Don't Play The Victim Card Quotes

Either we can be victimized and become victims, or we can be victimized and rise above it. Often it is easier to play the victim than take off our masks and ask for help. We get comfortable with our victim status. It becomes our identity and is hard to give up. The Israelites often played the victim card, and I love what God finally tells them, “You have circled this mountain long enough. Now turn north” (Deuteronomy 2:3 [NASB]). Turn north! It’s time to move on! Self-pity, fear, pride, and negativity paralyze us. Taking off our masks takes courage, but if we don’t do it, we will remain in our victim status and end up stunted.6

I would like to see you cheat,” Elizabeth said impulsively, smiling at him. His hands stilled, his eyes intent on her face. “I beg your pardon?” “What I meant,” she hastily explained as he continued to idly shuffle the cards, watching her, “is that night in the card room at Charise’s there was mention of someone being able to deal a card from the bottom of the deck, and I’ve always wondered if you could, if it could…” She trailed off, belatedly realizing she was insulting him and that his narrowed, speculative gaze proved that she’d made it sound as if she believed him to be dishonest at cards. “I beg your pardon,” she said quietly. “That was truly awful of me.” Ian accepted her apology with a curt nod, and when Alex hastily interjected, “Why don’t we use the chips for a shilling each,” he wordlessly and immediately dealt the cards. Too embarrassed even to look at him, Elizabeth bit her lip and picked up her hand. In it there were four kings. Her gaze flew to Ian, but he was lounging back in his chair, studying his own cards. She won three shillings and was pleased as could be. He passed the deck to her, but Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t like to deal. I always drop the cards, which Celton says is very irritating. Would you mind dealing for me?” “Not at all,” Ian said dispassionately, and Elizabeth realized with a sinking heart that he was still annoyed with her. “Who is Celton?” Jordan inquired. “Celton is a groom with whom I play cards,” Elizabeth explained unhappily, picking up her hand. In it there were four aces. She knew it then, and laughter and relief trembled on her lips as she lifted her face and stared at her betrothed. There was not a sign, not so much as a hint anywhere on his perfectly composed features that anything unusual had been happening. Lounging indolently in his chair, he quirked an indifferent brow and said, “Do you want to discard and draw more cards, Elizabeth?” “Yes,” she replied, swallowing her mirth, “I would like one more ace to go with the ones I have.” “There are only four,” he explained mildly, and with such convincing blandness that Elizabeth whooped with laughter and dropped her cards. “You are a complete charlatan!” she gasped when she could finally speak, but her face was aglow with admiration. “Thank you, darling,” he replied tenderly. “I’m happy to know your opinion of me is already improving.” The laughter froze in Elizabeth’s chest, replaced by warmth that quaked through her from head to foot. Gentlemen did not speak such tender endearments in front of other people, if at all. “I’m a Scot,” he’d whispered huskily to her long ago. “We do.” The Townsendes had launched into swift, laughing conversation after a moment of stunned silence following his words, and it was just as well, because Elizabeth could not tear her gaze from Ian, could not seem to move. And in that endless moment when their gazes held, Elizabeth had an almost overwhelming desire to fling herself into his arms. He saw it, too, and the answering expression in his eyes made her feel she was melting. “It occurs to me, Ian,” Jordan joked a moment later, gently breaking their spell, “that we are wasting our time with honest pursuits.” Ian’s gaze shifted reluctantly from Elizabeth’s face, and then he smiled inquisitively at Jordan. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, shoving the deck toward Jordan while Elizabeth put back her unjustly won chips. “With your skill at dealing whatever hand you want, we could gull half of London. If any of our victims had the temerity to object, Alex could run them through with her rapier, and Elizabeth could shoot him before he hit the ground.” Ian chuckled. “Not a bad idea. What would your role be?” “Breaking us out of Newgate!” Elizabeth laughed. “Exactly.

Some people just work harder than others. And some just have better ideas than others. Take Ten has earned their right to be there. That’s it. That’s all it is. The universe doesn’t owe you anything. Don’t turn it into something it isn’t and definitely don’t play the victim card when we all know your family is far from innocent.

Some people when they are busy enjoying the money. They don't care how the money is got or who gives them the money. They don't see anything wrong and are happily willing to do anything to get that money. Once the money is finished or are now denied to have it. They are only left with their actions. They play a victim card, because they are no longer benefiting.

Some people have mastered the art of playing the victim card while inflicting pain. It's like they've enrolled in a course on manipulation and then blame it on you. But hey, don't be fooled by their performance. Rise above their drama, don't get entangled in their web of toxicity Remember, you're not responsible for their unpleasant behavior. Focus on your own well-being, surround yourself with positive vibes. You’re the star of your own life, and ain’t nobody got time for victimhood drama.

Because our environmental factors are so often outside of our control, we may think there is not much we can do about them. We feel like victims of circumstance. Puppets of fate. I don’t accept that. Fate is the hand of cards we’ve been dealt. Choice is how we play the hand.

Are they just victims of a tragedy, or are they the instigators of a very serious crime? I still don’t know, but now that I have found them rather than them finding me, I have the upper hand in my search for the truth. I just have to play my cards carefully. I have to do that because while it might not look like it on the outside, Ken and Julie might be two very dangerous people who will do anything to keep their secrets buried.

Omar, a Somali immigrant, may be smart enough to be on the House Foreign Relations Committee, but she’s apparently too dumb to use the English language properly. In other words: when it’s convenient she’s black, female, and Muslim—all things that score big in the Oppression Olympics—yet, when the mask slips and her ideas require scrutiny, she’s immediately protected via the victimhood status that comes with those labels. It’s quite a brilliant strategy, actually. Play the victim card to attain power, then, once you have it, use it to shield yourself from legitimate criticism. This cognitive dissonance stems from one key truth about modern leftism: progressives see racism, sexism, and discrimination everywhere, except where it actually exists.

Play the victim card to attain power, then, once you have it, use it to shield yourself from legitimate criticism.

The great players don’t play that way. It’s too draining, and it makes you too much the victim. And the victim doesn’t win. Bad table draw? It’s a challenging table that will force you to play well. You can’t change tables, so you may as well call on all your inner powers to play the best version of your game. See it as an opportunity to learn. Card dead? No one knows that. If your face reads card dead, everyone will walk all over you as you meekly fold. If you decide to take the opportunity to cultivate a conservative image and then make a well-timed move, suddenly you have the upper hand. The best players don’t need pocket aces to win. Everything is in how you perceive it.

That's twice you've played your little lord-of-the-manor card." I grin, having fun. "What was the promise? Oh, right. The third time I do so, you make a jerk-off gesture?" Delilah sets a hip against the back of North's chair as she faces me. I don't like the proximity of her butt to his head. At all. But she's smirking at me with those pouty lips. "Let me save you the trouble." With her free hand, she makes a loose fist and pumps it. The gesture is expected, but not the bolt of heat that punches through my gut and goes straight to my cock. Fuck. I can practically feel her hand on my swollen flesh, the tug she'd give me. Biting back an internal groan, I give her a lazy smile. "Looks like you've had some practice with that, Tot." Practice some more. I'm here all week, willing victim. She doesn't blink. "I'm multitalented, Con Man." "I just bet you are." My dick is rapidly rising, getting heavy in my pants. Hell. Calm yourself, Saint. The request is easier said than done. She's locked eyes with me, unwilling to back down. And she has no idea what she's stirring up. It isn't anger I'm feeling. I'm in so much trouble.