the grand jury, I would not have indicted him. If I was the judge, I would not try him. If I was the D.A., I would not prosecute him. If I was on the trial jury, I would vote to give him a key to the city, a plaque to hang on his wall, and I would send him home to his family. And, Mr. Buckley, if my daughter is ever raped, I hope I have the guts to do what he did.
John GrishamMots clés murder justice rape retribution time-to-kill vigilante-justice
Try to be thoughtful,
don't make the poor man say it;
see how human he is,
he has children of his own,
it is your job to ask:
Is she dead?
And he will nod and say yes
And now he can never not nod.
And now he can never say no.
And now he can never not say
yes.
Mots clés poetry murder grief slamming-open-the-door
Why do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled “enemy?
Sylvia PlathMots clés murder war purple-heart
Gee, I'm sorry I didn't hear you in all this rain. Go ahead in, please."
Anthony Perkin's Norman Bates
Talking To Janet Leigh's Marion Crane.
Mots clés murder psycho janet-leigh norman-bates
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