Insult Revenge Quotes

I wanted to thank you for saving my life. I am still puzzled about your motives
though. Was it revenge against Zedan for rejecting you?”
“You insult me. It seems that you think of everybody in the same lowly terms you
think of yourself. If there is anybody I should hate for Zedan rejecting me, it should be
you. He was only doing what is expected of him in our society.”
“You mean you don't hate me?” This was a new revelation to Brown. It worried him.
He was used to hate, he could deal with it, but this he could not understand, he had used
the girl ruthlessly and yet she did not hate him.

He had long ago learned that society imposes insults that must be borne, comforted by the knowledge that in this world there comes a time when the most humble of men, if he keeps his eyes open, can take his revenge on the most powerful. It was this knowledge that prevented the Don from losing the humility all his friends admired in him.

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

He had better beware our wrath, great man though he is. What is he doing in his fury but insulting senseless clay?

So whenever that brittle voice of dissatisfaction emerges within me, I can say "Ah, my ego! There you are, old friend!" It's the same thing when I'm being criticized and I notice myself reaching with outrage, heartache, or defensiveness. It's just my ego, flaring up and testing its power. In such circumstances, I have learned to watch my heated emotions carefully, but I try not to take them too seriously, because I know that it's merely my ego that has been wounded--never my soul It is merely my ego that wants revenge, or to win the biggest prize. It is merely my ego that wants to start a Twitter war against a hater, or to sulk at an insult or to quit in righteous indignation because I didn't get the outcome I wanted. "At such times, I can always steady my life one more by returning to my soul. I ask it, "And what is it that you want, dear one?" "The answer is always the same: "More wonder, please." "As long as I'm still moving in that direction---toward wonder--then I know I will always be fine in my soul, which is where it counts. And since creativity is still the most effective way for me to access wonder, I choose it.

You will make the boy Thief king?" he said. "When you could have had me?" Attolia allowed a slight smile. "A fine revenge for the loss of a hand," said the Mede, close to snarling. "I will have my sovereignty," said Attolia thinly. "Oh, yes, a fine one-handed figurehead he will make," spat Nahuseresh. Then he remembered Attolia's flattery earlier that morning. "Or do I insult your lover?" he asked. "Not a lover," said Attolia. "Merely my choice for king.

How well I know you by your deeds and how invariably you succeed in living down to what one expects of you!

for my twelfth-grade Current Topics teacher for calling me a feminazi in front of the entire class. You insulted me, but you also sparked my interest in feminism, so really, the joke is on you. Revenge is best served cold, you jerk. CHAPTER ONE

When someone wrongs us, we rarely (if ever) want to do the same thing back. Why? Because we want to do something more harmful. Likewise, when someone insults us, our instinct is to search for words that will be more insulting. Revenge always escalates.

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.

Some men simply refuse to appear insulted. But then, having felt the sting from the slap on their cheek, know just where to slip the knife, their smile never fading.

Returning insult for insult is justice, returning injury for insult is injustice.

Sean stood there with a mischievous grin, hand still forming a claw. He’d tapped on the door with his fingernails to fool me. I slammed the door in his face. Before the latch caught, the door bounced open again. Cameron stood just behind Sean with the rubber toe of his shoe blocking the door from shutting. “You look like hell,” Cameron said. “I look like Sean.” is was a joke from my darkest memory. If Sean told me I was ugly, I could deflect the insult easily, because he was calling himself the same name. If Cameron told me I was ugly, he was also insulting Sean, and Sean would get revenge on him without me having to do a thing.

Revenge is the capitalism of the poor: conserve the original wound, defer immediate gratification, fatten the first insult with new insults, invest and reinvest spite, and ke waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.

Our country is the world, our countrymen are all mankind. We love the land of our nativity, only as we love all other lands. The interests, rights, and liberties of American citizens are no more dear to us than are those of the whole human race. Hence we can allow no appeal to patriotism, to revenge any national insult or injury. (Declaration of Sentiments, Boston Peace Conference (28 September 1838))

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.

Say that we’re moving at the speed of light.… Impossible, of course, if you believe physicists. Which I don’t, by the way. Physicists don’t believe in wizards—a fact that I, being a wizard, find highly insulting. I have taken my revenge, therefore, by refusing to believe in physicists. What was the question?

You can’t be treating people bad, speaking bad about them , creating fake accounts to insults, swear, stalk, fight and bully them and then you preach karma everyday , when someone does you wrong.Do to others as you would have them do to you. Luke 6:31

I feed my captive vegan,” he growled. The force of his voice stilled me. “She spends her days doing yoga and playing in the yard and her nights reading classics by the fireplace.” His sardonic tone lacked humor. I couldn’t decide if he was insulting me or showing he did care in his own twisted way. I wanted to hear more, but all I could do was turn around and accuse, “You’ve been spying on me.” “Be quiet,” he snapped. “This is my monologue.” I closed my mouth. “Keeping you here is a slap in the face to my men, but it seems I don’t give a fuck about that.” The eye contact seared. “The longer I put off revenge, the closer I get to another war with your papa. And I don’t give a fuck about that either.” My throat tightened at the thought I was a source of that kind of violence. I had no idea my presence here had caused so much trouble. His gaze narrowed. “You pull a trigger on me, and I can’t even leave you out in the cold for fifteen fucking minutes. So you tell me, Mila, who cares more here?

What was the point of revenge if not to repay such an infamous insult in full?

Physicists don’t believe in wizards—a fact that I, being a wizard, find highly insulting. I have taken my revenge, therefore, by refusing to believe in physicists.

The essence of a culture of honor is that it does not sanction predatory or instrumental violence, but only retaliation after an insult or other mistreatment.

You can’t get people to like you, but you can get revenge.

...If I can't feel the good things anymore, then doing a few bad ones shouldn't hurt a bit. And they are long overdue.

There in its nasty, stinking, underground home our insulted, crushed and ridiculed mouse promptly becomes absorbed in cold, malignant and, above all, everlasting spite. For forty years together it will remember its injury down to the smallest, most ignominious details, and every time will add, of itself, details still more ignominious, spitefully teasing and tormenting itself with its own imagination. It will itself be ashamed of its imaginings, but yet it will recall it all, it will go over and over every detail, it will invent unheard of things against itself, pretending that those things might happen, and will forgive nothing. Maybe it will begin to revenge itself, too, but, as it were, piecemeal, in trivial ways, from behind the stove, incognito, without believing either in its own right to vengeance, or in the success of its revenge, knowing that from all its efforts at revenge it will suffer a hundred times more than he on whom it revenges itself, while he, I daresay, will not even scratch himself. On its deathbed it will recall it all over again, with interest accumulated over all the years…

The most common motives for homicide are moralistic: retaliation after an insult, escalation of a domestic quarrel, punishing an unfaithful or deserting romantic partner, and other acts of jealousy, revenge, and self-defense.

He had long ago learned that society imposes insults that must be borne, comforted by the knowledge that in this world there comes a time when the most humble of men, if he keeps his eyes open, can take his revenge on the most powerful.

YOUNG MORTIMER: Thou proud disturber of thy country's peace, Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broils, Base flatterer, yield! and were it not for shame, Shame and dishonour to a soldier's name, Upon my weapon's point here should'st thou fall, And welter in thy gore. LANCASTER: Monster of men! That, like the Greekish strumpet, train'd to arms And bloody wars so many valiant knights; Look for no other fortune, wretch, than death! King Edward is not here to buckler thee.

Both the suicidal and non-suicidal are often angry with others. One way to discharge this anger is to fantasize about violent revenge. The insults of daily life often cause fantasies of revenge to flare up and quickly subside. The people with these fantasies usually do not act on them; they are not motives or goals. They are involuntary responses to perceived insult—ways of coping with rage. The suicidal, whether or not they attempt, suffer tremendous and persistent pain and anger. That this pain should find its way into their fantasies and dreams is no surprise. This ideation is not a motive for action; it is an alternative to action. Fantasizing about suicide is an effort to delay or avoid suicide, not the activity of formulating a motive, goal, or intention. Fantasies doubtlessly succeed in preventing many attempts.

whereas malice was the beginning and end of Laurence Strange’s character, the new manservant was a more natural blend of light and shade. He possessed a great deal of good sense and was as energetic in defending others from real injury as he was in revenging imaginary insults to himself.

Then I saw the keyboard of an organ which filled one whole side of the walls. On the desk was a music-book covered with red notes. I asked leave to look at it and read, ‘Don Juan Triumphant.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, 'I compose sometimes.’ I began that work twenty years ago. When I have finished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin and never wake up again.’ 'You must work at it as seldom as you can,’ I said. He replied, 'I sometimes work at it for fourteen days and nights together, during which I live on music only, and then I rest for years at a time.’ 'Will you play me something out of your Don Juan Triumphant?’ I asked, thinking to please him. 'You must never ask me that,’ he said, in a gloomy voice. 'I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire from Heaven.’ Thereupon we returned to the drawing-room. I noticed that there was no mirror in the whole apartment. I was going to remark upon this, but Erik had already sat down to the piano. He said, 'You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it. Fortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose all your pretty coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to Paris. Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae.’ He spoke these last words as though he were flinging an insult at me.” “What did you do?” “I had no time to think about the meaning he put into his words. We at once began the duet in Othello and already the catastrophe was upon us. I sang Desdemona with a despair, a terror which I had never displayed before. As for him, his voice thundered forth his revengeful soul at every note. Love, jealousy, hatred, burst out around us in harrowing cries. Erik’s black mask made me think of the natural mask of the Moor of Venice. He was Othello himself. Suddenly, I felt a need to see beneath the mask. I wanted to know the FACE of the voice, and, with a movement which I was utterly unable to control, swiftly my fingers tore away the mask. Oh, horror, horror, horror!” Christine stopped, at the thought of the vision that had scared her, while the echoes of the night, which had repeated the name of Erik, now thrice moaned the cry: “Horror! … Horror! … Horror!

MR. McCULLOUGH: If you look at the brain of somebody who has just been harmed by someone—they’ve been ridiculed or harassed or insulted—we can put those people into technology that allows us to see what their brains are doing, right? So we can look at sort of what your brain looks like on revenge. It looks exactly like the brain of somebody who is thirsty and is just about to get a sweet drink to drink or somebody who’s hungry who’s about to get a piece of chocolate to eat. TIPPETT: It’s like the satisfaction of a craving? MR. McCULLOUGH: It is exactly like that. It is literally a craving. What you see is high activation in the brain’s reward system. . . . The desire for revenge does not come from some sick dark part of how our minds operate. It is a craving to solve a problem and accomplish a goal.

Who is Baine?” Nella asked. “My computer,” Dr. Laas said. “A man I had an affair with programmed the voice in before he left. I told him to go, you see, and this was his revenge. Baine sounds just like him.” “Do not insult me,”   Baine answered.  “ I am a thousand times superior to your fly-by-night lover. He is now in jail on Station 1217, by the way, for indecent exposure.” “Really?” Dr. Laas brightened. “How delightful.

We do not acknowledge allegiance to any human government. We recognize but one King and Lawgiver, one Judge and Ruler of mankind. Our country is the world, our countrymen are all mankind. We love the land of our nativity only as we love all other lands. The interests and rights of American citizens are not dearer to us than those of the whole human race. Hence we can allow no appeal to patriotism to revenge any national insult or injury… "We

In terms of emotional habits, when somebody insults me or does something I find offensive, I feel anger, and then maybe think, ‘How could he do that? That’s disgusting! He was supposed to be my friend but he’s betrayed me, he’s disappointed me, I’ll never forgive him! No, I’m not even going to speak to him again ― but I’m going to confront him! I’m going to seek revenge!’ and I can go on and on like that. Then the rational mind says, ‘Oh, just forget it! He’s trying his best,’ and there is a feeling of magnanimity, a grand gesture of understanding. But you can’t sustain that for long before it goes back into, ‘How could he? I’ll never forgive him.’ And there is a struggle between the magnanimous, generous ‘Forgive! He’s just doing the best he can. Don’t make it personal. We all have our bad days . . .’ and ‘I’LL NEVER FORGIVE HIM!’ At least this is how my mind works. I have heard all the good advice, but the hurt, the pain of disappointment, the sense of betrayal is still there. So I contemplate these things. And then in this emptiness or this ‘sound of silence’, the thinking process stops.

But that’s not what he does. Instead he gets in a twist, piles on the insults, starts with the tortures, overlooks the good points Caliban’s got, such as musical talent. But by the end, Prospero’s learning that maybe not everything is somebody else’s fault. Plus, he sees that the bad in Caliban is pretty much the same as the bad in him, Prospero. They’re both angry, both name-callers, both full of revenge: they’re joined at the hip. Caliban is like his bad other self. Like father, like son. So he owns up: ‘This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.’ That’s what he says, and that’s what he means.

Alex: Kabimba! You know I've also fallen hopelessly behind them because of the time I spent in prison. So what am I to do now? Elbow them aside? Smash their windows? Kabimba! Hatred and resentment will never get you anywhere. They are the most barren feelings in the world. One has to rise above that and realize that we have lost centuries or decades - we've been insulted, humiliated, but that's no reason for revenge. Nor should we try. All the same we're richer than they are. Kabimba: (indignantly) We are? Richer in what way? In what way? Alex: Because we've suffered, Kabimba. Suffering is a leveler for the soul. A contented person always has an impoverished soul. It's our job to build little by little. (scene four)

We all feel the urge to exact revenge at one time or another, but most of us are able to suppress and control those impulses. Actual revenge murders tend to be one-offs rather than serial crimes. These types of murders have specific indicators and fall into one of two categories: retribution against individuals the killer feels have hurt or offended him, or retaliation against entire communities, such as school shooters who feel they have been bullied or disrespected. As a rule, though, while sexual predators tend to be acutely sensitive to any perceived slight or insult—while giving no mind to the feelings of others—they don’t generally have revenge as a motive; they don’t need it. They are already bound up with their own deadly obsessions, as we clearly see in Kondro’s case.

According to Finnish psychologist Kaj Björkqvist, by the time a girl is eight years old she is unlikely to express frustration and anger toward others physically. Girls are, on the other hand, as verbally aggressive as boys. Instead of hitting or shoving, girls will use verbal, nonverbal, and socially manipulative skills to hurt others—mainly other girls. Girls will insult and denigrate each other; they will also hold grudges for a very long time. Björkqvist and others have shown that girls are “significantly more likely than boys to become friendly with someone else as revenge”; and that girls will gossip and suggest the “shunning” of another girl. According to Björkqvist, indirect aggression is a type of “hostile behavior [that] is carried out in order to harm the opponent, while avoiding being identified as aggressive.” Björkqvist and others developed a scale, known as the Direct and Indirect Aggression Scale, which measures physical aggression (hitting, kicking, tripping, shoving, pushing, pulling), and verbal aggression (yelling, insulting, teasing, threatening to hurt the other, calling the other names), on the one hand, and on the other hand, indirect aggression (shutting the other out of the group, becoming friends with another as revenge, ignoring, gossiping, telling bad stories, planning secretly to bother the other, saying bad things behind the back, saying to others: “let’s not be with him/her,” telling the other’s secrets to a third person, writing notes in which the other is criticized, criticizing the other’s hair or clothing, trying to get others to dislike the person).

Between the extreme limits of this series would find a place all the forms of prestige resulting from the different elements composing a civilisation -- sciences, arts, literature, &c. -- and it would be seen that prestige constitutes the fundamental element of persuasion. Consciously or not, the being, the idea, or the thing possessing prestige is immediately imitated in consequence of contagion, and forces an entire generation to adopt certain modes of feeling and of giving expression to its thought. This imitation, moreover, is, as a rule, unconscious, which accounts for the fact that it is perfect. The modern painters who copy the pale colouring and the stiff attitudes of some of the Primitives are scarcely alive to the source of their inspiration. They believe in their own sincerity, whereas, if an eminent master had not revived this form of art, people would have continued blind to all but its naïve and inferior sides. Those artists who, after the manner of another illustrious master, inundate their canvasses with violet shades do not see in nature more violet than was detected there fifty years ago; but they are influenced, "suggestioned," by the personal and special impressions of a painter who, in spite of this eccentricity, was successful in acquiring great prestige. Similar examples might be brought forward in connection with all the elements of civilisation. It is seen from what precedes that a number of factors may be concerned in the genesis of prestige; among them success was always one of the most important. Every successful man, every idea that forces itself into recognition, ceases, ipso facto, to be called in question. The proof that success is one of the principal stepping-stones to prestige is that the disappearance of the one is almost always followed by the disappearance of the other. The hero whom the crowd acclaimed yesterday is insulted to-day should he have been overtaken by failure. The re-action, indeed, will be the stronger in proportion as the prestige has been great. The crowd in this case considers the fallen hero as an equal, and takes its revenge for having bowed to a superiority whose existence it no longer admits.

Thoughts of murderous egotism and revenge, and little, vagrant thoughts repulsive in their childishness, pettiness and spite. The little thoughts were perhaps the worst. Little irrelevant vagaries that insulted the dignity of man.

the cuckolded husband but there was also laughter, a pity profoundly scarred with cruelty, relief that it was someone else. There were ribald jokes, slurs against manhood—and that was the ultimate insult, the unbearable thing that robbed the stuff of life but denied the peace of death. The victim was still sentient and raw to all the awareness of his loss. He would never have brought that upon himself, never—not in hot temper nor in cold revenge.

Then there are the secondary, mostly “social” emotions, such as anxiety, grief, guilt, pride, vengeance, and love. These may be unique to humans—hence, at the lower level in our evolutionary mountain landscape—and somewhat more liable to cultural manipulation and variation than the primary, “Darwinian” emotions. Thus, only humans seek revenge or redemption across lifetimes and generations, whatever the cost, although the nature of the deeds that trigger insult or remorse may vary considerably across societies, and the means to counter them may range even wider. Another

Anger or rage (mênis, thumos, orgê) is an emotion, a mixture of belief and desire. It is not a somatic feeling, as nausea and giddiness are, though it is usually accompanied by such feelings – trembling and blushing, for example, and the sense of seeing red. It is, in Aristotle’s definition, ‘a desire, accompanied by pain, to take apparent revenge for apparent insult’.

Tardiness was the greatest insult of them all; arrangements were made to suit those concerned – it was the height of rudeness to overlook other people’s needs.

Their manners are simple and honest. They are proud and reserved. If any one is kind to them, he can be sure of their gratitude, but if any one injures them they will take their revenge. They will risk their lives to wipe out dishonour. If any one in distress appeals to them, they will lay aside all thought of self in their anxiety to help. Even if they have an insult to avenge, they never fail to warn their enemy. In battle, if they pursue the fugitives they always spare all who surrender. . . . These men love study and there are many heretics among them.

Emotions also can justify acts that would otherwise be reprehensible. We are quicker to except the legitimacy of a violent response to an insult or a wrong if it is believed to have arisen spontaneously from the understandable anger that it triggered than if it is seen as the product of calculation. Revenge may be a dish that is best eaten cold, but serv­ers are more willing to accept it if it is hot.

He genuinely believed that he had enemies and convincing himself that he must take revenge on someone and wash away some insult with blood brought him the greatest pleasure. He was quite certain that hatred, vengeance and contempt for human race were the noblest and most poetic of emotion. But his mistress, maintained that he was the kindest and gentlest of men, and that every evening he would enter his melancholy thoughts in a diary, draw up his accounts on ruled paper, and then go down on his knees to pray. And how that man suffered, just to appear in his own eyes the way he wanted to appear, fir his fellow officers and the soldiers could never see him the way he wanted to be seen.

I seriously doubt that the smile is our species’s “happy” face, as is often stated in books about human emotions. Its background is much richer, with meanings other than cheeriness. Depending on the circumstances, the smile can convey nervousness, a need to please, reassurance to anxious others, a welcoming attitude, submission, amusement, attraction, and so on. Are all these feelings captured by calling them “happy”? Our labels grossly simplify emotional displays, like the way we give each emoticon a single meaning. Many of us now use smiley or frowny faces to punctuate text messages, which suggests that language by itself is not as effective as advertised. We feel the need to add nonverbal cues to prevent a peace offer from being mistaken for an act of revenge, or a joke from being taken as an insult. Emoticons and words are poor substitutes for the body itself, though: through gaze direction, expressions, tone of voice, posture, pupil dilation, and gestures, the body is much better than language at communicating a wide range of meanings.

You should be thanking me, Vriska. The way that animal was looking at you…he was getting ideas about…” Vriska barely heard his next, crude words. She had resisted, punching him before, but now he had gone too far. She could take the insults to her self. but Julian was a good, honorable man. He didn’t deserve to be so slandered. She shoved past Rharreth, pass the Warriors holding Brathac, and slam the punch as hard as she could into his already broken nose, savoring the grinding of bone beneath her fist. Brathac howled, his head snapping back. “What makes you think I don’t welcome his attentions? That human prince has more honor in a drop of his blood than you have in your whole body.” Vriska cocked her fist back to throw another punch. Someone grabbed her, yanking her arm around before she could land the second punch.

I find myself wanting to lead the charge for justice, sword in hand and screaming a Viking battle cry.” She frowned. “You did have battle cries, didn’t you?” He laughed. “Some of the best. Remind me the next time we’re up on the mountain, and I’ll teach you a few. I’d do it now, but we’d probably upset the neighbors.” “Do I get my own horned helmet?” He looked a bit insulted. “My tribe never wore anything like that. But if you want to, you can borrow one of my knives to wave around and menace the local fauna.” He was making fun of her. She just knew it. “A knife? Why not a sword?” “Because you couldn’t lift one of my swords, much less swing it. One of my longer knives would be the perfect size for a little bit like you to brandish while you practice screaming oaths in old Norse.” From the way he chuckled, he obviously found the whole idea hilarious. She loved making her husband laugh. From Judith’s memories and her own, she knew that Ranulf had gone way too many years with no joy in his life. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t extract a little revenge. She tweaked a lock of his hair. “Well, I might not be able to lift your sword, my Viking love, but if you keep making fun of me, I’ll flatten you against the nearest wall and keep you there. How would you like that?” The blue flames were back. “I’d like it just fine, if you promise to take advantage of me while I’m at your mercy.” Now that was an image to be savored. “Are you sure I can’t play with your sword? Right now?” She basked in the warm approval in his eyes. “Only if you promise to take really good care of it.” She slid down to kneel between his legs. “Believe me, I plan to.

Karimi ordered that the missiles self-destruct, if the mechanism still functioned on the downed missiles. He knew Israel would strike back, the only question was when? He would stay underground facility until the threat was over. When he was able to leave, he would have all of these engineers executed for failing him. He would not tolerate failure. Messengers relayed the news of what was happening top-side. He read the recent document prepared for him by the Iranian news service, which said, “Israel has officially condemned our attempt at nuking their cities, and has said its own response will be forthcoming soon. The United Nations, as always, has asked our two nations to let cooler heads prevail, and said that if Israel escalates the hostility, war could break out, quite possibly dragging the rest of the world into it. Meanwhile, Iraq has declared Mosul a radioactive wasteland. They’re demanding your head, Supreme Ayatollah, and they are vowing to exact revenge for this insult to all Iraqis. There has been no response from Washington.

Our goal, then, is not to eliminate the feelings of anger from our parental repertoire. We couldn’t, even if we wanted to. Rather, it is to find ways to express ourselves when we are angry that do not hurt, insult, demean, or inspire revenge and rage in our children.

the United States no longer was a Constitutional Republic, but was now a totalitarian regime. Then news came up about Iran’s attempt to nuke Israel: “Israel has officially condemned the attempt by Iran to nuke Israeli cities, and has said its own response will be forthcoming soon. The United Nations, as always, has asked the two nations to let cooler heads prevail, and said that if Israel escalates the hostility, war could break out, quite possibly dragging the rest of the world into it. Meanwhile, Iraq has declared Mosul a radioactive wasteland, demanded the head of Supreme Ayatollah Karimi, and vowed to exact revenge for this insult to all Iraqis. Karimi has officially disavowed any knowledge of an Iranian nuclear missile destroying an Iraqi city, and claims that the Iraqis made it up so that they could drag their American masters into another conflict.

TO BEAR WRONGS PATIENTLY may well be the most difficult spiritual work of mercy, not because of the wrongs but because of the patience. Physical injury and personal insult may be tolerated as a strategy in order to get revenge eventually, but patience requires a conviction that there is something better than revenge.

Both Bradbury and Cantrill behaved in an insulting manner," Brookes continued. "Shouldn't they have some comeuppance?" "I am turning Lord Bradbury into the villain in my next novel," Harriet interrupted in a helpful tone. "With a different name, of course." "And what good will that do?" Brooke's eyes widened in astonishment. "Literary revenge is the best sort of reprisal," Harriet answered placidly.

We spread the Gospel by the proclamation of the Word of God (see Rom. 10:17). But God has told us that we should restrain evil by the power of the sword and by the power of civil government (as in the teaching of Romans 13:1–6, quoted above, p. 37). If the power of government (such as a policeman) is not present in an emergency, when great harm is being done to another person, then my love for the victim should lead me to use physical force to prevent any further harm from occurring. If I found a criminal attacking my wife or children, I would use all my physical strength and all the physical force at my disposal against him, not to persuade him to trust in Christ as his Savior, but to immediately stop him from harming my wife and children! I would follow the command of Nehemiah, who told the men of Israel, “Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes” (Neh. 4:14; see also Genesis 14:14–16, where Abraham rescued his kinsman Lot who had been taken captive by a raiding army). Boyd has wrongly taken one of the ways that God restrains evil in this world (changing hearts through the Gospel of Christ) and decided that it is the only way that God restrains evil (thus neglecting the valuable role of civil government). Both means are from God, both are good, and both should be used by Christians. This is why Boyd misunderstands Jesus’ statement, “If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also” (Matt. 5:39). When this verse is rightly understood (see below, p. 82), we see that Jesus is telling individuals not to take revenge for a personal insult or a humiliating slap on the cheek.51 But this command for individual kindness is not the same as the instructions that the Bible gives to governments, who are to “bear the sword” and be a “terror” to bad conduct and are to carry out “God’s wrath on the wrongdoer” (Rom. 13:3–4). The verses must be understood rightly in their own contexts. One is talking about individual conduct and personal revenge. The other is talking about the responsibilities of government. We should not confuse the two passages.

Death told me the Fool showed you a vision with ten swords in your back.” I nodded. “The ten of swords card indicates that a devastating catastrophe is headed one’s way and will strike without warning. Bingo, Matthew.” “Hmm.” “Hmm, what?” “That card is also about letting go and accepting one’s current circumstances.” Accepting that you can’t change fate. As my mom had done with my dad. “Should I let go of Jack? Like you let go of the man you lost?” She lifted one slim shoulder. “You’d already fallen for another.” “I swore revenge on Richter. How can I think of surrendering that need?” Richter, I’m . . . not coming for you? “Do you know what I fear more than marching off to die fighting him? That I might have to live with what he did.” “No one’s suggesting you give up your revenge. But what if we can’t find him for half a year? Two years? Will you cease living till then? Will you force Death to stop as well? He yearns to be a normal man. Even if just for a day. Will you not give that to him?” “I made the point to him about our limited time,” I said, still cringing at my clumsiness. “All I did was insult him.” “He wanted a wife. Not a buddy.” Was she listening to everything in the castle? “I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t know what to do.” She pinned my gaze with her own. “Therein lies the lesson of the card, Evie Greene. The lesson of life. When you can’t change your situation, you must change yourself. You must rise and walk—despite the ten swords in your back.” What was harder than dying? Living a nightmare. Mom had learned to live without Dad. I had learned to live without Mom. Could I go on without Jack? “I shouldn’t even be thinking about Aric. I disobeyed the dictates of the game, and I got Jack killed. What if I do the same to Aric?” Circe made a sound of amusement. “You always did think highly of yourself. Do you believe you had something to do with that massacre? Think logically. Richter could have reversed the order of his attacks—targeting Fort Arcana earlier, vaporizing the Magician, one of Fauna’s wolves, and the stronghold of his enemies. He could have shot at the army by helicopter afterward. Instead he targeted mortals and one player. The Moon.” My lips parted. “Because she was more of a threat to him.” “She was the only one in the area who could slay him from a distance. Richter will target the Tower as well, since Joules shares that ability,” she said. “So if we should blame any card for your mortal’s death, blame the Moon.” “I’ll never blame her.” “Yet you’ll blame yourself?” Circe shook her head, and the river swirled. “I say we blame the Emperor.” Could it be that easy? Had Richter always had Selena in his sights? If fate couldn’t be changed—then she’d been doomed to die the second we’d saved her from the Lovers.

The revenge is complete as soon as you no longer remember the name of the offender.

I know you're not familiar with what a real restaurant is like, but the front door isn't usually located in the alley," she snapped. He clicked his tongue before responding. "See, for a moment I was wondering if I'd made a mistake coming here. But I'd hate to miss this witty repartee." "It's not repartee if I'm the only one with wit." She straightened, like one of those exotic birds she'd seen in an episode of Planet Earth when they wanted to intimidate predators. "Why do you look like an extra from SVU?" Leo pulled down the hood and took off his sunglasses. "Did you know there are paparazzi outside your restaurant? I'm surprised they're willing to drive this far east." He shook his head to himself. "Why have a restaurant in Silver Lake? It's like the Brooklyn of LA . Shouldn't you be in West Hollywood, where the real money is?" "If I'd known there was a portal from hell located so close by I would've reconsidered the location." Less than a minute in Leo's presence, and she'd slipped back into insult mode as easily as popping dark chocolate into her mouth. The taste of knocking him down a peg was as sweet as always.

Oh, to be sure, one can speak thus and confess thus only once in one’s life—in the moment before death, for instance, mounting the scaffold. But it was precisely Katya’s character and Katya’s moment. It was the same impetuous Katya who had once rushed to a young libertine in order to save her father; the very same Katya who, proud and chaste, had just sacrificed herself and her maiden’s honor before the whole public by telling of “Mitya’s noble conduct,” in order to soften at least somewhat the fate in store for him. So now, in just the same way, she again sacrificed herself, this time for another man, and perhaps only now, only that minute, did she feel and realize fully how dear this other man was to her! She sacrificed herself in fear for him, imagining suddenly that he had ruined himself with his testimony that he, and not his brother, was the killer, sacrificed herself in order to save him, his good name, his reputation! And yet a terrible thought flashed through one’s mind: was she lying about Mitya in describing her former relations with him?—that was the question. No, no, she was not slandering him deliberately when she cried out that Mitya despised her for bowing to him! She believed it herself, she was deeply convinced, and had been perhaps from the moment of the bow itself, that the guileless Mitya, who adored her even then, was laughing at her and despised her. And only out of pride had she then attached herself to him with a hysterical and strained love, love out of wounded pride, a love that resembled not love but revenge. Oh, perhaps this strained love would have grown into real love, perhaps Katya wished for nothing else, but Mitya insulted her to the depths of her soul with his betrayal, and her soul did not forgive. The moment of revenge came unexpectedly, and everything that had been long and painfully accumulating in the offended woman’s breast burst out all at once and, again, unexpectedly. She betrayed Mitya, but she betrayed herself as well!

A progress of degradation with glowing phraseology, cajoleries and falsity. They put on exaggerated airs of mock-modesty, and assume a scornful pose before their admirers, all the time longing to be noticed. The old punctilious sense of honor have ceased to exist while finally the practices of the man of pleasure, the libertine modes, in full completeness, count at most only some forty years of life, – after which the reign of hypocrisy sets in. What is lighter than a feather? A woman. What is lighter than a woman? Nothing. Phrase found in a Latin satire. It means nothing more nothing less than this: women have always hated morality and seriousness, precise knowledge and deliberate wisdom, which in their eyes are merely silly and hypocritical pretensions that mark the class of professional phrase-mongers. Writers like Gorgias or Appolodorus, or orators like Hyperides, masters of the eloquence that thrills mankind. The Gown, whence springs the type of creatures that tear each other to pieces with tongue and pen. pg84 A kind o f a code of revenge, a guiding principle a point of honor that was held more sacred than life itself Vulsenade Pg94 Such extravagances were admitted by the principles of chivalry, an institution sane enough at its origins, but run mad before its end.” Dr Johannes Scheer, Society and Manners in Germany, Chivalry at Court Pg138 And many another indiscreet, prying teller of naughty tales, are far and away more instructive than formal history, which is either pedantic by convention or else dumb by constraint. In investigations of any kind details should be studied first, in order at a subsequent stage to elaborate the series of special observations made into a general survey of the subject. This is the only way to get good results pg154 A phrase well expressing an easiness of morals at once very frank and very French. Pg166 That treacherous gentleness women practice toward one another – every woman instinctively hates every other. pg164 A woman will allow herself to be told: you belong to a sex possessing a small brain and a half-developed organization; your disposition and instinctive are all disproportionate, inconsequent hypocritical, illogical and futile; your moral sense is deformed, your selfishness without a scruple and your vanity without a limit. All this will hardly so much as annoy her; but dare to say: you have short legs, and you have committed a dire offense woman’s nature can never forgive. Further on, Schopenhauer adds another curiously insulting passage: “The ancients,”he says, “would have laughed at our gallantry of the old French fashion and our stupid veneration for number two of the perfect realization of German-Christian silliness.” pg169 “A married woman’s first thought and care is to devise how to be a widow.” Brantley, Dames galantes, Fourth Discourse

heroine born with lover and her father after accident of her father test of three daughters proved she have no blood relationship with them and father dead and he ensured her to hero she have no confidence and depend to others hero try to insult to change her but she didn't after her second sister is villainous heroine killed father because will and heroine try to find her real father and say pic edit by villainous thinking hero father was her real father and aborts her child and not giving explanation hero divorced her and engaged to villainess and final became independent and figure that father already died and go back to get hero and revenge for died child

heroine born with lover and her father after accident of her father test of three daughters proved she have no blood relationship with them and father dead and he ensured her to hero she have no confidence and depend to others hero try to insult to change her but she didn't after her second sister is villainous heroine killed father because will and heroine try to find her real father and say pic edit by villainous thinking hero father was her real father and aborts her child and not giving explanation hero divorced her and engaged to villainess and final became independent and figure that father already died and go back to get hero and revenge for died child Book name

You have to work harder on yourself, Diana.” “Right. I’m not doing enough, am I?” My voice was trembling from the emotions that were gathering in my throat. I wanted to burst out with tears but I was trying to hold them for a moment or two. “If you want to be successful in life, you should work better,” she hissed through her teeth and turned back, continuing to cut the carrots. “Oh really? I’m not doing enough with going to music school after my usual one? I attend also dancing classes and acrobatic ones and this fucking gymnastics! I study for my exams every day! I don’t even remember the last time when I was outside just walking without insulting myself, without intoxicating thoughts! And you are telling me that I’m not doing enough?! My schedule doesn’t even have a single hour without being busy! It’s a torture!

I’ve borne it all with patience, the years of small cuts that heal over, my heart a pulpy mass of scars. But it was still beating, at least I could say that, right up until she took Goldie from me. Now it’s a dead thing, still in my chest. And if I can’t feel the good things anymore, then doing a few bad ones shouldn’t hurt a bit. And they are long overdue.

Ancient Greek mythology claims that Dionysus, the god of wine, had been insulted by a passing mortal and swore that you would take revenge on the next one that came this way. He conjured up a team of ferocious tigers just as a beautiful young maiden was approaching. The maiden’s name was Amethyst, and she was on her way to pay tribute to the goddess Artemis. As Dionysus released the Tigers, Artemis turned Amethyst into a statue of pure crystalline to protect her from the tiger’s claws. Upon seeing the beautiful statue, Dionisio wept wine–filled tears of regret, which stained the statue a deep shade of purple. From that moment on, the amethyst stone was known to hold significant protective properties. Apparently, as the myth recounts, amethysts could even protect you from the wrath of gods themselves. - Dr. Davidson

Kinsey was in fact an aggressive individual … aggressive, too, when someone attempted to ‘get something’ on him.” Pomeroy would be insulted and after “two or three weeks I would make an attempt at revenge by trying to trap him in some inconsistency,”194 to no avail.

Donald can insult Cuomo and complain about him, but every day the governor’s real leadership further reveals Donald as a petty, pathetic little man—ignorant, incapable, out of his depth, and lost in his own delusional spin. What Donald can do in order to offset the powerlessness and rage he feels is punish the rest of us. He’ll withhold ventilators or steal supplies from states that have not groveled sufficiently. If New York continues not to have enough equipment, Cuomo will look bad, the rest of us be damned. Thankfully, Donald doesn’t have many supporters in New York City, but even some of those will die because of his craven need for “revenge.” What Donald thinks is justified retaliation is, in this context, mass murder.

Art is man added to nature. ~ Francis Bacon An injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult. ~ Lord Chesterfield We has met the enemy and he is us. ~ Pogo The best revenge is living well. The goal of human existence is to break our (savage, self-centered, animal) nature. ~ Attributed to the Vilna Gaon 'dum spiro, spero' - Enquanto respiro, tenho esperança. ~ Um lema da Carolina do Sul)

While lashing out against an insult can provide a certain gratification, a long-anticipated and carefully planned revenge is far more satisfying. —DIRECTEUR JOSEPH VENPORT, private conversation with his wife, Cioba

Live a headless life. Move as a total being, and accept things. Just for twenty-four hours, try it – total acceptance, whatsoever happens. Somebody insults you, accept it, don’t react, and see what happens. Suddenly you will feel an energy flowing in you that you have not felt before. Somebody insults you: you feel weak, you feel disturbed, you start thinking of how to get your revenge. That man has hooked you, and now you will move round and round. For days, nights, months, even years you will not be able to sleep or dream. People can waste their whole life over a small thing, just because someone insulted them.

Andrew Cuomo, the governor of New York and currently the de facto leader of the country’s COVID-19 response, has committed not only the sin of insufficiently kissing Donald’s ass but the ultimate sin of showing Donald up by being better and more competent, a real leader who is respected and effective and admired. Donald can’t fight back by shutting Cuomo up or reversing his decisions; having abdicated his authority to lead a nationwide response, he no longer has the ability to counter decisions made at the state level. Donald can insult Cuomo and complain about him, but every day the governor’s real leadership further reveals Donald as a petty, pathetic little man—ignorant, incapable, out of his depth, and lost in his own delusional spin. What Donald can do in order to offset the powerlessness and rage he feels is punish the rest of us. He’ll withhold ventilators or steal supplies from states that have not groveled sufficiently. If New York continues not to have enough equipment, Cuomo will look bad, the rest of us be damned. Thankfully, Donald doesn’t have many supporters in New York City, but even some of those will die because of his craven need for “revenge.” What Donald thinks is justified retaliation is, in this context, mass murder.

Crude men who feel themselves insulted tend to assess the degree of insult as high as possible, and talk about the offense in greatly exaggerated language, only so they can revel to their heart's content in the aroused feelings of hatred and revenge.

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.