Brian Masters Quotes
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The small objects belonging to the dead became part of the household. I did not feel that it was theft as their owners hadn’t really gone away.
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Colleagues at work found him talkative and articulate, but occasionally boring, and he lacked the sense to recognise when he had said enough even when other people held newspapers in front of their faces and went on talking as if the most profound interest had been shown.
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Shower while there were two dead bodies in the bathtub, and he was sane. He drilled holes in the heads of living people to make them his unresisting companions, and he was sane. He ate a bicep which he fried in a skillet, tenderised and sprinkled with sauce, and he was sane. For hours he lay with corpses, hugging them, cherishing them, and he was sane. He kept eleven assorted heads and skulls, and two complete skeletons, for eventual use in a home-made temple, and he was sane.
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Sex in its natural place is like the signature at the end of a letter. Written on its own, it is less than nothing. Signatures are easy to sign, good letters far more difficult.
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I was the forlorn seeker after a relationship which was always beyond my reach.
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I looked at a photo of Martyn Duffey today and it shocked me seeing him so lifelike in that photo and dead, gone, destroyed by me, I can’t stop thinking about it.
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Emotions are the most toxic substances known to man...
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Anonymous sex, he wrote, ‘only deepens one’s sense of loneliness and solves nothing.
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Sometimes imagine that I may have felt that I applied a relieving pressure on a life as a benevolent act, in that the subjects were ultimately free from life’s pain.
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I had a feeling of hopelessness, grief, and a sense of emptiness, and even if I knew the body to be dead I felt that the personality was still within, aware and listening to me.
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Through the night it is a nice relaxing feeling to have someone warm beside you in bed.
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He felt that both parts of his life were continually ‘spying on each other’, and developed the ability to step into and out of either world.
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I never sensed the feeling of killing as such, only a feeling of stopping something terrible from happening, a compulsion to squeeze the person by the throat to relieve and absolve him and me from something terrible.
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Power of responsibility was nil at these times. There was fear afterwards, with a massive and suppressed remorse.
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All of us conceal in conversation clues to personality which we happily reveal on paper, because the added distance of writing lends protection and encourages the risks of intimacy.
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After the third killing in May 1980 he says he was growing less and less ‘emotional’ about it and was simply resigned to the knowledge that he was a compulsive killer.
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I would dismiss these intrusive thoughts as though these events had happened to someone else other than me.