Quotes About Theft

And," Jenny continued, "is it not said he's as black as sin with only a white star on his forehead for a marking?" "Aye?' "And does this horse have such a star?" Brenna looked round and then nodded. "Brenna," Jenny said, laughing softly, "I've stolen the black Wolfs mighty Thor!" The animal's ears flickered at the sound of his name, and Brenna forgot her worries and burst out laughing.

Conservatives and liberals are kindred spirits as far as government spending is concerned. ... Since government has no resources of its own, and since there's no Tooth Fairy handing Congress the funds for the programs it enacts, we are forced to recognize that government spending is no less than the confiscation of one person's property to give it to another to whom it does not belong -- in effect, legalized theft.

Reisenden mit krankhafter Bücherstehlsucht (Biblioklepsie) ist der Zutritt nach Buchhaim untersagt und die sofortige Umkehr angeraten. Bei Zuwiderhandlung und Buchdiebstahl wird nicht nur der Diebstahl, sondern auch die Zuwiderhandlung dieses Verbotes drakonisch bestraft. Kehre um, Biblioklept, solange Du noch kannst.

commissioned theft. Or, as Durand liked to describe it, he managed the acquisition of paintings that were not technically for sale.

the looting began—a wild orgy of self-dealing, kickback schemes, siphoning, embezzlement, protection rackets, tax fraud, and outright theft that enriched the men around the new president.

Most stolen art is gone forever.... The lone bit of good news is that the better the painting, the better the odds it will someday be found. – Edward Dolnick, The Rescue Artist

The rule of thumb is that the stolen painting ratings ten percent of its value on the black market. If the Caravaggio were worth fifty million on the open market, with such five million dirty. - Maurice Durand

I once knew a man who stole a Ferris Wheel...

financial transactions from hackers and thieves.

A lie is an act of theft. It steals people's faith and makes them resent themselves

And like most middle-aged people who hear the clock ticking in their lives, I had come to resent a waste or theft of my time that was greater than any theft of my goods or money.

Stealing a man's wife, that's nothing, but stealing his car, that's larceny.

Societies that robbed humans of what they had rightfully earned by the sweat of their brows paid a steep price for this theft. They destroyed the individual's incentive to work, undermined the general prosperity, and thereby doomed themselves to poverty and famine.

Whoever is unable to show a correspondence between wealth and the risks undergone to acquire it, or the talents spent in its acquisition, will soon face a challenge over entitlement. The rich are regularly subject to theft, to taxation, to the expectation that their wealth be shared, as though what they have is not true compensation and therefore not completely theirs.

I thought about the type of person who would steal a sled from Bigs Maloney. The thief would have to be brave, big, and tough. And more than a little crazy. Only a nut would mess with Bigs Maloney. It was my job to find the thief. And then, if I could, to stop Bigs from ripping off the poor guy's arms and legs.

During the darkest years of the Iraq war, between 2004 and 2008, there were at least thirty-five convictions in the United States and more than $17 million in fines, forfeitures, and restitution payments made in fraud cases in connection with the American reconstruction of Iraq. But the midlevel officers, enlisted personnel, contractors, and others who have been caught account for only a tiny slice of the billions that have gone missing in Iraq. The biggest thieves have been far more elusive.

The money quickly began to disappear into the rucksacks and footlockers of the officers and enlisted personnel who had access to it; some was mailed home to wives and girlfriends. The stealing in Iraq reached epic proportions.

For you, perhaps. Tell me, how many more of those pretty baubles have you purloined since then?

Captain, someone is stealing the Enterprise.

In Martinique, when the whistle blew for the tourists to get back on the ship, I had a quick, wild, and lovely moment when I decided I wouldn't get back on the ship. I did, though. And I found that somebody had stolen the pants to my dinner jacket.

There's life for you. Spend the best years of your life studying penmanship and rhetoric and syntax and Beowulf and George Eliot, and then somebody steals your pencil.

When the girl sitting at the next table looked away from a moment, Dirk leaned over and took her coffee. He knew that he was perfectly safe doing this because she would simply not be able to believe that this had happened.

I wonder who this ship belongs to anyway, said Arthur. Me, said Zaphod. No. Who it really belongs to. Really me, insisted Zaphod. Look, property is theft, right? Therefore theft is property. Therefore this ship is mine, okay?

I searched my soul, and discovered that there was nothing anywhere in my upbringing, experience, or even primal instincts to tell me how to react to someone who has quite simply, calmly, sitting right there in front of me, stolen one of my biscuits.