Quotes About Secrecy

Tell them the truth if you like, responded Kit airily, knowing quite well that Judith, for all her disapproval, would never give her away. The common bond of just being young together in that household was strong enough for that.

The gods are fond of the cryptic and dislike the evident.

British physicist Sir Arthur Eddington's memorable explanation of how the universe works: "Something unknown is doing we don't know what.

NO ONE KNOWS COCO, MY DEAR. SHE WOULD NEVER ALLOW FOR THAT.

Never learn to type, kiddo. And if you do learn to type, never tell anybody you can type, or they'll make you do it forever. Never learn shorthand either. It'll be the death of you. They'll put a steno pad in a woman's hand and it'll never come out.

Never learn to type, kiddo. And if you do learn to type never te anybody you can type, or they'll make you do it forever. Never learn shorthand, either. It'll be the death of you. They'll put a steno pad n a woan's hand and it'll ever come out.

This matter must never be spoken of again. We WASPs can apply that rule to anything—from a moment of awkwardness at the dinner table to a relative's suicide.

It makes me satisfied, Frank," I finally replied. "It's like this: I believe I have a certain darkness within me, that nobody can see. It's always in there, far out of reach. And being with all those different men—it satisfies that darkness.

To which she had replied, "There is nothing I would rather not talk about, Billy, and nobody whom I would rather not talk about it with!

I believe I have a certain darkness within me, that nobody can see. It's always in there, far out of reach. And being with all those different men - it satisfies that darkness.

Good." He straddled her, caging her with his body. "Were it up to me, all of London would know what we do here. -Griffin to Hero.

And if he presses, tell him it's a female matter. That stops any question.

Behave, Miss Greaves," he murmured under his breath, his voice husky and deep. "Fine words for a man who runs about St. Giles at night in a mask," she whispered. He frowned, glancing around. "Hush.

No one could hear them over the carriage wheels, yet somehow it felt right to whisper. His eyes dropped to her gaping bodice. One nipple was reddened and still moist. He averted his eyes, swallowing. His erection, silly thing, didn't know the show was over.

One, he said, ticking points off on his fingers. You are no longer a whore. Two, you wore a mask , you little idiot--no one will recognize you if you don't tell them your past. Three, I love you. Four, you love me. Five--he tapped his thumb against his chin--well, I really don't have a fifth reason, but I should think the first four are sufficient.

Why? she asked urgently. Why me? Because, he murmured, you draw me. Because you are kind but not soft. Because you cradle a desperate secret to your bosom, like a viper in your arms, and don't let go of it even as it gnaws on your very flesh. I want to pry that viper from your arms. To take that pain within myself and make it mine.

You do have to save my brother," she said, "because if you do not I will tell everyone in England that you are the Ghost of St. Giles.

But wield it with care, lass, do not go blasting out your fury and letting all know it was you. They fear it.

Men believe women are hopeless gossips, but women know men are. The poor creatures are worse than women in some ways, because they cannot admit to themselves that they are gossiping, or doubt the discretion of the individuals in whom they confide. 'Strictly in confidence, old boy, just between you and me...'.

to be kept a secret from the military

This is great fun,' she said as he gripped her hand, and she successfully hid the agony caused by her fingers and her rings being crushed together. 'It's heaven,' said Christopher. 'No, no, that's not nearly such fun as—just fun,' she said, furtively rubbing her released hand and making a note in her mind not to wear rings next time her strong young friend was likely to say how do you do.

and there were days last winter when I danced for sheer joy out in my frost-bound garden, in spite of my years and children. But I did it behind a bush, having a due regard for the decencies.

Careless talk costs lives.

Chroniclers can edit names out as easily as visionaries can noise them abroad.