Quotes About Betrayal

She had thought because he loved her body that he cherished it. But now she saw that he took her body to be a dream of his own. It gave him pleasure, it gave him work, it gave him comfort, and profit. It was even more completely his body than his own, since if he needed to, he could discard it. Nothing she had imagined about who she was to him was true. At that moment, she became his widow.

Well, Lord, I changed my mind. Fuck that nigga. Take away my love for that lying piece of shit. Don't change him. Please, God, change my heart.

Bad men you want to kiss are the worst; he had only to use the right tone of voice and you offered your throat to the knife.

Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugationthe last arguments to which kings resort.

Unless we learn how to handle betrayal and the torturous, obsessional relationships that evolve out of treachery, we add to the betrayal of the planet. Trust is restored when we learn to trust ourselves and build trust with others. There is no other way.

What moves betrayal into the realm of trauma is fear and terror. If the wound is deep enough, and the terror big enough, your bodily systems shift to an alarm state. You never feel safe. You're always on full-alert, just waiting for the hurt to begin again.

Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all. JEAN GENET, PRISONER OF LOVE

Betrayal is the sense of being harmed by the intentional actions or omissions of a trusted person.

Betrayal, addiction and trauma weave a design of continually recycled wounds that create an overarching pattern of compulsive relationships.

I think you owe me something for deceiving me so exquisitely.

Deception is brutal, I'm not pretending otherwise.

Alice: Did you phone her, beg her to come back - when you went for lovely walks? Dan: Yes. Alice: You're a piece of shit.

Soon enough the tears came but of course nobody came down to see if she was all right, it was just the slut in the kitchen who'd ruined their lives, getting drunk of neat gin and howling for her lost lunatic offer.

Nothing improper was occurring, on the surface, but she hadn't said a word about her new friend to Max; and by consistently failing to mention and event of significance in her day she was practising a form of duplicity.

For despite his confidence, and his apparent maturity, I suspected that there was in him a deep and childish need to elevate, and idealize, the love object. This is not uncommon in artists. The very nature of their work, the long periods of isolation followed by public self-display, and the associated risk of rejection all conspire to create unnaturally intense relationships with their sexual partners. Then, when disillusion occurs, as of course it must, the sense of betrayal is profound...

She tried to kill you, Viola. She tried to blow you up... You don't owe her nothing,' he says. But I feel his arms on me and I'm realizing things don't seem so impossible anymore. I feel Todd touching me and there's anger rising in my gut but it's not at him and I grunt and I pull myself up again, leaning on him to keep me there as I stand. 'I do owe her,' I say. 'I owe her the look on her face when she sees me alive.

Here is the hardest hit of all, O'Malley," Harry said. "Here is the very worst thing I can do to you." He held out his hand, as if asking for a handshake. He was asking for a handshake. Conor responded almost automatically, putting out his own hand and shaking Harry's before he even thought about what he was doing. They shook hands like two businessmen at the end of a meeting. "Goodbye, O'Malley," Harry said, looking into Conor's eyes. "I no longer see you.

And I have this stupid little thought that Aaron didn't survive the croc attack after all, that he died but he's so pissed off at me that dying didn't stop him from coming here to kill me anyway.

So the good prince was a murderer and the evil queen wasn't a witch after all.

There wasn't anything more, and the one good thing that was mine wasn't mine after all.

I thought Gudmund being taken away was the worst thing could ever happen to me, but it wasn't. The worst was finding out he was never really all mine in the first place. And so, for a moment, for a terrible, unbelievably shitty afternoon in a shitty little town on the shitty, freezing coast of Washington, I had nothing. There wasn't anything more, and the one good thing that was mine wasn't mine after all.

That's a load of crap!" Conor shouted. "He didn't need to kill her. The people were behind him. They would have followed him anyway." The justifications of men who kill should always be heard with skepticism, said the monster. And so the injustice that I saw, the reason that I came walking, was for the queen, not the prince.

One night a whole storehouse of wheat was taken, so completely and successfully it's obvious now there's people in the town and the army who've been helping 'em. Which is bad news for the town and the army.

It had just been a friendship, normal as anything. But then his mum's "little talk" had happened, and what came next was simple, really, and sudden. No one knew. Then Lily's mum knew, of course. Then Lily knew. And then everyone knew. Everyone. Which changed the whole world in a single day. And he was never going to forgive her for that.