Quotes About Betrayal

Montgomery dude said he killed my parents.

But if they are adopted there is no traitor blood issue

One of the less attractive aspects of human nature is our tendency to hate the people we haven't treated very well; it's much easier than accepting guilt. If we can convince ourselves that the people we betrayed or enslaved were subhuman monsters in the first place, then our guilt isn't nearly so black as we secretly know that it is. Humans are very, very good at shifting blame and avoiding guilt.

Sparhawk grinned. If Martel finds out that he's drinking again, he'll reach down his throat and pull his heart out. Can you actually do that to a man? You can if your arm's long enough, and if you know what you're looking for.[...]

All I knew was that I would die if he sent me away. He shrugged. You can cut a man's heart out with a shrug, did you know that?

Let's kill the big one with the red whiskers then, another suggested. He looks like he might be troublesome, and he's probably too stupid to know anything useful. I want that one, Barak whispered.

Salmissra was alone and unguarded. The palace eunuchs were sworn to protect her, but evidently a eunuch's oath doesn't mean all that much to him if it's going to involve bleeding.

Metafiction is untrue, as a lover. It cannot betray. It can only reveal. Itself is the only object. It's the act of a lonely solipsist's self-love, a night-light on the black fifth wall of being a subject, a face in a crowd. It's lovers not being lovers. Kissing their own spine. Fucking themselves. True, there are some gifted old contortionists out there. Ambrose and Robbe-Grillet and McElroy and Barthelme can fuck themselves awfully well.

No, what they want is to experience a passion so huge, overwhelming, powerful and irresistible that it obliterates any guilt or tension or culpability they might feel about betraying their perceived responsibilities.

The fake ring and fictional spouse. It's like you're inventing somebody you love just to seduce somebody else into helping you betray her. What's it like. It's like suborning somebody into you desecrate a tomb they don't know is empty.

that Joelle even now lives hand-to-lung on a grossly generous trust willed her by a man she unveiled for but never slept with, the prodigious punter's father, infinite jester, director of a final opus so magnum he'd claimed to have had it locked away.

but rather much more likely to do with the fact that his widow-to-be was engaging in sexual enmeshments with just about everything with a T-chromosome, and had been for what sounded like many years, including possibly with the Auteur's son and Madame's craven love, as a child, seeing as it sounded like the little rotter had enough malcathected issues with his mother to keep all of Vienna humming briskly for quite some time.

Loneliness came over him, like an avalanche of snow. He was alone. Where he had always wanted to be. You can only trust yourself. There's a rat buried deep in everybody and they'll rat on you if they get pushed far enough.

Her heart was dead long before her body. She had sold it to become

With this purpose, the author chose for the subject of his story a woman named Catherine Hayes, who was burned at Tyburn, in 1726, for the deliberate murder of her husband, under very revolting circumstances. Mr. Thackeray's aim obviously was to describe the career of this wretched woman and her associates with such fidelity to truth as to exhibit the danger and folly of investing such persons with heroic and romantic qualities.

And she began, forthwith, to tell her story—a tale so neat, simple, and artless that it was quite evident from hearing her that if ever there was a white-robed angel escaped from heaven to be subject to the infernal machinations and villainy of fiends here below, that spotless being—that miserable unsullied martyr, was present on the bed before Jos—on the bed, sitting on the brandy-bottle.

Cuando sostenemos el cuerpo de un amigo que cuelga sobre el abismo y que amenaza con arrastrarnos con su caída, ¿es accidente o es traición el momento en que flaquea nuestra fuerza?

No es mi intención contar de nuevo lo que tanto se ha contado, pero no callaré que 167 españoles y un griego, armados de cañones de Augsburgo y de arcabuces de Ulm, de espadas toledanas y de dagas, vestidos de acero como sus caballos y atrincherados en la deslealtad y en el trueno, sacrificaron a siete mil incas que avanzaban cantando, vestidos en su honor con lujosos trajes ceremoniales, y los masacraron en una sola tarde en la llanura sangrienta.

Así son estas guerras: veinte muertos enemigos no compensan una muerte propia, pero la herida de la traición es la más honda, no sólo por el abatimiento que causa sino por la amenaza que proyecta

No enemy is so annoying as one who was a friend, or still is a friend,and there are many more of these than one would suspect.

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain; at least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.

I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.

William Shakespeare

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss, Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger: But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!