Brutal Revenge Quotes

I will destroy you. No matter how long it takes, no matter what it costs me. I won’t sleep, I won’t eat. I won’t do anything but plot your downfall. I will mow down your men like they’re weeds. I’ll kill so many of them so viciously, so brutally, so horribly that no one will dare to work for you. And sooner or later, I’ll get you too.

I can't tell you what art does and how it does it, but I know that art has often judged the judges, pleaded revenge to the innocent and shown to the future what the past has suffered, so that it has never been forgotten. I know too that the powerful fear art, whatever its form, when it does this, and that amongst the people such art sometimes runs like a rumour and a legend because it makes sense of what life's brutalities cannot, a sense that unites us, for it is inseparable from a justice at last. Art, when it functions like this, becomes a meeting-place of the invisible, the irreducible, the enduring, guts and honour.

Revenge is a bitch and I am her.

Naked. Fatigue of the body transparent as a glass-tree. Near yourself you hear the brutal rumor of inextricable desire. Night blindly mine. You're farther gone than me. Horror of checking for you in the screams of my poem. Your name is the disease of things at midnight. They had promised me one silence. Your face is closer to me than my own. Phantom memory. How I'd love to kill you —

Prophet Mohammed travelled to Taif where he was subjected to brutalities. He did not curse them nor did he take revenge for the humiliation. If he forgave & prayed for the people of Taif, how can anyone justify hurting people in his name?

From the two things one: either my husband is a brutal, jealous one, or he’s a refined man; in the first hypothesis, the best I can do is to revenge myself for his conduct; in the second, I would know not to burden myself; since I taste of pleasures, he’ll be happy for it if he’s honest: there’s not a refined man who doesn’t take pleasure at the spectacle of the happiness of the person he adores.

He probably knew that any man she took up with now would only pay in pain for what had happened between her and Eugene; the brutal logic of wronged lovers taking their revenge on innocents and outsiders.

When we hear that "war" is made for "peace", or that "pain" is sought for "pleasure" or that "brutality" helps one "feel", in our minds, language ceases to describe reality. Words lose their direct relationship with actuality. And thus language and culture begin to exist entirely independently of nature.

And a strange, deadly war is raging around the world. Yet, each person who has lost a loved one surely knows secretly, deeply, that no war, no act of revenge, no daisy-cutters dropped on someone else’s loved ones or someone else’s children, will blunt the edges of their pain or bring their own loved ones back. War cannot avenge those who have died. War is only a brutal desecration of their memory.

Every one of the restraints she'd locked into place after she'd rampaged through Endovier snapped free. An icy, endless rage swept through her, wiping away everything except the plan that she could see with brutal clarity. The killing clam, Arobynn Hamel had once called it. Even he had never realized just how calm she could get when she went over the edge. If they wanted Adarlan's Assassin, they'd get her. And Wryd help them when she arrived.

Hate springs from fear. Violence is released hatred. Behind every hateful crime and act of human brutality is an admission of fearfulness.

Is it necessary that Heaven should borrow its light from the glare of Hell? Infinite punishment is infinite cruelty, endless injustice, immortal meanness. To worship an eternal gaoler hardens, debases, and pollutes even the vilest soul. While there is one sad and breaking heart in the universe, no good being can be perfectly happy. Against the heartlessness of the Christian religion every grand and tender soul should enter solemn protest. The God of Hell should be held in loathing, contempt and scorn. A God who threatens eternal pain should be hated, not loved – cursed, not worshiped. A heaven presided over by such a God must be below the lowest hell. I want no part in any heaven in which the saved, the ransomed and redeemed will drown with shouts of joy the cries and sobs of hell – in which happiness will forget misery, where the tears of the lost only increase laughter and double bliss. The idea of hell was born of ignorance, brutality, fear cowardice, and revenge. This idea testifies that our remote ancestors were the lowest beasts. Only from dens, lairs, and caves, only from mouths filled with cruel fangs, only from hearts of fear and hatred, only from the conscience of hunger and lust, only from the lowest and most debased could come this cruel, heartless and bestial of all dogmas.

I have myself seen the master of such a household whose head was bowed down in shame; for it was known in the neighborhood that his daughter had selected one of the meanest slaves on his plantation to be the father of his first grandchild. She did not make her advances to her equals, nor even to her father’s more intelligent servants. She selected the most brutalized, over whom her authority could be exercised with less fear of exposure. Her father, half frantic with rage, sought to revenge himself on the offending black man; but his daughter, foreseeing the storm that would arise, had given him free papers, and sent him out of the state.

But the “Get Tough America” policy, the spirit of revenge, the approbation of all destruction and killing, has earned us a name for obscene brutality, and cost the World the possibility of Germany’s becoming a peaceful and intellectually fruitful nation in anything but the most remote future.

The Dr. Nuts seemed only as an acid gurgling down into his intestine. He filled with gas, the sealed valve trapping it just as one pinches the mouth of a balloon. Great eructations rose from his throat and bounced upward toward the refuse-laden bowl of the milk glass chandelier. Once a person was asked to step into this brutal century, anything could happen. Everywhere there lurked pitfalls like Abelman, the insipid Crusaders for Moorish Dignity, the Mancuso cretin, Dorian Greene, newspaper reporters, stripteasers, birds, photography, juvenile delinquents, Nazi pornographers. And especially Myrna Minkoff. The musky minx must be dealt with. Somehow. Someday. She must pay. Whatever happened, he must attend to her even if the revenge took years and he had to stalk her through decades from one coffee shop to another, from one folksinging orgy to another, from subway train to pad to cotton field to demonstration. Ignatius invoked an elaborate Elizabethan curse upon Myrna and, rolling over, frantically abused the glove once more.

Tetu Palaita is one of those for me. He is my son, my brother, my friend. I hurt for him so much right this moment I’m incapable of describing it. I’m finding it hard to be rational. I want revenge. Not justice. Revenge. I want to hurt whoever did this to Tetu’s family in the most brutal ways I can conceive. My perspective has taken a leave of absence.

The most brutal avenger on earth is a reality you ignored, however minor.

Revenge Hate rarely. But if and when you must hate, throw love to the Devil and hate with the most brutal and burning vengeance until nothing remains of your enemies but smoke.

Prophetic Mohammed travelled to Taif where he was subjected to brutalities. He did not curse them nor did he take revenge for the humiliation. If he forgave & prayed for the people of Taif, how can anyone justify hurting people in his name?

Terrorism cannot be overcome by the use of force because it does not address the complex underlying problems. In fact the use of force may not only fail to solve the problems, it may exacerbate them and frequently leaves destruction and suffering in its wake. Human conflicts should be resolved with compassion. The key is non-violence. Retaliatory military action by the United States may bring some satisfaction and short-term results but it will not root out the problem of terrorism. Long-term measures need to be taken. The US must examine the factors that breed and give rise to terrorism. I have written to President Bush urging him to exercise restraint and not to seek a brutal revenge for the 11th September attacks. I expressed my sympathy but I suggested that responding to violence with more violence might not be the answer. I would also like to point out that to talk of nonviolence when things are going smoothly is not of much relevance. It is precisely when things become really difficult, urgent and critical that we should think and act nonviolently.

They are all but forgotten now, as all men in war are ultimately forgotten. They are eternal, as all men in war are eternal. Who they were, where they were from in an America both blessed and brutal, the gung ho innocence that turned into the darkest horror as they traveled through the maze of being a marine, is not some period piece or contrived cautionary tale but the most timeless story of all: of humanity in the face of all that has become inhuman, the inhumanity of all that once was human, the remarkable sacrifice that men are still willing to make even when the world has gone mad, united by that thing you cannot ever control in war, however brave or careful or fearful or raging with revenge: who dies, because so many died after that game; who lives, because many did live despite combat and serious injury. The Mosquito Bowl.

How did she die?" Grey finally asks. "Painfully." I hurl the word, dagger sharp, because I'm angry. And hurt. ... Grey's face crumbles. "Oh God." He presses a hand over his eyes as he doubles over, falling to his knees in the surf. For a moment I stand over him, watching the way that he's broken. Knowing that I'm broken in the same way. My stomach roils at what I say next - at my capacity for cruelty. At my need to hurt him. But it's the only way I know to save myself. Truth and revenge, my only lifelines. I let myself slip until I'm kneeling next to him. I place my arms around him. Comforting him. "There's nothing you could have done." I say the words softly, knowing the aching brutality of them. Because there was something he could have done to save her. He could have told the truth.

Only through our adherence to nonviolence— which also means love in its strong and commanding sense —will the fear in the white community be mitigated. A guilt-ridden white minority fears that if the Negro attains power, he will without restraint or pity act to revenge the accumulated injustices and brutality of the years. The Negro must show that the white man has nothing to fear, for the Negro is willing to forgive. A mass movement exercising nonviolence and demonstrating power under discipline should convince the white community that as such a movement attained strength, its power would be used creatively and not for revenge.

Will you dare to say so?–Have you never erred?–Have you never felt one impure sensation?–Have you never indulged a transient feeling of hatred, or malice, or revenge?–Have you never forgot to do the good you ought to do,–or remembered to do the evil you ought not to have done?–Have you never in trade overreached a dealer, or banquetted on the spoils of your starving debtor?–Have you never, as you went to your daily devotions, cursed from your heart the wanderings of your heretical brethren,–and while you dipped your fingers in the holy water, hoped that every drop that touched your pores, would be visited on them in drops of brimstone and sulphur?–Have you never, as you beheld the famished, illiterate, degraded populace of your country, exulted in the wretched and temporary superiority your wealth has given you,–and felt that the wheels of your carriage would not roll less smoothly if the way was paved with the heads of your countrymen? Orthodox Catholic–old Christian–as you boast yourself to be,–is not this true?–and dare you say you have not been an agent of Satan? I tell you, whenever you indulge one brutal passion, one sordid desire, one impure imagination–whenever you uttered one word that wrung the heart, or embittered the spirit of your fellow-creature–whenever you made that hour pass in pain to whose flight you might have lent wings of down–whenever you have seen the tear, which your hand might have wiped away, fall uncaught, or forced it from an eye which would have smiled on you in light had you permitted it–whenever you have done this, you have been ten times more an agent of the enemy of man than all the wretches whom terror, enfeebled nerves, or visionary credulity, has forced into the confession of an incredible compact with the author of evil, and whose confession has consigned them to flames much more substantial than those the imagination of their persecutors pictured them doomed to for an eternity of suffering! Enemy of mankind!' the speaker continued,–'Alas! how absurdly is that title bestowed on the great angelic chief,–the morning star fallen from its sphere! What enemy has man so deadly as himself? If he would ask on whom he should bestow that title aright, let him smite his bosom, and his heart will answer,–Bestow it here!

My daughter would soon be the age of the ghosts of our girlhood. I found it inconceivable that in a relatively small amount of time, my daughter could wear a wedding dress, as Lila had, end up brutalized in a man's bed, lock herself in the role of Signora Carracci; I found it equally inconceivable that, as had happened to me, she could lie under the heavy body of a grown man, at night, on the Maronti, smeared with dark sand, damp air, and bodily fluids, just for revenge. I remembered the thousands of odious things we had gone through and I let the solidarity regain force. What a waste it would be, I said to myself, to ruin our story by leaving too much space for ill feelings: ill feelings are inevitable, but the essential thing is to keep them in check.

But he has his revenge. Even the winds are his messengers, and they serve him in these hours of darkness. There is not a drop of Tom’s corrupted blood but propagates infection and contagion somewhere. It shall pollute, this very night, the choice stream (in which chemists on analysis would find the genuine nobility) of a Norman house, and his Grace shall not be able to say Nay to the infamous alliance. There is not an atom of Tom’s slime, not a cubic inch of any pestilential gas in which he lives, not one obscenity or degradation about him, not an ignorance, not a wickedness, not a brutality of his committing, but shall work its retribution, through every order of society, up to the proudest of the proud, and to the highest of the high. Verily, what with tainting, plundering, and spoiling, Tom has his revenge.

But to kill men leads to nothing but killing more men. For one principle to triumph, another principle must be overthrown. The city of light of which Spartacus dreamed could only have been built on the ruins of eternal Rome, of its institutions and of its gods. Spartacus’ army marches to lay siege to a Rome paralyzed with fear at the prospect of having to pay for its crimes. At the decisive moment, however, within sight of the sacred walls, the army halts and wavers, as if it were retreating before the principles, the institutions, the city of the gods. When these had been destroyed, what could be put in their place except the brutal desire for justice, the wounded and exacerbated love that until this moment had kept these wretches on their feet.2 In any case, the army retreated without having fought, and then made the curious move of deciding to return to the place where the slave rebellion originated, to retrace the long road of its victories and to return to Sicily. It was as though these outcasts, forever alone and helpless before the great tasks that awaited them and too daunted to assail the heavens, returned to what was purest and most heartening in their history, to the land of their first awakening, where it was easy and right to die. Then began their defeat and martyrdom. Before the last battle, Spartacus crucified a Roman citizen to show his men the fate that was in store for them. During the battle, Spartacus himself tried with frenzied determination, the symbolism of which is obvious, to reach Crassus, who was commanding the Roman legions. He wanted to perish, but in single combat with the man who symbolized, at that moment, every Roman master; it was his dearest wish to die, but in absolute equality. He did not reach Crassus: principles wage war at a distance and the Roman general kept himself apart. Spartacus died, as he wished, but at the hands of mercenaries, slaves like himself, who killed their own freedom with his. In revenge for the one crucified citizen, Crassus crucified thousands of slaves. The six thousand crosses which, after such a just rebellion, staked out the road from Capua to Rome demonstrated to the servile crowd that there is no equality in the world of power and that the masters calculate, at a usurious rate, the price of their own blood.

Concealing himself from his father's wrath, behind the barn with wick turned low and his face two inches from the rough sawtooth page, Young Crawford had read of these atrocities in Beadle's Dime Library and fantasized about "calling out" the brutal old man who had sired him, "throwing down" on him with the "hogleg" he wore high on his hip, and blasting him into hell; after which he would go "on the scout," separating high-interest banks and arrogant railroad barons from their soiled coin and distributing it among their victims, or failing that into his own pockets and saddle pouches and living the "high Life" in saloons and "dance halls" where beautiful women in brief costumes admired his straight legs and square jaw and told him of the men who had "ruined" them (he knew not just how, only that the act was disgraceful and its effects permanent), whereupon he sought the blackguards out and deprived them of their lives. There was usually profit involved; invariably the men were thieves who lived in close proximity to their "ill-gotten booty," and didn't it say somewhere in Scripture that robbing a thief was no sin? If it didn't, it should have.

Technocracy will Americanise us, progress will starve our spirituality so far that nothing of the bloodthirsty, frivolous or unnatural dreams of the utopist will be comparable to those positive facts. I invite any thinking person to show me what is left of life. Religion! It is useless to talk about it, or to look for its remnants; it is a scandal that one takes the trouble even of denying God. Private property! It was—strictly speaking—abolished with the suppression of the right of primogeniture; yet the time will come when mankind like a revengeful cannibal will snatch the last piece from those who rightfully deemed themselves the heirs of revolutions. And even this will not be the worst. . . . Universal ruin will manifest itself not solely or particularly in political institutions or general progress or whatever else might be a proper name for it; it will be seen, above all, in the baseness of hearts. Shall I add that, that little left-over of sociability will hardly resist the sweeping brutality, and that the rulers, in order to hold their own and to produce a sham order, will ruthlessly resort to measures which will make us, who already are callous, shudder?

They wanted revenge for the Bataan Death March of 1942, during which Japanese troops killed or brutalized thousands of captured Filipino and American soldiers along a forced hundred-mile march to a prison camp.

However, brutal programs are avidly absorbed by children who have never been allowed to defend themselves against overt or subtle tormenting at home or who, for other reasons, can never articulate their feelings—for example, to spare a threatened parent. So they can satisfy their secret longings for revenge by identifying with what they see on TV. These children already carry within them the seeds of future destructiveness. Whether or not this destructiveness will erupt depends largely on whether life offers them more than violence: in other words, whether witnesses willing to rescue them cross their path. What is important to understand is that the child learns cruelty not by watching TV but always by suffering and repressing.

For so long I thought the only real meaning my life held was in seeking revenge for what Troy Memphis did to my family,” I said to her in a low voice, not even certain she could hear me over the roar of the helicopter. “But I was so fucking wrong. So, so wrong, Tatum. Because fearing for your life almost destroyed me. It made me realise that I have so much more to live for than some vendetta. I love you. I love you with everything I am and everything I’ll ever be

And nothing burned so hot as rage nor as sweetly as revenge.

His soul was anchored in evil, existing only in hell, leaving no outlet for compassion to subside. He was how the term brutal became prevalent

What we have in the Reformation is a wild and uncouth counterpart of the Italian Renaissance, arising from similar impulses, except that in the primitive and vulgar North, they had to dress themselves up in religious garb — there the notion of a higher life had not yet been divorced from that of a religious one. With the Reformation, as with the Renaissance, the individual wanted to be free; "every man his own priest" is little more than a formula for libertinism. In truth, one phrase, "evangelical freedom", sufficed, and all the instincts that had reason to remain hidden sprang out like a pack of wild dogs; the most brutal needs suddenly found their courage; everything seemed justified ... People took care not to grasp exactly what kind of freedom they meant; they turned a blind eye to themselves. But the fact that people gave fanatical sermons with closed eyes and moistened lips did not prevent them from grabbing everything they could get their hands on; it did not prevent their guts from becoming their god, the god of the "free gospel"; and it did not prevent them from indulging all their passions for revenge and murder with an insatiable fury. So, this lasted for a while, and then exhaustion supervened, just as it had done in Southern Europe; and here too, the exhaustion was of a vulgar kind, a general ruere in servitium (rush into servitude) ...For Germany, it was the beginning of a century of ill-repute.

In fact, I see more clearly than ever that I need my cold, brutal revenge.

You know what I have to do now.” Greta slowly shakes her head, her clear blue eyes fixed on mine. “You don’t have to, Seb,” she says quietly. “Yes, I do.” “Why?” she says. “Because you think your father would have wanted revenge? Is that why?” “No—” I say, but Greta pushes on, overriding me. “Because I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Seb! Enzo told me a lot of things these last few years. Things he had done. Things he regretted. His hopes and dreams for you children. And especially for you, Seb. He said you were a good man. He said you weren’t like him—you’re more like your mother—” “He was wrong.” I cut her off. “I’m no different from Dante or Nero, or even my father. In fact, I might be worse.” “You don’t mean that—” “YES I DO!” I bark, startling Greta into silence. “Greta, I HATE Yenin. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to blow his fucking face off his skull, just like he did to Papa. He broke a blood contract, and he’ll pay for that, no matter what I have to do. I’m going to kill him, and his son, and every one of his men. I’m going to wipe them off the face of this earth, so anyone who even dreams of raising a hand to our family again will remember what happened to the Russians and shake with fear.

Mikolaj,” he said. “You are my son and my heir. I know you will never fail me again.” I had long since lost the ability to feel anything like love. But I felt the fire of a loyalty stronger than love. Tymon spared my life twice. He would never need to do it a third time. I felt reinvigorated. I planned to work with my father to crush the Italians and the Irish. To take our place once and for all as the rulers of the city. Instead, a week later, Dante Gallo murdered Tymon. He gunned him down, leaving him to bleed out in the gutter. I’ve yet to take my revenge.

All that was good inside of me died ten years ago. The last shred of the boy I used to be was tied to Zajac—he was the only family I had left. Now he’s gone, and there’s no humanity inside of me at all. I feel nothing anymore, except need. I need money. Power. And above all, revenge.

At first, I didn’t care in the slightest. In fact, I saw those tears as my due. They were the salt that would season my revenge.

Gypsy aren't only poor, but they are brutal and not so nice people. World has smashed them, that they start making revenge by behaving bad to dogs, like "Hey, I'm the boss". But nobody stand up and do something about that!

Revenge killings are brutal.

I would doubt that virtue, to her, means abstinence. It is far more likely to mean courage, compassion, and the integrity to be brutally honest, first with yourself and then with others, and never to run away just because you are exhausted or afraid.

As we now know, of course, there was absolutely no connection between Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein. In spite of that fact, President Bush actually said to the nation at a time of greatly enhanced vulnerability to the fear of attack, “You can’t distinguish between al-Qaeda and Saddam.” History will surely judge America’s decision to invade and occupy a fragile and unstable nation that did not attack us and posed no threat to us as a decision that was not only tragic but absurd. Saddam Hussein was a brutal dictator, to be sure, but not one who posed an imminent danger to us. It is a decision that could have been made only at a moment in time when reason was playing a sharply diminished role in our national deliberations. Thomas Jefferson would have recognized the linkage between absurd tragedy and the absence of reason. As he wrote to James Smith in 1822, “Man, once surrendering his reason, has no remaining guard against absurdities the most monstrous, and like a ship without rudder, is the sport of every wind.” I spoke at the Iowa Democratic Convention in the fall of 2001. Earlier in August, I had prepared a very different kind of speech. But in the aftermath of this tragedy, I proudly, with complete and total sincerity, stood before the Democrats of Iowa and said, “George W. Bush is my president, and I will follow him, as will we all, in this time of crisis.” I was one of millions who felt that same sentiment and gave the president my total trust, asking him to lead us wisely and well. But he redirected the focus of America’s revenge onto Iraq, a nation that had nothing whatsoever to do with September 11.

the human is offered a choice: they can get revenge on me, or they can accept their pain and continue their journey

The Griffins and the Gallos made their alliance by marriage. I could do the same. But I’m not looking for an alliance. I never have been. I’m looking for total and complete domination. I don’t want to share the city. I want to own it. I don’t want recompense—I want revenge.

Revenge is for people who have only themselves to consider.

I feel betrayed. I feel like a fool. And most of all, I feel horribly, sickeningly guilty. I told Yelena it was her fault that my father’s dead and my brother is lying in an intensive care unit with tubes going in and out of his body. But the truth is, it’s my fault. I knew Alexei Yenin hated us. I knew he wanted revenge on my family. I knew that he exerts incredible pressure and control over his children. And yet I told myself it would all be fine. Because I wanted to believe it would be fine. I wanted to believe I could fall in love and be happy and that all the wrongs of the past could be swept under a rug.

I want to kill Alexei Yenin,” I say. “Also his son Adrian, his lieutenant Rodion, and as many of the rest of his men as I can. I want revenge for what they did to my father, and to Nero, and to my friends Giovanni and Brody. I want justice for the blood oath he broke.

I will help you get your revenge. I want all of Yenin’s territory added to my own. That’s my price.

He’s trying to make me lose my temper. Maybe because he doesn’t want to be used as bait against his father. Maybe he thinks I’m stupid enough to untie him so I can beat the shit out of him better. What he doesn’t realize is that all my wild emotion has been burned away. I’m finally taking my father’s advice—the last piece he gave me. Play the endgame like a machine. I’m a fucking android now. Nothing will stray me from my course. Rodion dies. Yenin dies. Adrian dies. There will be no loose ends this time. No forgiveness. No enemies left alive to seek their revenge on me and my family.

My family’s house is going up in flames like a tinderbox. Everything is burning—the pictures of my great-grandparents in their dusty frames. The posters on my bedroom walls. My mother’s piano. I never could have let this happen if my father were still alive—it would have killed him. But like Yenin, I’m willing to lose something I love to get my revenge. I sacrificed a piece that had great value to me to lure him out of his car.

The brutal torments that were meant to beat all of the evil out of these boys had an entirely different effect on Carl. They beat all of the human weakness and empathy out of him instead. They hardened him into a man.

She had to bring it to the brutal conclusion now or forever give up on her revenge. She had promised herself at the start of the mission that she would remain strong and finish it, but she’d grossly underestimated her own heart. It would be so easy to surrender. To simply let him carry her off, to become his. He would never have to know the truth. Twelve years, she reminded herself. Twelve years of rejection and quiet pain, of feeling broken, as if a vital part of her was lost. Twelve years of controlled anger.

Mikolaj wanted to kill my brother, too. Now he’s doing his best to save him. For me. Only for me. He chose me over his desire for revenge. He chose me over his brothers. He chose me over his own life. “Thank you, Miko,” I say.

A sadistic madman of a demon who laughed when he was stabbed and gave orgasms like a serial killer murdering his latest victim — hard, fast, and brutal, with passionately violent glee.

The beast wants his revenge, and he wants the city, too.

You are under arrest for the murder of Morah Djo, you have the right to remain silent…’’ one officer proclaimed. I YELLED, CALLING THEM BOERS, CALLING THEM OPPRESSORS IN AFRIKAANS as they dragged me out of the bathroom. My body was tossed into the police van. It seemed surreal, he needed to die.

Aegean Sea. Yakub plotted his revenge against his enemies: “to create upon the earth a devil race.” Yakub established a brutal island regime of selective breeding—eugenics meeting colorism. He killed all Dark babies and forced Light people to breed. When Yakub died, his followers carried on, creating the Brown race from the Black race, the Red race from the Brown race, the Yellow race from the Red race, and the White race from the Yellow race. After six hundred years, “on the island of Patmos was nothing but these blond, pale-skinned, cold-blue-eyed devils—savages.

Jacques’ mouth found hers again, a little brutally, feeding voraciously, dominantly, laying claim to her, branding her for all time. “Open your mind to mine.” The whisper was once again against her throat. She felt his mouth at the hollow of her shoulder, his teeth, the heat and beckoning hunger. “Give me your mind, Shea. Let me in and keep me there.” The whisper was a sorcerer’s web. He was weaving a spell so strong, she had no thought to deny him anything. He surged into her body, pushed through the barrier into her mind, and claimed her heart. At once everything was different. He felt her pleasure, so intense she was nearly on fire with it. She felt his pleasure, reaching for the very stars, his body gathering strength, his wanting her fulfillment above his own. He wanted the world for her, ached to have her love him as he was, damaged and broken and nearly a madman. She could see into his soul, the barely leashed beast always striving for dominance, never quite conquered. She could see his fear of losing her, of being forever vampire, loathed and hunted by his own kind. And she could see his terrible need to protect her, keep her safe, and his need to please her. He wanted to earn her respect and love, be worthy of it. He made no effort to hide the demon in him, dark and ugly, so hungry for revenge, so in need of a keeper.

The truth was, she wanted to laugh, throw away her notion of revenge, and surrender to only the most convenient option—which was to keep herself alive and spoil herself. It was a pretty normal, guilty, but nice wish. But Dia was no longer normal. Another one, then another one—the ones she loved fell one after another. The day of the storm, Dia had broken beyond saving. Therefore, even if she wanted to escape from there due to being unable to stand it, she would always end up returning and knocking on the door of revenge. It was like a nightmarish maze. Each time, she would be struck by the brutality and ugliness of herself as she tried to ruin herself—it was like seeing a monster in the mirror.

Nowadays, we have come to understand that brutalizing a child is a surefire way to turn him or her into a sociopath. If a person is hideously maltreated from the earliest years, it is almost guaranteed that he or she will grow up with a malignant view of existence. To such a person, the world is a hateful place where all human relationships are based not on love and respect but on power and domination. Having been tortured by his primary caretakers, he will, in later life, seek to inflict torture on others, partly as a way of taking revenge—of making other people suffer the way he has suffered—and partly because he has been so psychologically warped by his experiences that he can feel pleasure only by inflicting pain.

Nationalism and all kinds of other beliefs have led to violence and brutality, which has led to hatred. That, in turn, has led to rage for revenge and fairness. All of this has culminated in terrorism.

I’d read a book about a mountain man once though. He was a mafia prince who’d gone into hiding because of the things he’d found out about himself and he’d sure made being a mountain man sound hot. He’d found a girl up there on that mountain and had torn down heaven and earth to get revenge against the people who had hurt her. The sex had been pretty damn hot too. So maybe Saint could pull off the mountain man thing with the right bit of encouragement. If Nicoli could do it in Beautiful Savage, then why not my OCD criminal mastermind too?

How true can a heart be when it craves revenge?

You’re the one who transported my brother to his killer.” There it was. The reason I’d taken a man off the streets and infected him with the deadly worms that had begun to ravage his body. Revenge. Revenge for my twin who’d been brutally slain for greed. For the very research to which I’d dedicated my life. Barletta’s gaze shifted away and back to me. “Me?” he asked on a nervous laugh. “Nah, you got the wrong guy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

If you are reading this page because you are seeking a powerful revenge spell that works fast with results, most likely someone has inflicted pain on you either physically, mentally, and emotionally, or all of the above. Look no where else, and get real voodoo hexes and witchcraft revenge spells that work fast cast onto your enemies for revenge with Hoodoo prophetess powerful demonic Hoodoo and Voodoo black magic revenge spells. My dark evil revenge spells work fast and Can be cast to put a hex on your enemies and make them suffer quickly in many different ways. If someone has intentionally directed negative energy your way, punish your enemy with powerful black magic revenge spells to curse them and receive justice or revenge for the trouble they have caused…better yet, make them suffer even more! Money Curse revenge Spell – cast on enemy for revenge to put a bad curse on they’re finances. with this black magic voodoo revenge spell they will begin to loose large sums of money, get fired from they’re job, if they own a business, they will not make any sales and eventually be in debt, and go broke. if they are a gambler, they will have bad luck and will always loose. ​ Loss of reputation spell – If they are popular, always in the public eye, someone in a high position, a guru, someone that people look up to…this black magic hoodoo revenge curse is cast to make them disliked by everyone. they will begin to loose confidence and be publicly humiliated, and eventually get depressed. Love revenge spells – Get revenge on a lover or an ex, and teach them a lesson for cheating, leading you on, lying, and doing things that they should not have been in secret. if someone that you loved has broken your heart and an oath. they deserve to feel pain as well with this black magic voodoo and hoodoo love revenge spell. Close their roads spell – this voodoo revenge spell is cast at the crossroads after midnight to a satanic demonic spirit to block and close all of they’re roads to opportunity. everything they do will be unsuccessful. Homeless curse – this black magic voodoo curse is cast to make someone loose they’re home, get put out of a home, and they will have no where to turn to for help. this voodoo revenge spell will make the enemy have bad luck with finding a home. Car Accident revenge spell – voodoo black magic revenge spell to cause road rage and bad car accidents. a ritual will be done to conjure a dark demonic spirit to follow the victim every time they get into a vehicle, and a dark demonic spirit will follow them and eventually cause them to have a fatal and brutal car accident. Break Dem bones spell – Black magic hoodoo revenge spell to cause accidents, to make your enemy hurt themselves and break their bones. Go insane revenge spell- Voodoo revenge spell to cause them to see and hear things that no one else can see or hear. this black magic spell is made to cause them to go insane, depressed, and suicidal. Ill health spell – make your enemy have ill health and get sick with a disease with this black magic hoodoo revenge spell. Death spell – This evil black magic haitian voodoo spell is cast to kill. the enemy will experience their death by haitian voodoo death spell, and the death will look like a natural cause. ( only specific cases will be accepted)

A certain mother noticed that her ten year old daughter had a driving desire to take possession of everything – to the extent of using lies to claim something that does not belong to her; and besides that, she noticed that her seven year old son would crush an ant or any other insect cruelly and brutally with his foot – as if he were taking revenge on those weak creatures! To deal with these problems, the mother went to a library and borrowed some stories focusing on generosity and helpfulness, and on kindness to animals. The outcome of this is described by the mother in these words, "The story which left the deepest effect on the children's consciousness was that of 'The Blind Cat', which is about a cat which lost her vision during pregnancy; and when she delivered her kittens she had to face the problem of how to care for them, and how to keep them near her." Then she adds, "More than ten times I told this story to my children; and every time one or more of them wept at hearing it. Then one said, in perfect innocence, 'Mom, why don't you bring this cat to our home, so that we help her care for her kittens?