Quotes About Betrayal

Never underestimate the anger of a woman who's fallen out of love.

For Byron, the most moving sight was "Sappho's Leap," at the southeasternmost point of Ithaca, from where the poet, martyr to betrayed passion, is supposed to have flung herself into the sea.

You're a bastard, I said. Uhtred, he began, but could find nothing more to say. You're a piece of weasel-shit, I said, you're an earsling. I'm a king, he said, trying to regain his dignity. So you're a royal piece of weasel-shit. An earsling on a throne.

I was screaming and hitting at him, but he thought it all so very funny, and he draped me belly down on the saddle in front of him and then he spurred into the chaos to continue the killing. And that was how I met Ragnar, Ragnar the Fearless, my brother's killer, and the man whose head was supposed to grace a pole on Bebbanburg's ramparts, Earl Ragnar.

Who do you serve?" Lanferelle asked. "Sir John Cornerwailled," Hook said proudly. Lanferelle was pleased. "Sir John! Ah, there's a man. His mother must have slept with a Frenchman.

I look at those parchments, which are deeds saying that Uhtred, son of Uhtred, is the lawful and sole owner of the lands that are carefully marked by stones and by dykes, by oaks and by ash, by marsh and by sea, and I dream of those lands, wavebeaten and wild beneath the winddriven sky. I dream, and know that one day I will take back the land from those who stole it from me.

So now I shall write the tale's ending with my sword beside me and I shall hope that I am given time to finish this tale of Arthur, my Lord, who was betrayed, reviled and, after his departure, missed like no other man was ever missed in all of Britain's history.

Except we were there, and I was in a vengeful mood. My cousin was still in Bebbanburg. Æthelhelm was trying to destroy my daughter and her husband. Constantin had humiliated me by driving me from my ancestral land. I had not seen Eadith, my wife, in a month. So someone had to suffer.

I recalled that a man named Judas had betrayed the nailed god. That never made any sense to me. The god had to be nailed to a cross if he was to become their savior, and then the Christians blame the man who made that death possible. I thought they should worship him as a saint, but instead they revile him as a betrayer.

Haesten. If this world ever contained one worthless, treacherous slime-coated piece of human dung then it was Haesten.

Imbecille? - Certo. E sul fatto che sia un imbecille non possono esserci dubbi. Pensaci un attimo! Lancillotto vive, Mordred vive, Cerdic vive e Ginevra vive! Se qualcuno vuole vivere in eterno a questo mondo, la soluzione migliore è diventare nemico di Artù.

Guinefort had been a dog and, so far as Thomas's father knew, the only animal ever to be canonized. The beast had saved a baby from a wolf, then been martyred by his owner, who thought the dog had eaten the baby when in truth he had hidden it beneath the cot.

The god had to be nailed to a cross if he was to become their saviour, and then the Christians blame the man who made that death possible. I thought they should worship him as a saint, but instead they revile him as a betrayer.

It was while he was on the tower that Robbie came to the rampart beneath. 'I want you to look at this,' Robbie called up to him, and flourished a newly painted shield. 'You like it?' Thomas peered down and, in the moonlight, saw something red. 'What is it?' he asked. 'A blood smear?' 'You blind English bastard,' Robbie said, 'it's the red heart of Douglas!' 'Ah. From up here it looks like something died on the shield.

The cellar was spattered with blood, with bodies that showed death in a dozen horrid ways. Wine-racks stood by the walls, looted empty, but the floor was black with Spanish blood, strewn with mutilations obscene as nightmare. Young, old, men and women, all killed horribly. It struck Sharpe that these people must have died the day before, as he watched from the hilltop, killed as the French pretended the village was empty.

You're to grovel." Æthelwold spoke for the first time. He grinned at me. We were not exactly friends, but we had drunk together often enough and he seemed to like me. "You're to dress like a girl," Æthelwold continued, "go on your knees and be humiliated." "And

A hall-burning," Rorik said bitterly. "Hall-burning?" "It happens at home," Rorik explained. "You go to an enemy's hall and burn it to the ground. But there's one thing about a hall-burning. You have to make sure everyone dies. If there are any survivors then they'll take revenge, so you attack at night, surround the hall, and kill everyone who tries to escape the flames.

the French, as they had always intended, broke their truce.

Lust is the deceiver. Lust wrenches our lives until nothing matters except the one we think we love, and under that deceptive spell we kill for them, give all for them, and then, when we have what we have wanted, we discover that it is all an illusion and nothing is there. Lust is a voyage to nowhere, to an empty land, but some men just love such voyages and never care about the destination.

He had collapsed in pain at his wedding, though that might have been the horror of realizing what he was marrying

You told these bastards they had till New Year's Day?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Then break your word, Major. Go and kill them at Christmas instead.' 'Yes, sir.

Who is she?" Æthelflaed asked, her voice scarce above a whisper. "Her name," I said, "is Brida." And the gelded priest turned an agonized face toward me and called for help. "Father!" He was my son.

If he was still alive, I thought. I knelt to him, then to Osferth, and I left. We walked in silence to a cloistered courtyard where the last roses of summer had dropped their petals on the damp grass. We sat on a stone bench and listened to the mournful chants echoing from the passageway. "The archbishop wanted me dead," I said. "I

Now, waving flies from his face, he told the two deserters what they might expect.