Duplicitous Quotes

The sin we commit against each other as women is lack of support. We hurt. We hurt each other. We hide. We project. We become mute or duplicitous, and we fester like boiling water until one day we erupt like a geyser. Do we forget we unravel in grief?

Perception is more important than reality. If someone perceives something to be true, it is more important than if it is in fact true. This doesn't mean you should be duplicitous or deceitful, but don't go out of your way to correct a false assumption if it plays to your advantage.

Because we trusted nothing, we endeavored to protect ourselves, boys becoming misogynistic and violent, girls turning duplicitous, all of us hopeless.

I have known enough of women to understand they are as duplicitous and vicious as men. If they are capable of being our equals in malice, why not in our better qualities as well? There are no masculine virtues, Veronica. And none sacred to women either. We are all of us just people, and most badly flawed ones at that.

Memory Serves." Duplicitous couplet.

And in the kisses, what deep sweetness! There are women's mouths that seem to ignite with love the breath that opens them. Whether they are reddened by blood richer than purple, or frozen by the pallor of agony, whether they are illuminated by the goodness of consent or darkened by the shadow of disdain, they always carry within them an enigma that disturbs men of intellect, and attracts them and captivates them. A constant discord between the expression of the lips and that of the eyes generates the mystery; it seems as if a duplicitous soul reveals itself there with a different beauty, happy and sad, cold and passionate, cruel and merciful, humble and proud, laughing and mocking; and the abiguity arouses discomfort in the spirit that takes pleasure in dark things.

Elian produces a small vial from his pocket with a flourish. “It’s less wily, but equally duplicitous.” “Poison?” I muse. “Were you keeping that around for your future wife?” “It’s not lethal,” Elian says. For a killer, he seems oddly offended at the idea. “And no.” He pauses, then turns to me with a half-smile. “Unless you were my wife.” “If I were your wife, then I’d take it.” “Ha!” He throws his head back and pockets the vial once more. “Thankfully that’s not something we have to worry about.

Children don’t expect words to be used to create false trails. Words to Esme are plain and simple with no hidden codes, no duplicitous underlife. He thinks of the conversations with his wife and how little of what they said was without encryption.

Hate Poem I hate you truly. Truly I do. Everything about me hates everything about you. The flick of my wrist hates you. The way I hold my pencil hates you. The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped in the jaws of a moray eel hates you. Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you. Look out! Fore! I hate you. The blue-green jewel of sock lint I’m digging from under by third toenail, left foot, hates you. The history of this keychain hates you. My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases hates you. The goldfish of my genius hates you. My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors. A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious symbol of how I hate you. My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate. My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate. My pleasant “good morning”: hate. You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head under your arm? Hate. The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit practices it. My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning to night hate you. Layers of hate, a parfait. Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate, I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one individually and at leisure. My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity of my hate, which can never have enough of you, Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.

Most hearts say, I want, I want, I want, I want. My heart is more duplicitous, though to twin as I once thought. It says, I want, I don’t want, I want, and then a pause. It forces me to listen,

During the next hundred years, the question for those who love liberty is whether we can survive the most insidious and duplicitous attacks from within, from those who undermine the virtues of our people, doing in advance the work of the Father of Lies. “There is no such thing as truth,” they teach even the little ones. “Truth is bondage. Believe what seems right to you. There are as many truths as there are individuals. Follow your feelings. Do as you please. Get in touch with your self. Do what feels comfortable.” Those who speak in this way prepare the jails of the twenty-first century. They do the work of tyrants.

Even Freud was fooled by the hysterics of women’s responses and wrote them off as largely incapable, random and duplicitous to their own interests.

We are duplicitous, we're blind- and it is hard to live, trusting only in life: earthly life is a murky translation from the divine original; the general thought is clear but the primordial music is missing in its words. . . What are passions? Mistakes in the translation. What is love? A rhyme lost in transmission to our discordant language. . . It's time for me to take up the original!

Overlooked in this ominous depiction might be our country’s best- kept secret: in dealing with the most challenging issues of every gener- ation, resistance to duplicitous civil authority and its corporate enablers has defined our quintessential American story.

So supportive. So duplicitous. So self-destructive. Like a moth to a flame.

It was that summer, too, that I began the cutting, and was almost as devoted to it as to my newfound loveliness. I adored tending to myself, wiping a shallow red pool of my blood away with a damp washcloth to magically reveal, just above my naval: queasy. Applying alcohol with dabs of a cotton ball, wispy shreds sticking to the bloody lines of: perky. I had a dirty streak my senior year, which I later rectified. A few quick cuts and cunt becomes can't, cock turns into back, clit transforms to a very unlikely cat, the l and i turned into a teetering capital A. The last words I ever carved into myself, sixteen years after I started: vanish. Sometimes I can hear the words squabbling at each other across my body. Up on my shoulder, panty calling down to cherry on the inside of my right ankle. On the underside of a big toe, sew uttering muffled threats to baby, just under my left breast. I can quiet them down by thinking of vanish, always hushed and regal, lording over the other words from the safety of the nape of my neck. Also: At the center of my back, which was too difficult to reach, is a circle of perfect skin the size of a fist. Over the years I've made my own private jokes. You can really read me. Do you want me to spell it out for you? I've certainly given myself a life sentence. Funny, right? I can't stand to look myself without being completely covered. Someday I may visit a surgeon, see what can be done to smooth me, but now I couldn't bear the reaction. Instead I drink so I don't think too much about what I've done to my body and so I don't do any more. Yet most of the time that I'm awake, I want to cut. Not small words either. Equivocate. Inarticulate. Duplicitous. At my hospital back in Illinois they would not approve of this craving. For those who need a name, there's a gift basket of medical terms. All I know is that the cutting made me feel safe. It was proof. Thoughts and words, captured where I could see them and track them. The truth, stinging, on my skin, in a freakish shorthand. Tell me you're going to the doctor, and I'll want to cut worrisome on my arm. Say you've fallen in love and I buzz the outlines of tragic over my breast. I hadn't necessarily wanted to be cured. But I was out of places to write, slicing myself between my toes - bad, cry - like a junkie looking for one last vein. Vanish did it for me. I'd saved the neck, such a nice prime spot, for one final good cutting. Then I turned myself in.

You fight them, his father had said. You don't trust them. His father had been right. And his father had been ready. Rabatians were cowards and deceivers, they should have scattered when their duplicitous attack met the full force of the Akielon army. But for some reason they hadn't fallen at the first sign of a real fight, they had stood firm, and shown metal, and, for hour upon hour, they had fought, until the Akielon lines had begun to slip and falter. And their general wasn't the king, it was the twenty-five year old prince, holding the field. Father, I can take him, he'd said. Then go, his father had said, and bring us back victory.

Mr. Bingley, you have engaged in the worst duplicitousness, sir! Lulling me into a false sense of security while you stole my intended bride! It is unchristian, sir, as you knew very well my intentions toward my dear cousin as I left Netherfield this morning.

The photograph, then, becomes a representation of a representation of a disease that represents. In other words, in order to produce the most perfect images of hysteria, the hysteric – a woman whose illness simulates the symptoms of other diseases – was transformed, through hypnosis, into an artificial hysteric who perfectly simulated the simulations of hysteria. The medical photograph becomes a copy of a copy of a copy, a representation so far removed from the original that all duplicitous traits, were easily erased, leaving the deranged and chaotic nature of the original far behind. The photograph succeeded in turning the hysteric into a wholly artificial being, literally a flat, framed, unmoving image.

Drowned, dead, duplicitous slut!

I was only pretending to be the underpaid, duplicitous, ineffective, struggling teacher of immigrant French. The real Suzanne was the lover and muse of a brilliant artist.

kids were actual monsters, creatures who would no doubt go on to commit duplicitous and mean-spirited white collar crimes

Yet most of the time that I’m awake, I want to cut. Not small words either. Equivocate. Inarticulate. Duplicitous. At my hospital back in Illinois they would not approve of this craving.

He carries his torch for you In the dark emptiness of his soul, Where it lights only His limited space In a vast universe. It matters not If it burns Or extinguishes. It is deceptive. It is false. It has nothing to do with you. He is so duplicitous. She is so trusting. Her world seems ideal, But it isn’t real. He enslaved her Because she was already In bondage. The master was ego.

Sunetele clădeau geometria solida a unor oraşe albe inundate de o lumină egală, ce se difuza repetat. Prin acele cetăţi minunate trecea radioasă. Portativul era un amfiteatru feeric pe care se proiecta arhitectura marmoreeană a palatelor. Pe temelia coardelor notele punctau desenul grădinilor, arpegiile curbau colinele şi din cheia de sol căderi de apă trimiteau un şipot fluid sau numai o pânză de răcoare, un păianjen vaporos ca răsfirarea fină a unui jet d`eau. Apoi seara cădea în acorduri minore peste cetăţi. Ritmul cu frază largă sau şoapta minuţioasă a lui Bach nu părăseau niciun moment o idee gravă, o emoţie concentrată, cu desenul tras sigur printre meandrele armonioase. Sunetele scoteau reliefurile unor efigii nobile, şi modulaţiile aveau sugestii virtuoase. Se înălţau rugăciunile simple ale unor iubiri fără duplicitate cu ascensiune senină; iubiri înălţate de un suflet victorios, dar fără de fast şi vanitate, trecând peste obstacole de măiestria sufletească. Şi mereu acea siguranţă care lega cetăţile vizionare ale muzicii una de alta cu un ţărm neîntrerupt şi lin. Hortensia Papadat-Bengescu "CONCERT DIN MUZICĂ DE BACH

The world of politics was filled with duplicitous people and Grant was poorly equipped to spot them, remaining an easy victim for crooked men. “They studied Grant, some of them, as the shoemaker measures the foot of his customer,” wrote George Hoar.

Corruption would not be the right word to apply to the Trump administration. The term implies deception—it assumes that the public official understands that they should not benefit from the public trust, but, duplicitously, they do it anyway. The opposite of corruption in political discourse is transparency—indeed, the global anticorruption organization calls itself Transparency International. Trump, his family, and his officials are not duplicitous: they appear to act in accordance with the belief that political power should produce personal wealth, and in this, if not in the specifics of their business arrangements, they are transparent.

She suspected that Iblis Ginjo was a dangerous, duplicitous man, but saw no one more qualified to take the Jihad where it needed to go. For his own reasons, he did, after all, espouse the same cause as her Sorceresses: the utter annihilation of thinking machines. Iblis would, however, require the closest sort of scrutiny and would have to be handled with excruciating care.

Woman is lost. Where are the women? Today's women are not women"; we have seen what these mysterious slogans mean. In the eyes of men — and of the legions of women who see through these eyes — it is not enough to have a woman's body or to take on the female function as lover and mother to be a "real woman"; it is possible for the subject to claim autonomy through sexuality and maternity; the "real woman" is one who accepts herself as Other. The duplicitous attitude of men today creates a painful split for women; they accept, for the most part, that woman be a peer, an equal; and yet they continue to oblige her to remain the inessential; for her, these two destinies are not reconcilable; she hesitates between them without being exactly suited to either, and that is the source of her lack of balance.

Hitler’s treatment of the Austrian President Kurt von Schuschnigg, the Czech President Emil Hácha and the British and French leaders had been characterized by hucksterism, bullying and constant piling on of pressure, to which they had responded with a combination of gullibility, appeasement and weary resignation. Yet with his lifelong enemies the Bolsheviks, Hitler was attentive and respectful, though of course no less duplicitous. Their time would come.

Amid this bureaucratic confusion, Pope’s General Order No. 33 stood. This meant that by virtue of the political and social contacts that had secured him command of the 18th Infantry Regiment, the obscure Colonel Henry Beebee Carrington, with no fighting experience and an attorney’s approach to most military hurdles, remained in charge of the Army’s most ambitious undertaking on the western frontier—the defeat of Red Cloud, the mightiest warrior chief of the mightiest tribe on the Plains. A plan to endow such an officer with the authority to build and maintain outposts throughout the very wilderness that had been ceded time and again to the Lakota by government treaty appeared not only duplicitous but idiotic.

What I didn't understand then was that the same pressure were weighing on us all. My entire community suffered from the lack of trust: we didn't trust society to provide the basics of good education, safety, access to good jobs, fairness in the justice system. And even as we distrusted the society around us, the culture that cornered us and told us were perpetually less, we distrusted each other. We did not trust our fathers to raise us, provide for us. Because we trusted nothing, we endeavored to protect ourselves, boys becoming misogynistic and violent, girls turning duplicitous, all of us hopeless. Some of us turned sour from pressure, let it erode our sense of self until we hated what we saw, within and without. And to blunt it all, some of us turned to drugs.

5236 rue St. Urbain The baby girl was a quick learner, having synthesized a full range of traits of both of her parents, the charming and the devious. Of all the toddlers in the neighbourhood, she was the first to learn to read and also the first to tear out the pages. Within months she mastered the grilling of the steaks and soon thereafter presented reasons to not grill the steaks. She was the first to promote a new visceral style of physical comedy as a means of reinvigorate the social potential of satire, and the first to declare the movement over. She appreciated the qualities of movement and speed, but also understood the necessity of slowness and leisure. She quickly learned the importance of ladders. She invented games with numerous chess-boards, matches and glasses of unfinished wine. Her parents, being both responsible and duplicitous people, came up with a plan to protect themselves, their apartment and belongings, while also providing an environment to encourage the open development of their daughter's obvious talents. They scheduled time off work, put on their pajamas and let the routines of the apartment go. They put their most cherished books right at her eye-level and gave her a chrome lighter. They blended the contents of the fridge and poured it into bowls they left on the floor. They took to napping in the living room, waking only to wipe their noses on the picture books and look blankly at the costumed characters on the TV shows. They made a fuss for their daughter's attention and cried when she wandered off; they bit or punched each other when she out of the room, and accused the other when she came in, looking frustrated. They made a mess of their pants when she drank too much, and let her figure out the fire extinguisher when their cigarettes set the blankets smoldering. They made her laugh with cute songs and then put clothes pins on the cat's tail. Eventually things found their rhythm. More than once the three of them found their faces waxened with tears, unable to decide if they had been crying, laughing, or if it had all been a reflex, like drooling. They took turns in the bath. Parents and children--it is odd when you trigger instinctive behaviour in either of them--like survival, like nurture. It's alright to test their capabilities, but they can hurt themselves if they go too far. It can be helpful to imagine them all gorging on their favourite food until their bellies ache. Fall came and the family went to school together.

Numbers express quantities. In the submissions to my online survey, however, respondents frequently attributed qualities to them. Noticeably, colors. The number that was most commonly described as having its own color was four (52 votes), which most respondents (17) said was blue. Seven was next (28 votes), which most respondents (9) said was green, and in third place came five (27 votes), which most respondents (9) said was red. Seeing colors in numbers is a manifestation of synesthesia, a condition in which certain concepts can trigger incongruous responses, and which is thought to be the result of atypical connections being made between parts of the brain. In the survey, numbers were also labeled “warm,” “crisp,” “chagrined,” “peaceful,” “overconfident,” “juicy,” “quiet” and “raw.” Taken individually, the descriptions are absurd, yet together they paint a surprisingly coherent picture of number personalities. Below is a list of the numbers from one to thirteen, together with words used to describe them taken from the survey responses. One Independent, strong, honest, brave, straightforward, pioneering, lonely. Two Cautious, wise, pretty, fragile, open, sympathetic, quiet, clean, flexible. Three Dynamic, warm, friendly, extrovert, opulent, soft, relaxed, pretentious. Four Laid-back, rogue, solid, reliable, versatile, down-to-earth, personable. Five Balanced, central, cute, fat, dominant but not too much so, happy. Six Upbeat, sexy, supple, soft, strong, brave, genuine, courageous, humble. Seven Magical, unalterable, intelligent, awkward, overconfident, masculine. Eight Soft, feminine, kind, sensible, fat, solid, sensual, huggable, capable. Nine Quiet, unobtrusive, deadly, genderless, professional, soft, forgiving. Ten Practical, logical, tidy, reassuring, honest, sturdy, innocent, sober. Eleven Duplicitous, onomatopoeic, noble, wise, homey, bold, sturdy, sleek. Twelve Malleable, heroic, imperial, oaken, easygoing, nonconfrontational. Thirteen Gawky, transitional, creative, honest, enigmatic, unliked, dark horse. You don’t need to be a Hollywood screenwriter to spot that Mr. One would make a great romantic hero, and Miss Two a classic leading lady. The list is nonsensical, yet it makes sense. The association of one with male characteristics, and two with female ones, also remains deeply ingrained.

write animal stories. This one was called Dialogues Between a Cow and a Filly; a meditation on ethics, you might say; it had been inspired by a short business trip to Brittany. Here’s a key passage from it: ‘Let us first consider the Breton cow: all year round she thinks of nothing but grazing, her glossy muzzle ascends and descends with impressive regularity, and no shudder of anguish comes to trouble the wistful gaze of her light-brown eyes. All that is as it ought to be, and even appears to indicate a profound existential oneness, a decidedly enviable identity between her being-in-the-world and her being-in-itself. Alas, in this instance the philosopher is found wanting, and his conclusions, while based on a correct and profound intuition, will be rendered invalid if he has not previously taken the trouble of gathering documentary evidence from the naturalist. In fact the Breton cow’s nature is duplicitous. At certain times of the year (precisely determined by the inexorable functioning of genetic programming) an astonishing revolution takes place in her being. Her mooing becomes more strident, prolonged, its very harmonic texture modified to the point of recalling at times, and astonishingly so, certain groans which escape the sons of men. Her movements become more rapid, more nervous, from time to time she breaks into a trot. It is not simply her muzzle, though it seems, in its glossy regularity, conceived for reflecting the abiding presence of a mineral passivity, which contracts and twitches under the painful effect of an assuredly powerful desire. ‘The key to the riddle is extremely simple, and it is that what the Breton cow desires (thus demonstrating, and she must be given credit here, her life’s one desire) is, as the breeders say in their cynical parlance, “to get stuffed”. And stuff her they do, more or less directly; the artificial insemination syringe can in effect, whatever the cost in certain emotional complications, take the place of the bull’s penis in performing this function. In both cases the cow calms down and returns to her original state of earnest meditation, except that a few months later she will give birth to an adorable little calf. Which, let it be said in passing, means profit for the breeder.’ * The breeder, of course, symbolized God. Moved by an irrational sympathy for the filly, he promised her, starting from the next chapter, the everlasting delight of numerous stallions, while the cow, guilty of the sin of pride, was to be gradually condemned to the dismal pleasures of artificial fertilization. The pathetic mooing of the ruminant would prove incapable of swaying the judgment of the Great Architect. A delegation of sheep, formed in solidarity, had no better luck. The God presented in this short story was not, one observes, a merciful God.

we don’t have trouble overcoming procrastination because we’re weak, but because it is duplicitous.

The corporate reform movement has co-opted progressive themes and language in the service of radical purposes. Advocating the privatization of public education is deeply reactionary. Disabling or eliminating teachers’ unions removes the strongest voice in each state to advocate for public education and to fight crippling budget cuts. In every state, classroom teachers are experts in education; they know what their students need, and their collective voice should be part of any public decision about school improvement. Stripping teachers of their job protections limits academic freedom. Evaluating teachers by the test scores of their students undermines professionalism and encourages teaching to the test. Claiming to be in the forefront of a civil rights movement while ignoring poverty and segregation is reactionary and duplicitous.

We live in a world full of duplicity.We are surrounded by people with duplicitous nature.They will be shooting arrows to question our honesty at every step we make. Therefore,it is our duty to protect ourselves by using our integrity as an armor and march forward, victoriously.

he realized that this was the Troy Loensch memorial service. The man who had tried to kill him was comforting his mother, who thought he was dead! That duplicitous son of a bitch!

So far, she had nothing but fear and the nauseating sensation that the hour would pass and she would be just as helpless as when she’d first left the Fuller house. The same problems that had plagued her before were on an endless loop that took up every conscious thought. Her mother: persistently unavailable. Huckleberry: worthless. Jacob Mayhew: probably working for the congressman. Fred Nolan: ditto, or maybe he had his own agenda. Congressman Johnny Jackson: Paul’s secret uncle. Powerful and connected, and duplicitous enough to stand with the Kilpatrick family during press conferences, as if he had no idea what had happened to their precious child. Adam Quinn: possible friend or foe.

The progressive socialists normally operate—to borrow a Fabian socialist term—by stealth. But Obama himself accidentally revealed his duplicitous program in a now notorious “open microphone” incident with Russian president Dmitry Medvedev. Americans were momentarily stunned to hear the two in private conversation on the sidelines of a March 26, 2012, Nuclear Security Summit in Seoul, South Korea: Obama: “On all these issues, but particularly missile defense, this, this can be solved but it’s important for him to give me space.” Medvedev: “Yeah, I understand. I understand your message about space. Space for you…” Obama: “This is my last election. After my election I have more flexibility.” Medvedev: “I understand. I will transmit this information to Vladimir.

Of course, Obama, like most of his duplicitous predecessors of both Parties, is only a front man; a shameless, feckless, rabble rousing puppet whose protective skin pigmentation insulates him from the close scrutiny and criticism which he so richly deserves. Sound too harsh? Ask the grieving family members of all those women and children that the “Commander In Chief” has obliterated in Syria, Yemen, Pakistan etc, if such an assessment is too harsh, or “racist”?

Perception is more important than reality. If someone perceives something to be true, it is more important than if it is in fact true. Let the other guy think what he wants. This doesn’t mean you should be duplicitous or deceitful, but don’t go out of your way

He said something about you being duplicitous. That it’s why you’re such a good litigator.

They destroyed wolves for a host of pragmatic reasons: to safeguard livestock, to knit local ecosystems into global capitalist markets, to collect state-sponsored bounties, and to rid the world of beasts they considered evil, wild, corrupt, and duplicitous.

Clay, Webster, and other prominent Whigs. By letting Polk get away with his obfuscations, they sent an unintended message to later Presidents that when they asked the House and Senate for war, those Commanders-in-Chief could be duplicitous too.

But that perfect little world you thought you were witnessing? It was mostly lies. My smiles and sweetness, my big hugs and happy hashtags: it was all a juicy, duplicitous trick for you to share and discuss and gobble up. And those lies were what destroyed me, plain and simple.

What a pathetic victory for the historic Zionist Labor movement! Its ideological triumph has been so complete that its distinct political framework was made obsolete.59 The majority of Israeli society has by now adopted the duplicitous discourse of the Left: calling for peace while supporting a devastating war against the Palestinians that blocks said peace. Since the Zionist Left had, by the end of the 2000s, disappeared as a distinctive force, did the post-Zionists fare any better? In a word: no.

I wondered if she had bought the story. If she hadn’t thanked Harry for his response, I would have known she hadn’t bought it, because she was classy and it wouldn’t have been like her not to respond. But the thank-you might have been automatic, sent even in the presence of continued suspicions. It could even have been duplicitous, intended to lull Harry into thinking she was satisfied when in fact the opposite was true.

Voi reţine aici, din natura acestui proces, doar un concept, acela al voinţei de adevăr. Sau, într-o formulare mai completă, voinţa de a trăi întru adevăr. De a trăi arătându-te drept ceea ce eşti cu adevărat, nici mai mare, nici mai mic, nici mai bun, nici mai rău. De a nu propune în locul tău o aparenţă şi o amăgire. Falsul existenţial otrăveşte fiinţa umană. Iar cinstea este modul de manifestare a adevărului în sfera acţiunii. Aşa cum minciuna stă la temelia oricărei forme de ipocrizie, înşelăciune, abuz de încredere, cabotinism, trădare, duplicitate, împăunare, slugărnicie şi atâtea altele. Printre care nu puţine se datorează nu atât unei atitudini faţă de alţii, cât unei rele raportări la sine: minciuna de sine şi ascunzişul de sine, fuga de adevărul despre sine, tot ceea ce constituie cumplitul rău omenesc care este conştiinţa falsă. La temeiul bunei raportări la adevăr stă voinţa de a spune adevărul, coincidenţa dintre declaraţie şi faptă sau gând. Cine are de crescut copii ştie cât de greu e să le aduci pe calea aceasta pe aceste mici fiinţe amorale şi adesea mitomane. Iar când cresc intră în câmpul falsului social îndeobşte şi, nu în cea mai mică măsură, în acela al minciunii instituţionalizate. Trebuie deci învăţaţi din vreme că ocultarea adevărului este îndreptăţită exclusiv în câteva cazuri şi că, în rest, în tot marele rest, rostirea adevărului este o datorie absolută. Cei pe care îi creştem trebuie făcuţi să înţeleagă şi, mai mult, să-şi asimileze şi să trăiască adevărul că în rostirea adevărului rezidă valoarea lor de oameni, în voinţa şi în puterea lor de a spune adevărul şi de a sta martori pentru el, cu orice preţ. Altfel, orice altceva ar izbuti să facă în lume, până la măriri, vor avea rangul cel mai de jos în ierarhia morală a omenirii. Şi nu-i va mai crede nimeni nici când vor spune adevărul, cuvântul lor nemaiavând trecere, ca o monedă calpă. Şi mai trebuie să se ştie că fiecare fals comis generează, în cercuri tot mai largi, urâţenia neîncrederii şi a suspiciunii între oameni, până la răul istoric al falsului instituit ca normă de viaţă.

Almost every major textual initiative today is structured around three overlapping notions of sharing: commonality, transferability, and sociability. We want other people to read the same thing we are reading (commonality); we want to be able to send other people what we are reading (transferability); and we want to be able to talk to other people about what we are reading (sociability). “Social reading” is shaping up to be the core identity, or ideology if you will, of digital media. I say ideology because there is also something duplicitous about the new commitment to sharing. Never before has the proprietary relationship to reading and ideas been more in force. Sharing texts has never been more popular—and illegal.

Not only (supposedly) was he carried off to the gates of Hell by demons and only rescued by the apostle St. Bartholomew, Guthlac was threatened physically by non-Christian peoples, wild beasts, and duplicitous fellow monks.

All religions are not equal in their capacity to mete out violence and genocidal hate. To say otherwise is to be hopelessly misguided or profoundly duplicitous. Two other popular deflections are 'But what about the crusades?' and 'But the Bible also has violent passages.' The crusades were a response to hundreds of years of Islamic aggression, and they took place within a very restricted time and place, nearly a millennium ago. As for the Bible, you can count on one hand the number of individuals who have used violent passages from Deuteronomy to justify act of terrorism in the twenty-first century. On the other hand, innumerable Jihadis around the world use Islamic doctrines to justify their violent actions. Scale matters. Another classic ploy used by apologists is the 'No True Scotsman' fallacy. This argues that entire Islamic countries, Islamic governments, and leading Islamic scholars are "fake" representations of the true faith. If you point to sharia law in Saudi Arabia, the retort is that this does not represent True Islam. Similarly, Iran's mullahs apparently do not represent True Islam. Osama Bin Laden was a "fake" Muslim. Other "fake" Muslims include Amin al-Husseini (the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem who was on friendly terms with Adolf Hitler), Sheikh Yusuf al-Qaradawi (arguably the leading Sunni theologian today), and Caliph Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi (the late leader of ISIS).

I don't remember. Three words, so simple, yet so duplicitous. What is memory anyways? Echoes of reality, twisted and molded into what we want to believe. What we want to remember. Our brains allow us grace to cope with trauma. They give us space to heal, to come to terms with our actions, our fears.

It’s weird to see a version of yourself play out on video that isn’t really who you are. If it was real, it would be an amazing video, Will. Truly. But it’s not. And it feels duplicitous. I’m confused by it.

What then, had I discovered? That there is nobody so duplicitous as oneself? That certainty is nothing but unreasonable belief? That there can be no answer to death? That there should be no answer to it, at least not for the living? That we have in all of us, written into our very matter, an unpassable divide; and if there is a bridge between this world and the next, then surely there is only one toll to pay.

All men are duplicitous.

I knew then (not that I didn’t really know before, but some lessons have to be learned and relearned, and even then we forget them so easily and talk ourselves into something ameliorating and hopeful) that the food-stores were going to remain empty, and that schools would be without books, and the air would be filled with cruel, duplicitous promises, that justice would be just another word brayed from the mouths of the donkeys who rule us, and of course the toilets were going to remain blocked for a long time.

You all said she was dead!” “She is,” said Pyrrha. “We watched her die.” “Then how?” But Camilla and Pyrrha didn’t answer. The Prince passed one hand over her dead blue-and-brown-spattered eyes and said, “Oh my God. This is the last thing we need. If he hears that yet another one of his duplicitous sluts betrayed him, he’s never going to come back from it.

or she is powerless in the face of it. Though the intellectual coercion required to make a man believe that his love and his violence stem from the same place inside himself is of course utterly duplicitous.

Fucking duplicitous shitstain.

Tantrums are viewed as a child’s calculated and devious attempt at getting our attention or their own way, and again we are told to ignore the child so that we do not reinforce this negative behavior. Only a couple of years out of the womb and we see him as a duplicitous mastermind rather than a young human lacking coping and communication skills who needs the help and guidance of his caregiver.

he may have crossed the borderline into insanity.” Henderson wasn’t in Hitler’s thrall. But did he think Hitler had dishonorable intentions toward Czechoslovakia? No. Hitler, he believed, “hates war as much as anyone.” Henderson, too, read Hitler all wrong.2 The blindness of Chamberlain and Halifax and Henderson is not at all like Puzzle Number One, from the previous chapter. That was about the inability of otherwise intelligent and dedicated people to understand when they are being deceived. This is a situation where some people were deceived by Hitler and others were not. And the puzzle is that the group who were deceived are the ones you’d expect not to be, while those who saw the truth are the ones you’d think would be deceived. Winston Churchill, for example, never believed for a moment that Hitler was anything more than a duplicitous thug. Churchill called Chamberlain’s visit “the stupidest thing that has ever been done.” But Hitler was someone he’d only ever read about. Duff Cooper, one of Chamberlain’s cabinet ministers, was equally clear-eyed. He listened with horror to Chamberlain’s account of his meeting with Hitler. Later, he would resign from Chamberlain’s government in protest. Did Cooper know Hitler? No. Only one person in the upper reaches of the British diplomatic service—Anthony Eden, who preceded Halifax as foreign secretary—had both met Hitler and saw the truth of him. But for everyone else? The people who were right about Hitler were those who knew

Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true!

For TZN, nonsense in Zen is understood in the most positive of terms on a metaphysical level rising above and standing beyond the contrast and conflict between sense and senselessness. Nonsense is a tool skillfully used to help put an end to seeking a path of reason and to point to an enlightened state unbound by the polarity of logic or illogic. For the dissolution thesis, on the other hand, the endless wordplay in Zen literature represents an infantile stammering and the willful abandonment of meaning, and is a kind of verbal cunning and trickery that harbors risky ethical (i.e., antinomian) consequences. Here we find clearly the roots of the critique of Zen's failure to negotiate human rights issues, which seems to rest on a tendency toward deceptive, duplicitous rhetoric that avoids being pinned down or committed to any particular view or decision.

Not surprisingly, Interfaithism denounces fundamentalism of any kind, but especially fundamentalist Christianity and Biblical Judaism. As I write, the World Council of Church is condemning Israel for defending itself after terrorists in Gaza launched hundreds of missiles aimed at targets all over Israel. We should suspect a malevolent, duplicitous agenda when Interfaithism mechanically turns a blind eye to terrorist activities of radical extremists, but categorically and harshly condemns Christians and Jews. Nevertheless, global Interfaithism bulldozes forward, forever trying to put a pretty face on its diabolical agenda of crushing all religions, purportedly in search of common ground for all faiths. These deluded globalists would have you believe that someday a one-size-fits-all religion will finally come into existence, and with it, a one-size-fit-all messiah. But on close inspection, their ethereal “global peace” mantras follow in the tradition of many of the world’s most evil and pagan occultists, such as Madame Helen Blavatsky, Alice Bailey, Aleister Crowley, Albert Pike, Robert Muller, and even “enlightened” and “illuminated

Honesty, no one is entirely honest. They try to be duplicitous. The pressure of the formal self-critical exercise. They are protecting themselves because they don't want to acknowledge that the failure is down to their own mistakes. The self-serving attributes, I see. They're up to prove what they think is the “right” answer at any cost. I know you people, I know how miserable you're, and I know me.

I've felt completely ineffective. Like I'm spinning my tires in mud, my efforts splattering in all directions without design. Like nothing I do matters. In the maelstrom of it all, and without a moment to reflect, I find myself pining for the instant gratification of the OR. The satisfaction of removing an appendix. The finality of stitches taut and gleaming within a pulsing heart. The rise of oxygen levels with the turn of a dial. Breath, life, progress, all finely-tuned and quantifiable. Most of all, I yearn for the accolades. The respect. The sense that I'm accomplishing something. After all, I wondered this afternoon, what am I really achieving? Why should I continue down this route, and cast aside such carefully-honed skills, when Pip's just going to scream at me? Maybe the kids would be better off if I went back. I turned the words in my mind, and I detected glimmers of an identity I discarded long ago, one that thrived upon white corridors, adrenaline, and a tally of successes. An identity that lingers like an old, duplicitous friend, the betrayals of which time has obscured. Is my purpose in this new direction -- and in life -- really to "accomplish something"? To build myself up, and convince myself that I matter? To fashion my own identity? Or am I on this path so that He may accomplish His purpose through me? To submit wholly and lovingly to my identity in Christ? "I pursue this to serve God.

This was the way of a small place full of interwoven families. From birth, people developed the necessary social skill of being duplicitous. Be polite and mind yer own business. Never say true things if it didn't help matters; in fact, the truth often made matters worse. The present was complicated enough. And history? Well that had been the tragedy that lay behind it all. The truth was often way too painful; it would end in talk of heinous crime. So no one bothered to speak of it.

A discovery of buried treasure? An invasion of privacy? There's always something duplicitous about it, this spying on the dead.

high-society girls’ whims and weirdnesses. Their lack of touchy-feeliness suited me; unabashed Nineties bitches were far easier to navigate than today’s duplicitous blowhards staging elaborate Women’s Day events and presenting as living saints with one eye on an OBE.

If there's another outbreak, mankind might not be so lucky to survive, but we can at least avoid being so stupidly duplicitous.

The Woman Who Could Not Live With Her Faulty Heart I do not mean the symbol of love, a candy shape to decorate cakes with, the heart that is supposed to belong or break; I mean this lump of muscle that contracts like a flayed biceps, purple-blue, with its skin of suet, its skin of gristle, this isolate, this caved hermit, unshelled turtle, this one lungful of blood, no happy plateful. All hearts float in their own deep oceans of no light, wetblack and glimmering, their four mouths gulping like fish. Hearts are said to pound: this is to be expected, the heart’s regular struggle against being drowned. But most hearts say, I want, I want, I want, I want. My heart is more duplicitous, though to twin as I once thought. It says, I want, I don’t want, I want, and then a pause. It forces me to listen, and at night it is the infra-red third eye that remains open while the other two are sleeping but refuses to say what it has seen. It is a constant pestering in my ears, a caught moth, limping drum, a child’s fist beating itself against the bedsprings: I want, I don’t want. How can one live with such a heart? Long ago I gave up singing to it, it will never be satisfied or lulled. One night I will say to it: Heart, be still, and it will.

All dramas, and more comprehensively, all works of art, necessarily contain a surface, namely, the explicit action, poetical discourse, or symbolic representation of spiritual states, and a deeper interior consisting equally of the artist’s fuller intentions as well as the responses of the audience. It is intrinsic to the nature of things that the surface conceals the depths, not because of the insincerity or duplicitousness of the artist, but because depths reveal themselves only through the specificities of surfaces.

The outside world beyond the temple was…confusing. It was strange and mean and duplicitous but also exciting and wonderful. Everything that Arik was, I realized.

He’s duplicitous by nature, and no doubt expects the same of everyone he meets.

But this wasn't a normal vampire killer. This was his Kitten, and he loved every part of her, even the duplicitous ones.

Thoughts collided in his head. This could not be. Was Jonathan lying about his meeting with Samuel? He had never lied to David before. Was this some kind of political maneuver? He had never showed any signs of ambition all the days David had known him. But David was plagued by his own duplicitous motives and failures of faith. It was difficult for him to conceive of a life with such true devotion and purity of heart as Jonathan. Yet he had proved himself over and over to David. He was not a man of fraudulence or ambition. He was a man of integrity and honor and above all, trust in the Living God. The kind of trust that David had learned from and had even sought to emulate. But now this? The ultimate sacrifice of giving up his inheritance as the next king of Israel to David, his younger and inexperienced inferior? Giving up royalty to a nobody because a cranky Seer had told him Yahweh chose differently? Who would do such a thing? No one David had ever known. This was either the supreme example of true faith or the biggest swindle of his life. “Let us cut a covenant,” said Jonathan. “I will pledge my fealty to you and will protect you against your enemies.

I would rather contend with an honest asshole than a duplicitous diplomat.

Your memoirs captivated my attention to thinking of our current duplicitous educational system; the methods that schools are teaching young adults, to the growing number of suicidal and shooting cases in learning institutions. If I may, I’ll like to request your permission to administer a human behavioral study on your adolescent life. This is a simple study which entails me asking you questions through our regular correspondence so I can better understand what’s going through your mind when you were inducted into the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society and subsequently your services in the various Arab Households. Although I am familiar with the ancient Greco Roman pederasty ideology, I am beginning to excogitate if there are valuable merits, to this form of mentorship between an erastês and an erômenos. In your memoirs you mentioned that your secondary school education derived from this ancient practice. Obviously your positive experiences had made you a balanced and well-rounded man of the world. Let me know your thoughts if you are interested in this research? I’ll continue reading your weekly blogs and wish you the very best in the soon to be published Initiation, the 1st of your five books memoir. My spirits are uplifted when reading your correspondence. Keep them coming, my friend. All the best! Dr. A.S.

Burrow down a millimeter beneath this argument, and it is easy to see that unlike European anti-Semites, their American brethren very much do hate Jews per se and do not try very hard to hide it or cloak it in academic argument. They have resurfaced all the stereotypes of Nazi iconography, which in turn was built on centuries of hate: the Jew is both shiftless, cowardly, and weak, and duplicitous, manipulative, and all-powerful. As with more ancient strains of anti-Semitism, the new breed insists that Jews are responsible for their own oppression. The alt-right is fond of asking the classic “When did you stop beating your wife” question over and over and over. “Quick question,” “Darrell Lampshade” (charming, right?) asked me. “Why have Jews been kicked out of so many countries if they never did anything wrong? Please answer!” And now that Jews have their own country, they should go there and leave the United States to the white people who valiantly claimed it long before it was cluttered by the mongrel races. One of the memes of the alt-right is the notion that a fifth column of duplicitous Jews is constantly urging the United States on to war on Israel’s behalf, that the beautiful white male fruits of true America will fight and die in the sands of the Middle East on behalf of the cowardly Jew. “We got the goyim to fight for us as usual. It’s amazing how they haven’t driven us back to the desert yet!” “Abraham Moshe Fuxman” once tweeted at me. “A point @jonathanweisman has no interest in acknowledging,” responded “Pax Trumpiana.” “He loves war as long as he’s spilling goyim blood.” Israel, so it goes, should fight for itself, and the Jews orchestrating war should do so from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, not Washington and New York.

I had no idea how either one of us was going to survive the summer, and if we did, I had no idea how I was supposed to survive beyond that when I was once again left to my own devious and duplicitous devices.

From the very first days of the occupation, the U.S. practiced what appeared from the outside to be a duplicitous policy toward denazification and decartelization of Germany. This was not surprising, considering that the policy was a product of an unresolved factional conflict within the U.S. government that went back a decade or more. The USSR—and particularly Stalin, for it was he who almost single-handedly made key Soviet foreign policy decisions at that point—interpreted the contradictions in U.S. behavior as proof of the Americans’ bad faith.

Dark feelings sifted through Cole at the thought of Clayton Forbes. His nemesis at school. Forbes had always had a cunning, duplicitous, aggressive approach to life, and people.

Literature, with its cunning and duplicitous nature, aware of itself, in possession of a supraconsciousness, is the only true thing in the world; it exposes man’s denial of reality’s shattering pluralism.

Car salesman turned governor. How it fried Dick Artemus to hear himself described like that--the snotty implication being that all car salesman were cagey and duplicitous, unworthy of holding public office. At first Dick Artemus had fought back, pridefully pointing out that his dealership sold only Toyotas, the most popular and reliable automobile on the face of the planet! A quality vehicle, he'd said. Top rated by all the important consumer magazines! But the governor's media advisers told him he sounded not only petty, but self-promotional, and that folks who loved their new Camry did not necessarily love the guy who'd sold it to them. The media advisers told Dick Artemus that the best thing he could do for his future political career was to make voters forget he'd ever been a car salesman (not that the Democrats would ever let them forget). Take the high road, the media advisers told him. Act gubernatorial.

Intuitively we all know that nothing operates most efficiently at full throttle. Is it any wonder that a food system predicated on faster, fatter, bigger, cheaper would create an ignorant, duplicitous, harried, obese citizenry? A culture's people carry in their heads and physiques the manifestation of the food system's objectives.

my mother-in-law: duplicitous, ever-present in the dark.

What else does 10 Things I Hate About You teach us?” “That the bad guy always gets the girl,” I tell her. “Patrick Verona is a duplicitous jerk to Kat Stratford for far too long. And we wonder why toxic masculinity thrives. We romanticize it!

That had been one of those life-changing moments, a psychological cataclysm, when the trauma of betrayal imprints on the psyche in a way that changes one’s responses to the world forever. I imagined Charles’s brain feverishly rewiring as he lay in bed, morbid and petrified. And the end result: a new association immediately and irrevocably attached to love. Fear. There’s no trauma that affects one quite like betrayal. The aftermath is sort of a relationship PTSD, a fear that now defies all logic, infuses every thought, and generalizes to all women. To survive, Charles rationalized an excuse to avoid the truth: “I’m not good at approaching women, I get too jittery. I still don’t really trust them. I decided they were all duplicitous.” “When did you begin to sexualize being cheated on?