“I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, he said, BUT I COULD MURDER A CURRY.”

“I'm placing you under arrest for murder, conspiracy to commit murder and, I don't know, possibly littering.”

“Missing you?" she giggled incredulously. "I could cheerfully murder you."
"I'd come back to haunt you," he threatened with a grin.
"And that," she said, "is the only reason why I haven't tried.”

“I don't care what you think. You're not my brother," Clary said. "You're a murderer."
"I really don't see how those things cancel each other out," said Sebastian.”

“Murder… murder… Can you prove it was murder? […] I didn't think you could prove it was murder. She was dying in any event.”

“Because Nicodemus is a murderous murdering murderer,” I said.”

“I don't know. They could put up a warning sign or something. Hello. Welcome to Hindstrap. We will murder you in the night and eat your bloody face if you stay past sunset. Try the pies. Martna Maily makes them fresh daily.”

“Have you killed anyone?” she asked quickly.
“What? Did you miss what I said, about turning murder into
an art form?”
“But you haven’t actually killed anyone yet, have you? I read
your file.”
He glowered. “Technically, yeah, all right, maybe I haven’t”

“She [Mabel Manderson] uttered a little laugh of impatience. 'So you think he has been talking me round. No, that is not so. I am merely sure he did not do it. Ah! I see you think that absurd. But see how unreasonable you are, Mr Trent! Just now you were explaining to me quite sincerely that it was foolishness in you to have a certain suspicion of me after seeing me and being in my atmosphere, as you said.' Trent started in his chair. She glanced at him and went on: 'Now, I and my atmosphere are much obliged to you, but we must stand up for the rights of other atmospheres. I know a great deal more about Mr Marlowe's atmosphere than you know about mine even now. I saw him constantly for several years. I don't pretend to know all about him; but I do know that he is incapable of a crime of bloodshed. The idea of his planning a murder is as unthinkable to me as the idea of your picking a poor woman's pocket, Mr Trent.”

“Murder? You mean he's dead?"
"No. He's resting comfortably," I said. "People always sleep best with their heads at a ninety-degree angle. He looks comfortable, doesn't he?"
(Paige & Elena)”