Quotes About Deception

She looked at me, and then I knew what was wrong, because I saw something very dark and leather-winged at the back of her eyes, just for a moment, before the cover of icy amusement slid back into place on her face. "I shall make him forgive me," she said, and her lips turned up higher in a wonderful fake smile. "Besides, he won't find out, will he?" And she turned to Deborah. "This will be our little secret, all right?" she said.

He had committed hanky-panky with paperwork, and if something in the System is committed to paper, it becomes transubstantiated into a Sacred Relic. To

My car is right over here," Kraunauer said, steering me toward a modest-looking gray sedan with a stylized letter "B" on each hubcap. And in spite of that, it wasn't until I opened the door and saw the walnut-lined instrument panel and soft glove-leather seats that I realized the "B" stood for "Bentley." I slid onto the sweet-smelling seat and tried not to soil it by sweating or thinking impure thoughts.

I remembered my admiration of the heron back in the swamp: so cute and fuzzy, and so very deadly. Was it possible that Crowley was not a bland doofus at all, but was actually another of Nature's great achievements, something like the heron, which looked so tame and pleasant that it got right on top of you and got its beak into you while you were still admiring the plumage? It was possible. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was likely, too. Crowley was my Shadow. He

unknown to everyone but Deborah, I was a twisted homicidal sicko myself.

Deborah led me away from it and over to the far end of the room. "Dexter," she said, "promise me you didn't kill this guy.

Oddly enough, I had found somebody. What, what? Deeply dead Dexter dating débutante doxies? Sex among the Undead? Has my need to imitate life gone all the way to faking orgasms?

Ten minutes passed. A woman in a business suit walked by outside and climbed into her car—or at any rate, I assumed it was her car. If not, she was a very smooth car thief.

Una delle poche, eterne verità sugli esseri umani è che quando qualcuno afferma di non essere addormentato, di non essere ricco e di non essere ubriaco, quasi certamente sta mentendo.

Happiness is an illusion—and sometimes so is Thai soup.

And now she spurned me, mocked me, accused me of sophistry. So

It's like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is. And you already know that and it's like a game for you.

Meanwhile, Deborah was looking over the two men Hood had brought in. "What happened to these two?" she said to Hood. He shrugged and looked preposterously innocent. "Whataya mean?" he said. Debs

Of course, Rita would never know what I really was, not if I could help it. I had worked very hard to keep her blissfully ignorant of the true me, Dexter the Dark, the cheerful vivisectionist who lived for the purr of duct tape, the gleam of the knife, and the smell of fear rising up from a truly deserving playmate who had earned his ticket to Dexterland by slaughtering the innocent and somehow slipping through the gaping cracks in the justice system.… Rita

We believed we knew everything they were thinking. Those Magic intercepts made us feel invulnerable. No, a better word is cocky. Their diplomats are chatting back and forth with Tokyo about the weather or color of their new Cadillacs while their military put a plan together to kick us in the teeth. We thought we knew everything. We didn't. -President Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Secrecy and deception in war is often how one wins that war. And it is my preference that we win this fight.

Shaw watched her dark eyes through the lens. If she were with

Jeffery Deaver

You're used to expecting some North Korean or some Iranian in a MiG to drop out of the sun and lock on. But when the people supposed to be on your side do it, well, it really throws you. Makes you feel dirty, betrayed.

They look like wounds, not tattoos.

The more beautiful the package, the harder it is to unwrap.

Jeffery Deaver

Jeffrey Archer

Jeffrey Archer