Malicious Friends Quotes

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Don't listen to the malicious comments of those friends who, never taking any risks themselves, can only see other people's failures.
Paulo Coelho (Eleven Minutes)
Don't waste your time trying to provide people with proof of deceit, in order to keep their love, win their love or salvage their respect for you. The truth is this: If they care they will go out of their way to learn the truth. If they don't then they really don't value you as a human being. The moment you have to sell people on who you are is the moment you let yourself believe that every good thing you have ever done or accomplished was invisible to the world. And, it is not!
Shannon L. Alder
Incessant smiling is one of the deadly tools used by someone whose intent is to make others cry.
Michael Bassey Johnson
The dogs left with us and we walked. I sobbed the whole way home, still heartbroken. My mom had no time for my whining. “Why are you crying?!” “Because Fufi loves another boy.” “So? Why would that hurt you? It didn’t cost you anything. Fufi’s here. She still loves you. She’s still your dog. So get over it.” Fufi was my first heartbreak. No one has ever betrayed me more than Fufi. It was a valuable lesson to me. The hard thing was understanding that Fufi wasn’t cheating on me with another boy. She was merely living her life to the fullest. Until I knew that she was going out on her own during the day, her other relationship hadn’t affected me at all. Fufi had no malicious intent. I believed that Fufi was my dog, but of course that wasn’t true. Fufi was a dog. I was a boy. We got along well. She happened to live in my house. That experience shaped what I’ve felt about relationships for the rest of my life: You do not own the thing that you love. I was lucky to learn that lesson at such a young age. I have so many friends who still, as adults, wrestle with feelings of betrayal. They’ll come to me angry and crying and talking about how they’ve been cheated on and lied to, and I feel for them. I understand what they’re going through. I sit with them and buy them a drink and I say, “Friend, let me tell you the story of Fufi.
Trevor Noah (Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood)
I am generous because I've been poor,
 cautious because I've been naive,
 strong because I've been afraid,
 clever because I've been foolish,
 mighty because I've been weak, kind because I’ve been downtrodden, cheerful because I’ve been miserable, patient because I’ve been reckless, modest because I’ve been humbled, calm because I’ve been confused, friendly because I’ve been ostracized, noble because I’ve been dishonoured, loyal because I’ve been betrayed, confident because I’ve been nervous, pleasant because I’ve been malicious, chaste because I’ve been depraved, principled because I’ve been unethical, just because I’ve been persecuted, and tolerant because I’ve been discriminated against.
Matshona Dhliwayo
In the end I also write slowly. Nowadays it is not only my habit, it is also to my taste - a malicious taste, perhaps? - no longer to write anything which does not reduce to despair every sort of man who is 'in a hurry'. For philology is that venerable art which demands of its votaries one thing above all: to go aside, to take time, to become still, to become slow- it is a goldsmith's art and connoisseurship of the word which has nothing but delicate, cautious work to do and achieves nothing if it does not achieve it Lento. But for precisely this reason it is more necessary than ever today, by precisely this means does it entice and enchant us the most, in the midst of an age of 'work', that is to say, of hurry, of indecent and perspiring haste, which wants to 'get everything done' at once, including every old or new book: - this art does not so easily get anything done, it teaches to read well, that is to say, to read slowly, deeply, looking cautiously before and aft, with reservations, with doors left open, with delicate eyes and fingers ... My patient friends, this book desires for itself only perfect readers and philologists: Learn to read me well!
Friedrich Nietzsche (Daybreak: Thoughts on the Prejudices of Morality)
Continue, my dear friend. It is interesting for me to see this new Bond. Englishmen are so odd. They are like a nest of Chinese boxes. It takes a very long time to get to the centre of them. When one gets there the result is unrewarding, but the process is instructive and entertaining. Continue. Develop your arguments. There may be something I can use to my own chief the next time I want to get out of an unpleasant job.’ He grinned maliciously. Bond ignored him.
Ian Fleming (Casino Royale (James Bond, #1))
opinion she was being ‘maliciously’ depicted by her discarded friend ‘as a conniving social climber who had her sights on snagging a prince ever since she was in high school.’361 Priddy’s assessment
Tom Bower (Revenge: Meghan, Harry and the War between the Windsors)
the advocates of despotism have drawn arguments, not only against the forms of republican government, but against the very principles of civil liberty. They have decried all free government as inconsistent with the order of society, and have indulged themselves in malicious exultation over its friends and partisans
Alexander Hamilton (The Federalist Papers)
I. My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. II. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. III. If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed, neither pride Now hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be. IV. For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out through years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made, finding failure in its scope. V. As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bit the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, ('since all is o'er,' he saith And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;') VI. When some discuss if near the other graves be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. VII. Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ So many times among 'The Band' to wit, The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best, And all the doubt was now - should I be fit? VIII. So, quiet as despair I turned from him, That hateful cripple, out of his highway Into the path he pointed. All the day Had been a dreary one at best, and dim Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. IX. For mark! No sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, Than, pausing to throw backwards a last view O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round; Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. I might go on, naught else remained to do. X. So on I went. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle, spurge, according to their law Might propagate their kind with none to awe, You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove. XI. No! penury, inertness and grimace, In some strange sort, were the land's portion. 'See Or shut your eyes,' said Nature peevishly, It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: Tis the Last Judgement's fire must cure this place Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.
Robert Browning
We can learn to protect ourselves against malicious hackers and scam artists, allowing ourselves to feel calmer and more confident in any situation. Critically, we can learn to become far more self-aware about how we’re communicating.
Christopher Hadnagy (Human Hacking: Win Friends, Influence People, and Leave Them Better Off for Having Met You)
Security means the state of being free from danger or threat. Danger means the possibility of suffering harm or injury. The possibility of something unwelcome or unpleasant happening. There are times I have to stress as I express the correct, precise, real and honest definitions; so that the deceptive, politically motivated folks who destructively branded me as “threat to danger” would realise their double denial duplicity, dishonesty and hypocrisy. Have you at least questioned the personal motives and faulty malicious and intentional misjudgment or at least be honestly curious to discern the motive of a cunning person who warns you against another as a danger, a threat or a risk to life or security? Did the political harridan mean political threat to her political coalition or a danger to reveal the harridan's creative deception matched with her political ambitious power links? ~ Angelica Hopes, K.H. Trilogy
Angelica Hopes
Happiness, as it exists in the wild—as opposed to those artificially constructed moments like weddings and birthday parties, where it’s gathered into careful piles—is not smooth. Happiness in the real world is mostly just resilience and a willingness to arch oneself toward optimism. To believe that people are more good than bad. To believe that the waves carrying you are neither friendly nor malicious, and to know that you’re less likely to drown if you stop struggling against them.
Carolyn Parkhurst (Harmony)
Remembering that only a few years ago men, women, and even children, were imprisoned, tortured and burned, for having expressed in an exceedingly mild and gentle way, the ideas entertained by me, I congratulate myself that calumny is now the pulpit's last resort. The old instruments of torture are kept only to gratify curiosity; the chains are rusting away, and the demolition of time has allowed even the dungeons of the Inquisition to be visited by light. The church, impotent and malicious, regrets, not the abuse, but the loss of her power, and seeks to hold by falsehood what she gained by cruelty and force, by fire and fear. Christianity cannot live in peace with any other form of faith. If that religion be true, there is but one savior, one inspired book, and but one little narrow grass-grown path that leads to heaven. Such a religion is necessarily uncompromising, unreasoning, aggressive and insolent. Christianity has held all other creeds and forms in infinite contempt, divided the world into enemies and friends, and verified the awful declaration of its founder—a declaration that wet with blood the sword he came to bring, and made the horizon of a thousand years lurid with the fagots' flames.
Robert G. Ingersoll (Some Mistakes of Moses)
You want to know what I did to make him raise me up?' I ask, leaning toward her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of my breath. 'I kissed him on the mouth, and then I threatened to kiss him some more if he didn't do exactly what I wanted.' 'Liar,' she hisses. 'If you're such good friends,' I say, repeating her own words back to her with malicious satisfaction, 'why don't you ask him?
Holly Black (The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air, #2))
What does it mean to "cast shade" on your friend? It's when you try to spot their weaknesses, shortcomings or insecurities in any given situation in order to act in the more favourable or popular way, so that you can shine in the eyes of others. Example: Your friend is under sudden, aggressive criticism; instead of helping her out of it, you throw her under the bus by siding with her critics. Another example: your friend has social anxiety; you spot this as an opportunity to be "the fun one" and deliberately, maliciously try to be outgoing and joyful even when you're not genuinely feeling that way. Outshining someone by virtue of deliberate comparison to their vulnerable spots: that is casting shade.
C. JoyBell C.
Admit it. You just had sex,” Alice hissed. Cali’s jaw dropped open. “That’s none of your business,” she replied in outrage, “and how the hell did you know?” Alice shook her head “You’re glowing orgasmically. It’s disgustingly sweet. And Kent looks ridiculously relaxed and possessive.” Brushing her best friend away and flushing a little, Cali pretended to look for her salad tongs. “Mind your own business.” “Fine,” Alice grumbled. “Don’t tell me all the dirty details.” She paused for a beat. Then added, “It was rear entry, wasn’t it?” Cali almost strangled on her shock and indignation. “It was not.” Alice chuckled maliciously. “Don’t lie to me. He has that macho glint in his eyes. I’d know that look anywhere. I’m an anthropologist, remember? And mating rituals are one of my specialties.
Zannie Adams (Renaissance)
When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights ’gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea’s landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe! Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, The Whale)
The pursuit of personal happiness and the production of healthy children are two radically contrasting projects, which love maliciously confuses us into thinking of as one for a requisite number of years. We should not be surprised by marriages between people who would never have been friends
Alain de Botton (The Consolations of Philosophy)
Song of the South was not a malicious attempt to reinforce the foolish stereotype of the inferiority of the black race, but rather an attempt to show that children of all races and different social statuses could play together as friends, learn important moral lessons from stories, and survive times of trouble by finding a place to laugh.
Jim Korkis (Who's Afraid of the Song of the South)
She was never malicious, but she was careless. Kate is the sort of person who is always forgetting where they put their drink down at a party and wandering off to get another, so that by the end of the night they’ve left a trail of half-empty glasses in their wake, and don’t even notice the wastage. I wondered if she misplaced friends as easily.
Kylie Ladd (After the Fall)
There are some people who fall short in the being thoughtful department. They aren't being malicious but they certainly tap dance on people's last nerves with their shenanigans. These are the people who are perpetually late, take advantage of their friends in various ways, and children. We know them and we love them and we keep them in our lives but we sometimes wish that they would get their shit together.
Luvvie Ajayi Jones (I'm Judging You: The Do-Better Manual)
To sum up then, if you wish to be rich, you must grow a carapace. A mental armor. Not so thick as to blind you to well-constructed criticism and advice, especially from those you trust. Nor so thick as to cut you off from friends and family. But thick enough to shrug off the inevitable sniggering and malicious mockery that will follow your inevitable failures, not to mention the poorly hidden envy that will accompany your eventual success. Few things in life are certain except death and being taxed. But sniggering and mockery prior to any attempt to better yourself financially, followed by envy later, or gloating during your initial failures—these are three certainties in life. It hurts. It’s mindless. And it doesn’t mean anything. But it will happen. Be prepared to shrug it off. The Germans have a superb word
Felix Dennis (How to Get Rich: One of the World's Greatest Entrepreneurs Shares His Secrets)
Once Fufi saw Panther she came right away. The dogs left with us and we walked. I sobbed the whole way home, still heartbroken. My mom had no time for my whining. “Why are you crying?!” “Because Fufi loves another boy.” “So? Why would that hurt you? It didn’t cost you anything. Fufi’s here. She still loves you. She’s still your dog. So get over it.” Fufi was my first heartbreak. No one has ever betrayed me more than Fufi. It was a valuable lesson to me. The hard thing was understanding that Fufi wasn’t cheating on me with another boy. She was merely living her life to the fullest. Until I knew that she was going out on her own during the day, her other relationship hadn’t affected me at all. Fufi had no malicious intent. I believed that Fufi was my dog, but of course that wasn’t true. Fufi was a dog. I was a boy. We got along well. She happened to live in my house. That experience shaped what I’ve felt about relationships for the rest of my life: You do not own the thing that you love. I was lucky to learn that lesson at such a young age. I have so many friends who still, as adults, wrestle with feelings of betrayal. They’ll come to me angry and crying and talking about how they’ve been cheated on and lied to, and I feel for them. I understand what they’re going through. I sit with them and buy them a drink and I say, “Friend, let me tell you the story of Fufi.
Trevor Noah (Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (One World Essentials))
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Opportunists Opportunists are malicious people who reach their targets by stepping over others instead of seeking their support. They “do whatever it takes” to seize opportunity. “They find pleasure at the misfortune of others”-Schadenfreude. Even though succeeding May give them a sense of accomplishment, but their twisted ways will make them live in fear of being exposed one day. As my best friend told me a while ago: “ every person the opportunists step on will be a stone that makes them climb to the top. But in the end, once they reach the top of the mountain, they will look around and find no one next to them.
Nadine Sadaka Boulos
Of all the traits I find important in those with whom I surround myself, the one that matters most to me is the value of that person’s word. Without that, there is no trust. Without trust, there is no chance at any true relationship. People who know me and see that I am friends with Jarlaxle might wonder about this, but the truth of Jarlaxle is that he has honor, that he would not coerce or lie or cheat on any matter of importance. He is a game player, and will bend the rules to his advantage more often than not, but he is not a malicious person and wouldn’t lie to his friends if he knew it would cause harm. Take his effect on Artemis Entreri: It cannot be understated.
R.A. Salvatore (Lolth's Warrior (The Way of the Drow, #3; The Legend of Drizzt, #39))
Tomorrow his friends would gather at Josie's for coffee and doughnuts, and in his absence they would talk of [her] in the same way they had talked of that postal worker in the gorilla suit or the fellow who killed all those children. They would not do so maliciously, but because they had thought her curious and now found her death somehow threatening. After all, she had died here, in Hopewell––not in some other town in some other state. She had died here, where they lived, and she was someone they knew. Yes, she was odd, and it wasn't really any surprise that she had died of a heart attack blasting away at shadows with a shotgun, because [she] had done stranger things. But in the back of their minds was the conviction that she really wasn't so different than they were, and that if it could happen to her, it could happen to them. Truth was, you shared an uneasy sense of kinship with even the most unfortunate, disaffected souls; you felt you had known at least a few of them during your life. You had been children together, with children's hopes and dreams. The dark future that had claimed those few was never more than an arm's length away from everyone else. You knew that. You knew that a single misfortune could change your life forever, that you were vulnerable, and to protect yourself you wanted to know everything you could about why it had touched another and passed you by.


Terry Brooks (Running with the Demon (Word & Void, #1))
I am generous because I've been poor, cautious because I've been naive,
 strong because I've been afraid,
 clever because I've been foolish,
 mighty because I've been weak, kind because I’ve been downtrodden, cheerful because I’ve been miserable, patient because I’ve been reckless, modest because I’ve been humbled, calm because I’ve been confused, friendly because I’ve been ostracized, noble because I’ve been dishonoured, loyal because I’ve been betrayed, confident because I’ve been nervous, pleasant because I’ve been malicious, chaste because I’ve been depraved, principled because I’ve been unethical, just because I’ve been persecuted, and tolerant because I’ve been discriminated against.
Matshona Dhliwayo
I am generous because I've been poor,
cautious because I've been naive,
 strong because I've been afraid,
 clever because I've been foolish,
 mighty because I've been weak, kind because I’ve been downtrodden, cheerful because I’ve been miserable, patient because I’ve been reckless, modest because I’ve been humbled, calm because I’ve been confused, friendly because I’ve been ostracized, noble because I’ve been dishonoured, loyal because I’ve been betrayed, confident because I’ve been nervous, pleasant because I’ve been malicious, chaste because I’ve been depraved, principled because I’ve been unethical, just because I’ve been persecuted, and tolerant because I’ve been discriminated against.
Matshona Dhliwayo
I am generous because I've been poor,
 cautious because I've been naive,
 strong because I've been afraid,
 clever because I've been foolish,
 mighty because I've been weak, kind because I’ve been downtrodden, cheerful because I’ve been miserable, patient because I’ve been reckless, modest because I’ve been humbled, calm because I’ve been confused, friendly because I’ve been ostracized, noble because I’ve been dishonoured, loyal because I’ve been betrayed, confident because I’ve been nervous, pleasant because I’ve been malicious, chaste because I’ve been depraved, principled because I’ve been unethical, just because I’ve been persecuted, and tolerant because I’ve been discriminated against.
Matshona Dhliwayo
Sometimes his smiles were scary, and sometimes they were friendly, but they never meant what you thought they did. They played chess every evening after that, at the lion-paw table, sitting on the ratty velvet chairs. She didn’t know for how many days. Two weeks at least. The train went on without stopping. Soon spring would be turning to summer back in Evansburg. The chess set was nice. Heavy pieces, of black and white stone. He was better at chess than she was, but he’d spot her a knight or a bishop. Then they were pretty even. He liked to play chess. Genuinely liked it, Ollie thought. He liked games, and he liked figuring out people’s weaknesses. Sometimes she wondered—and this was a strange thought—if he didn’t have anyone else to play with. Sometimes he joked, in a dry, malicious sort of way. Sometimes she even laughed. He knew strange stories. She wondered which ones were true. The train chugged on, endlessly.
Katherine Arden (Empty Smiles (Small Spaces, #4))
I like to say the idea of Phantasma came to me all at once, hitting me like a ton of bricks one cloudy afternoon in November 2021, but truly, my experience with obsessive-compulsive disorder has been building to this story for a very long time. During the process of brainstorming the sort of adult romance I wanted to debut with, I was going through a period where my obsessive-compulsive tendencies were flaring up more than usual and the voices in my head were getting a little too bold. To my friends, these compulsions were alarming little anecdotes over lunch—‘that sounds like a horror movie’ one of them said (affectionately)—which is funny because, to me, someone who has lived with OCD my entire life, it was just another day of being unfazed by the increasingly creative scenarios my mind likes to conjure. OCD has such a wide range of symptoms that it makes every person’s experience with it different. Unfortunately, it has also become a commonly misused term conflated with the idea of being overly neat and clean, when in reality a lot of people with OCD have much darker symptoms. In my experience this has made explaining the real effects of OCD very hard as well as making it more difficult for people to regard the condition seriously. It’s so important to me to convey, with the utmost sincerity, that I know people are not doing this to be malicious! Because of the misuse of the term, however, some of the ways this disorder is shown in this book may come off as exaggerated or dramatic—but the details of Ophelia’s OCD are drawn directly from experiences that I, or someone I know who shares my condition, have had first-hand. And it’s still only a fraction of the symptoms we live with daily. Ophelia’s story is a love letter to my journey of getting comfortable being in my own head (as well as my adoration for Gothic aesthetics and hot ghosts). And while her experience with OCD, my experience with OCD, might look a lot different to someone else’s, I hope that the same message rings clear: struggling with your mental health does not make you unworthy of love. And I hope the people you surround yourself with are the sort of people who know that, too.
Kaylie Smith (Phantasma (Wicked Games, #1))
The Fifth Congress had recessed in July 1798 without declaring war against France, but in the last days before adjourning it did approve other measures championed by Abigail Adams that aided in the undoing of her husband—the Alien and Sedition Acts. Worried about French agents in their midst, the lawmakers passed punitive measures changing the rules for naturalized citizenship and making it legal for the U.S. to round up and detain as “alien enemies” any men over the age of fourteen from an enemy nation after a declaration of war. Abigail heartily approved. But it was the Sedition Act that she especially cheered. It imposed fines and imprisonment for any person who “shall write, print, utter, or publish…any false, scandalous and malicious writing or writings against the government of the United States, or either house of the Congress of the United States, or the President of the United States” with the intent to defame them. Finally! The hated press would be punished. To Abigail’s way of thinking, the law was long overdue. (Of course she was ready to use the press when it served her purposes, regularly sending information to relatives and asking them to get it published in friendly gazettes.) Back in April she had predicted to her sister Mary that the journalists “will provoke measures that will silence them e’er long.” Abigail kept up her drumbeat against newspapers in letter after letter, grumbling, “Nothing will have an effect until Congress pass a Sedition Bill, which I presume they will do before they rise.” Congress could not act fast enough for the First Lady: “I wish the laws of our country were competent to punish the stirrer up of sedition, the writer and printer of base and unfounded calumny.” She accused Congress of “dilly dallying” about the Alien Acts as well. If she had had her way, every newspaperman who criticized her husband would be thrown in jail, so when the Alien and Sedition Acts were passed and signed, Abigail still wasn’t satisfied. Grumping that they “were shaved and pared to almost nothing,” she told John Quincy that “weak as they are” they were still better than nothing. They would prove to be a great deal worse than nothing for John Adams’s political future, but the damage was done. Congress went home. So did Abigail and John Adams.
Cokie Roberts (Ladies of Liberty: The Women Who Shaped Our Nation)
Not everybody can simply wake up one morning, brush his teeth, drink a cup of coffee and kill a god! To murder a deity you need to even stronger than the god as well as infinitely malicious and evil. Whoever murdered Jesus, a warm-hearted deity radiating love, he must have been stronger than he and also shrewd and abominable. Those accursed god-killers were only able to kill god on condition that they really possessed monstrous resources of strength and wickedness. And so that is indeed what the jews possess in the deepest recesses of the Jews-hater's imagination. We are all Judas. Even eighty generations later we are still Judas. But the truth, my young friend, the real truth, we can behold before our very eyes here in the land of Israel: the modern Jew who has sprung up here, just like his ancient predecessor, is neither strong nor malicious, but hedonistic, with an ostentatious of wisdom, boisterous, confused and consumed by suspicions and fear. Yes indeed. Chaim Weizmann once said, in a moment of despair, that there can never be such a thing as a Jewish state, because it contains an inbuilt contradiction: if it is a state it will not be Jewish, and if it is Jewish it will certainly not be a state.
Amos Oz (Judas)
One griever told me that three years after her twenty-eight-year-old daughter died unexpectedly, she was having a bad day and found herself quite depressed and sad. She called a friend hoping to find a sympathetic ear but instead was assaulted by the friend’s exclamation, ‟You mean you’re still grieving over her, after three three years?” The friend’s question was not meant to be malicious. She honestly didn’t understand that to a grieving mother three years is nothing. She was sadly ignorant that major loss lasts a lifetime. This woman is not alone in her ignorance. I’ve heard educated people tell me that they thought the average length of the grieving process was two to four weeks. Maybe that was just their wishful thinking. We’re an immediate-gratification society that values quick fixes, a generation raised on microwaves and fast foods. We prefer our solutions and emotions conveniently packaged for the swiftest consumption. So we expect grief to be a quick and easy process with no bitter aftertaste. But how can we expect to love someone, lose someone—and not be changed irrevocably? How can we realistically expect this to be a speedy process? Yet time and again grievers tell me they are being asked, “When will you be your old self again?” or “It’s been three months already, shouldn’t you be over this by now?” Perhaps you’ve heard comments like this too, and chances are that as a result, you feel quite confused and isolated in your grief. Maybe you’ve been asking yourself the same questions.
Ashley Davis Bush (Transcending Loss)
Teddy actually cries, he misses her so bad, and eventually he convinces her that she”—here Sadie makes quote marks with her fingers—“‘owes’ him the chance to explain.” “And she agrees to meet?” I ask, mostly because I worry I’ve been silent too long. “Yes.” “This,” I say. “This is the part I never get.” Sadie leans forward and tilts her head to the side. “That’s because while you’re trying, Win, you’re still too male to get it. Women have been conditioned to please. We are responsible not just for ourselves but everyone in our orbit. We think it is our job to comfort the man. We think we can make things better by sacrificing a bit of ourselves. But you’re also right to ask. It’s the first thing I tell my clients: If you’re ready to end it, end it. Make a clean break and don’t look back. You don’t owe him anything.” “Did Sharyn go back to him?” I ask. “For a little while. Don’t shake your head like that, Win. Just listen, okay? That’s what these psychos do. They manipulate and gaslight. They make you feel guilty, like it’s your fault. They sucker you back in.” I still don’t get it, but that’s not important, is it? “Anyway, it didn’t last. Sharyn saw the light fast. She ended it again. She stopped replying to his calls and texts. And that’s when Teddy upped his assholery to the fully psychotic. Unbeknownst to her, he bugged her apartment. He put keyloggers on her computers. Teddy has a tracker on her phone. Then he starts texting her anonymous threats. He stole all her contacts, so he floods mailboxes with malicious lies about her—to her friends, her family. He writes emails and pretends he’s Sharyn and he trashes her professors and friends. On one occasion, he contacts Sharyn’s best friend’s fiancé—as Sharyn—and
Harlan Coben (Win (Windsor Horne Lockwood III, #1))
Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn. When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights ‘gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea’s landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe! Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God- so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, The Whale)
She had been unable to stand the people at the inn. The company had disgusted her. For an instant, but that instant was now long gone, she had thought of returning to her home, to Persia. Or to Greece, where she had friends, but she had dropped the idea again. From me she had expected salvation, but I too had disappointed her. I was, much as she was, a lost and ultimately ruinous person, even though I did not admit that to her, she could feel it, she knew it. No salvation could come from such a person. On the contrary, such a person only pushed one even deeper into despair and hopelessness. Schumann, Schopenhauer, these were the two words she said after a prolonged silence and I had the impression that she was smiling as she said them, and then nothing again for a long time. She had had everything, heard and seen everything, that was enough. She did not wish to hear from anyone any more. People were utterly distasteful to her, the whole of human society had profoundly disappointed her and abandoned her in her disappointment. There would have been no point in saying anything, and so I just listened and said nothing. I had, she said, on our second walk in the larch-wood, been the first person to explain to her the concept of anarchy in such a clear and decisive manner. Anarchy she said and no more, after that she was again silent. An anarchist, I had said to her in the larch-wood, was only a person who practised anarchy, she now reminded me. Everything in an intellectual mind is anarchy, she said, repeating another of my quotations. Society, no matter what society, must always be turned upside down and abolished, she said, and what she said were again my words. Everything that is is a lot more terrible and horrible than described by you, she said. You were right, she said, these people here are malicious and violent and this country is a dangerous and an inhuman country. You are lost, she said, just as I am lost. You may escape to wherever you choose. Your science is an absurd science, as is every science. Can you hear yourself? she asked. All these things you yourself said. Schumann and Schopenhauer, they no longer give you anything, you have got to admit it. Whatever you have done in your life, which you are always so fond of describing as existence, you have, naturally enough, failed. You are an absurd person. I listened to her for a while, then I could bear it no longer and took my leave.
Thomas Bernhard
When you have an honest heart, you do not get engaged nor get involved with any smear campaigns nor black propaganda! When you have an honest heart, you do not malign nor take advantage of generous people who helped and trusted you! When you have an honest heart, you do not shit on people whom you used and abused for three years! Do not fall into a political naïvety and become a victim or a doormat nor have your generosity and honest heart be used and abused by unscrupulous political movers, abusive, aggressive political harridans who scam gullible generous hearts by asking donations, funds, services, foods, urgent favours, and after using you and abusing your generosity, trust, and kindness; whereby these unscrupulous and deceptive political movers, abusive, aggressive political harridans intentionally and maliciously create forged screenshots of evidence convincing their audience or political groups that you are a mentally ill person, a brain-damaged person as they even brand you as "Sisang Baliw," or crazy Sisa, a threat, a risk, a danger, they maliciously and destructively red-tag your friends as communists, and they resort to calumny, libel and slander against you, to shame you, defame you, discredit you, blame you, hurt you, make you suffer for having known the truth of their deceptive global Operandi, and for something you didn’t do through their mob lynching, calumny, polemics mongering, forgery, and cyberbullying efforts. Their character assassination through libel and slander aims to ruin your integrity, persona, trustworthiness, and credibility with their destructive fabricated calumny, lies, identity theft, forged screenshots of polemics mongering, and framing up. Amidst all their forgery, fraud, libel and slander they committed: you have a right to defy and stop their habitual abuse without breaking the law and fight for your rights against any forms of aggression, public lynching, bullies, threats, blackmail, and their repetitive maltreatment or abuse, identity theft, forgery, deceptions fraud, scams, cyber libel, libel, and slander. When you defend human rights, you fight against corruption and injustice, help end impunity: be sure that you are not part of any misinformation, disinformation, smear campaigns and black propaganda. Do not serve, finance, or cater directly or indirectly for those dirty politicians. Those who are engaged in abusively dishonest ways do not serve to justify their end. Deceiving and scamming other people shall always be your lifetime self-inflicted karmic loss. Be a law-abiding citizen. Be respectful. Be honest. Be factual. Be truthful. You can be an effective human rights defender when you have clean and pure intentions, lawful and morally upright, and have an honest heart." ~ Angelica Hopes, an excerpt from Calunniatopia Book 1, Stronzata Trilogy Genre: inspirational, political, literary novel © 2021 Ana Angelica Abaya van Doorn
Angelica Hopes
THIS IS MY ABC BOOK of people God loves. We’ll start with . . .           A: God loves Adorable people. God loves those who are Affable and Affectionate. God loves Ambulance drivers, Artists, Accordion players, Astronauts, Airplane pilots, and Acrobats. God loves African Americans, the Amish, Anglicans, and Animal husbandry workers. God loves Animal-rights Activists, Astrologers, Adulterers, Addicts, Atheists, and Abortionists.           B: God loves Babies. God loves Bible readers. God loves Baptists and Barbershop quartets . . . Boys and Boy Band members . . . Blondes, Brunettes, and old ladies with Blue hair. He loves the Bedraggled, the Beat up, and the Burnt out . . . the Bullied and the Bullies . . . people who are Brave, Busy, Bossy, Bitter, Boastful, Bored, and Boorish. God loves all the Blue men in the Blue Man Group.           C: God loves Crystal meth junkies,           D: Drag queens,           E: and Elvis impersonators.           F: God loves the Faithful and the Faithless, the Fearful and the Fearless. He loves people from Fiji, Finland, and France; people who Fight for Freedom, their Friends, and their right to party; and God loves people who sound like Fat Albert . . . “Hey, hey, hey!”           G: God loves Greedy Guatemalan Gynecologists.           H: God loves Homosexuals, and people who are Homophobic, and all the Homo sapiens in between.           I: God loves IRS auditors.           J: God loves late-night talk-show hosts named Jimmy (Fallon or Kimmel), people who eat Jim sausages (Dean or Slim), people who love Jams (hip-hop or strawberry), singers named Justin (Timberlake or Bieber), and people who aren’t ready for this Jelly (Beyoncé’s or grape).           K: God loves Khloe Kardashian, Kourtney Kardashian, Kim Kardashian, and Kanye Kardashian. (Please don’t tell him I said that.)           L: God loves people in Laos and people who are feeling Lousy. God loves people who are Ludicrous, and God loves Ludacris. God loves Ladies, and God loves Lady Gaga.           M: God loves Ministers, Missionaries, and Meter maids; people who are Malicious, Meticulous, Mischievous, and Mysterious; people who collect Marbles and people who have lost their Marbles . . . and Miley Cyrus.           N: God loves Ninjas, Nudists, and Nose pickers,           O: Obstetricians, Orthodontists, Optometrists, Ophthalmologists, and Overweight Obituary writers,           P: Pimps, Pornographers, and Pedophiles,           Q: the Queen of England, the members of the band Queen, and Queen Latifah.           R: God loves the people of Rwanda and the Rebels who committed genocide against them.           S: God loves Strippers in Stilettos working on the Strip in Sin City;           T: it’s not unusual that God loves Tom Jones.           U: God loves people from the United States, the United Kingdom, and the United Arab Emirates; Ukrainians and Uruguayans, the Unemployed and Unemployment inspectors; blind baseball Umpires and shady Used-car salesmen. God loves Ushers, and God loves Usher.           V: God loves Vegetarians in Virginia Beach, Vegans in Vietnam, and people who eat lots of Vanilla bean ice cream in Las Vegas.           W: The great I AM loves will.i.am. He loves Waitresses who work at Waffle Houses, Weirdos who have gotten lots of Wet Willies, and Weight Watchers who hide Whatchamacallits in their Windbreakers.           X: God loves X-ray technicians.           Y: God loves You.           Z: God loves Zoologists who are preparing for the Zombie apocalypse. God . . . is for the rest of us. And we have the responsibility, the honor, of letting the world know that God is for them, and he’s inviting them into a life-changing relationship with him. So let ’em know.
Vince Antonucci (God for the Rest of Us: Experience Unbelievable Love, Unlimited Hope, and Uncommon Grace)
The Second World War has swept over Europe. The Führer is dead. The Greater German Reich has been smashed. German cities lie in ruins. The German folk has been surrendered to the interest slavery of its enemy. As in the First, so in the Second World War, too, English, American and Russian soldiers have been the executors. But who is the real victor of this war? Is it the folks from whom those soldiers had come? The takeover of the government by the Führer in 1933 was for World Jewry the signal to attack. The World Jewish press agitated for the global boycott against Germany. Germany’s reply was the 24 hour boycott of Jewish businesses on April 1, 1933. No Jew lost his life in the process, and no Jewish business building was damaged. The counter-boycott, ordered by the party leadership and carried out under my leadership, was supposed to warn World Jewry against challenging National Socialist Germany. Since that time, malicious attacks against National Socialist Germany have appeared in the world press again and again. It was unmistakable that with that propaganda in the world, carried out without interruption, the view was supposed to be bred that the existence of a National Socialist Germany meant a danger for the other folks. The Jewish writer Emil Ludwig, who emigrated to France, spoke especially clearly about Jewish wishes and intentions in the magazine „Les Annales”: „Hitler does not want war, but he will be forced to it.” The Polish ambassador in the USA, Count Potocky, wrote at a time when in Europe nobody thought a Second World War would come or must come, to his government in Warsaw that he had gained the impression that influential Jews in Washington would work toward a new world war. (See the German White Book.) The report of the Polish Ambassador Potocky, whom nobody can reproach with bias against World Jewry and who also was no friend of National Socialist Germany, would alone suffice to be able to thoroughly answer the question of war guilt. The guilt for the Second World War, too, was born at the moment when god Jehovah, through the mouth of Field Marshal Moses, gave the Jewish folk the instructions: „You should devour all the folks!” With the defeat of National Socialist Germany in the Second World War, World Jewry has won the greatest victory in its history.
Julius Streicher (Julius Streicher's Political Testament: My Affirmation)
She thinks, The boy has issues. He’s no longer a surly, grumpy, malicious adolescent, rude to his elders, “fat, and scant of breath.” Now he’s a surly, grumpy, malicious adult, rude to his elders, “fat, and scant of breath.” As a mother she finds this hard to admit, but she thinks her son is not quite right in the head. As a boy he played with imaginary friends; now he sees ghosts and dreams of dark plots and weird conspiracies.
Alberto Manguel (迷人怪物)
Your social life is a homeostatic entity that desires to keep everyone on the same level, usually subconsciously. As you start to grow your wealth or your level of success, your friends will naturally feel the pull of homeostasis and, with no maliciousness intended, attempt to pull you back to their level. They won’t understand your newfound passion. However, if you instead hang around with five people far more successful than you, their homeostatic tendencies will kick in, and
Brandon Turner (The Book on Rental Property Investing: How to Create Wealth With Intelligent Buy and Hold Real Estate Investing (BiggerPockets Rental Kit 2))
When my prayers returned to me unanswered, I went about mourning as though for my friend or brother. I bowed my head in grief as though weeping for my mother. But when I stumbled, they gathered in glee; assailants gathered against me without my knowledge. They slandered me without ceasing. Like the ungodly they maliciously mocked;2 they gnashed their teeth at me. How long, Lord, will you look on? Rescue me from their ravages, my precious life from these lions. I will give you thanks in the great assembly; among the throngs I will praise you. Do not let those gloat over me who are my enemies without cause; do not let those who hate me without reason maliciously wink the eye. They do not speak peaceably, but devise false accusations against those who live quietly in the land. They sneer at me and say, “Aha! Aha! With our own eyes we have seen it.” LORD, you have seen this; do not be silent. Do not be far from me, Lord. Awake, and rise to my defense! Contend for me, my God and Lord. Vindicate me in your righteousness, LORD my God; do not let them gloat over me. Do not let them think, “Aha, just what we wanted!” or say, “We have swallowed him up.
F. LaGard Smith (The Daily Bible® - In Chronological Order (NIV®))
In the fourteenth-century romance Perceforest,6 we find the sprite Zephyr, who introduces himself as a sort of demon: “I am one of the angels that stumbled with Lucifer,” a kind of fallen angel with a fairly high rank in the hierarchy of spirits. He possesses a body and the gift of metamorphosis. We generally encounter him in the guise of an old man wearing a robe of black homespun fabric, but when sporting with humans he also assumes the shape of a donkey, a stag, or a bear, as well as that of a beautiful young girl who, once embraced, turns into a horrible old crone. He also has the power to transport himself wherever he wishes to be. He is malicious, teasing, affectionate, and cheerful, and the tricks he plays are not wickedly intended. Zephyr never loses sight of his friends’ interests. He helps them, transports them, frees them, and is generous with his offers of excellent advice. Two words characterize his nature: transformation and pranks.
Claude Lecouteux (The Hidden History of Elves and Dwarfs: Avatars of Invisible Realms)
There is a saying amongst my people that reflects this. Within every heart lives two dragons, a dragon of Hope and a dragon of Hate, both mighty and powerful in equal measure. They war constantly, always struggling for dominance to be the rightful ruler of your heart. You feed them with your actions. All that drives us in life is fuelled by either hope or hate. Hate is the dark mirror of hope, empowering our hearts with the same fire and energy but striving for different ends. Hate drives us to bring those above us to ruin, while hope exalts us to raise ourselves up beyond where we are. We want to better ourselves, or drag down someone else so we are on top. The destruction of the gnomes had taken with it the dragon of our hate, but hope could not flare up to take its place; hope was already dead within us. We were soulless, cast adrift and ready to settle down to wait for death. I remember these times as being some of the hardest of them all, not because of pain, or suffering, or loss…but because I no longer felt anything at all. Both dragons lay dead, and my heart was a barren wasteland cloaked in winter. While this wounded me greatly, it was better than the alternative. I said many things, did many things, that I regret in this time of my life, but I always feel the slightest bit of pride that at that moment, right when I had nothing, I didn’t feed Hate and nurse it back to health. Most manage to find an equilibrium in their hearts between Hate and Hope, controlling the former while encouraging the latter, and for most, this is a happy and content existence. Some find that Hope’s strength overpowers Hate easily, and that they are able to do noble things effortlessly and naturally simply by following their intrinsic sense of righteousness. However, some embrace that hateful dragon within them, that boiling black pit of rage that simmers and bubbles out of sight, ushering them into darkness and wickedness too numerous to count. They embrace this powerful ally and use it to great effect. Sometimes my surface friends wonder why anyone would do this, would willingly plunge themselves into shadow and wrath. Even humans, that most flexible and different of species, almost universally espouse the idea that good is preferable to evil, and that it is better to be noble than to be malicious, even when they do not believe it. Why would anyone listen to that whisper from Hate, the dark voice urging them to abandon Hope and to
Terah Edun (EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy)
Whoever came up with the idea that "nice guys finish last" must have been either very jaded or downright malicious. Why would a caring, emotionally healthy human being ever think that being “un-nice” is a virtue? Anyone who wants to get ahead in life and have quality outcomes needs to understand that kindness is a strength. You will move forward faster by making friends rather than foes.
Susan C. Young (The Art of Action: 8 Ways to Initiate & Activate Forward Momentum for Positive Impact (The Art of First Impressions for Positive Impact, #4))
Who are you,” Yeshua asked? “Son of God, is Your memory so short You do not remember me?” Mary paced back and forth seeking to find a weakness she could exploit; Yeshua answered flatly, “Lust.” “Yes! You remembered me!” Mary danced around laughing maliciously, “Yes, and I have brought friends.” “In the name of the Living God name yourselves!” In their own voice each answered in kind: “Lust”, “Confusion”, “Deception”, “Derision”, “Rage”, “Malice”, and “Malfeasance”. “I command you, be cast out into the ethereal and trouble her no more!” At Yeshua’s command the demonions threw Mary down at His feet, she convulsed and screamed in horrific agony, then lay as still as death. Yeshua knelt down lifting her head and placing it on His knees. “Mary?” Her eyes fluttered and opened staring up into His eyes.
J. Michael Morgan (Yeshua Cup: The Melchizedek Journals)
The names of your informers, what backstabbing campaigns you’re embarking on, where you store your guns, your drugs, your money, the location of your hideout, the interchangeable lists of your friends and enemies, your contacts, the fences, your escape plans—all things you need to keep to yourself, and you will reveal every one if you are in love. Love is the Ultimate Informer because of the conviction it inspires that your love is eternal and immutable—you can no more imagine the end of your love than you can imagine the end of your own head. And because love is nothing without intimacy, and intimacy is nothing without sharing, and sharing is nothing without honesty, you must inevitably spill the beans, every last bean, because dishonesty in intimacy is unworkable and will slowly poison your precious love. When it ends—and it will end (even the most risk-embracing gambler wouldn’t touch those odds)—he or she, the love object, has your secrets. And can use them. And if the relationship ends acrimoniously, he or she will use them, viciously and maliciously—will use them against you. Furthermore, it is highly probable that the secrets you reveal when your soul has all its clothes off will be the cause of the end of love. Your intimate revelations will be the flame that lights the fuse that ignites the dynamite that blows your love to kingdom come. No, you say. She understands my violent ways. She understands that the end justifies the means. Think about this. Being in love is a process of idealization. Now ask yourself, how long can a woman be expected to idealize a man who held his foot on the head of a drowning man? Not too long, believe me. And cold nights in front of the fire, when you get up and slice off another piece of cheese, you don’t think she’s dwelling on that moment of unflinching honesty when you revealed sawing off the feet of your enemy? Well, she is. If a man could be counted on to dispose of his partner the moment the relationship is over, this chapter wouldn’t be necessary. But he can’t be counted on for that. Hope of reconciliation keeps many an ex alive who should be at the bottom of a deep gorge. So, lawbreakers, whoever you are, you need to keep your secrets for your survival, to keep your enemies at bay and your body out of the justice system. Sadly—and this is the lonely responsibility we all have to accept—the only way to do this is to stay single. If you need sexual relief, go to a hooker. If you need an intimate embrace, go to your mother. If you need a bed warmer during cold winter months, get a dog that is not a Chihuahua or a Pekingese. But know this: to give up your secrets is to give up your security, your freedom, your life. The truth will kill your love, then it will kill you. It’s rotten, I know. But so is the sound of the judge’s gavel pounding a mahogany desk.
Steve Toltz (A Fraction of the Whole)
Heavy Issues (Bowen #2) : chap 9 Chapter Nine Christy paid for her soda and looked around. Tonight was a low-key event, no fund-raising dinner or dance, just good old outdoor-movie night. And thank God for it. Alden was a small town, but boy these people knew how to party. The whole park was packed, but she soon found Sophie at the far end and walked toward her, dropping onto a wooden chair the second she reached her, tired after a long day. She hadn’t had time to properly sit when Rose and her entourage approached them, the beautiful blonde glancing around and then focusing on Christy, disdain oozing from her. “Where did you leave Cole? Or has he gotten tired of you already?” Sophie snorted. “Wouldn’t you wish that.” “He’s filling in for Mike down at the gym—karate lesson. I’m very surprised you aren’t there drooling.” “We weren’t drooling,” Rose retorted. Ah, so they’d been there. What a surprise. “I still can’t believe he’s dating you. Did he lose a bet or something?” she asked, looking toward her friends. Bitch. Christy shrugged and offered her a sweet smile. “What do you want me to say? I just want to fuck the man, but he insists on dating me. Go figure that one.” Rose’s malicious eyes narrowed on her. “Enjoy it while it lasts. You can’t hold on to a man like that. You don’t have what it takes.” And with that parting shot Rose strode away, all long legs and swinging hips. “‘You don’t have what it takes,’” Sophie repeated, mocking Rose’s tone. “And what’s that, Botox and a bad case of sluttiness?
Elle Aycart (Heavy Issues (Bowen Boys, #2))
withal vain-glorious, proud and inconstant. He whose arms are very short in respect to the stature of his body, is thereby signified to be a man of high and gallant spirit, of a graceful temper, bold and warlike. He whose arms are full of bones, sinews and flesh, is a great desirer of novelties and beauties, and one that is very credulous and apt to believe anything. He whose arms are very hairy, whether they be lean or fat, is for the most part a luxurious person, weak in body and mind, very suspicious and malicious withal. He whose arms have no hair on them at all, is of a weak judgment, very angry, vain, wanton, credulous, easily deceived himself, yet a great deceiver of others, no fighter, and very apt to betray his dearest friends. CHAPTER IV Of Palmistry, showing the various Judgments drawn from the Hand. Being engaged in this fourth part to show what judgment may be drawn, according to physiognomy, from the several parts of the body, and coming in order to speak of the hands, it has put me under the necessity of saying something about palmistry, which is a judgment made of the conditions, inclinations, and fortunes of men and women, from the various lines and characters nature has imprinted in their hands, which are almost as serious as the hands that have them. The reader should remember that one of the lines of the hand, and which indeed is reckoned the principal, is called the line of life; this line encloses the thumb, separating it from the hollow of the hand. The next to it, which is called the natural line, takes its
Pseudo-Aristotle (The Works of Aristotle the Famous Philosopher Containing his Complete Masterpiece and Family Physician; his Experienced Midwife, his Book of Problems and his Remarks on Physiognomy)
Seek to heal others and yourself. Do not act maliciously toward anyone. Forgive and build bridges of peaceful relations. Even your enemy can become your friend
Levon Peter Poe
And by his side rode loathsome Gluttony, Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne, His belly was vp-blowne with luxury, And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne, And like a Crane his necke was long and fyne, With which he swallowd vp excessiue feast; For want whereof poore people oft did pyne; And all the way, most like a brutish beast, He spued vp his gorge, that all did him deteast. In greene vine leaues he was right fitly clad; For other clothes he could not weare for heat, And on his head an yuie girland had, From vnder which fast trickled downe the sweat: Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat, And in his hand did beare a bouzing can, “Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat His dronken corse he scarse vpholden can, In shape and life more like a monster, then a man. Vnfit he was for any worldly thing, And eke vnhable once to stirre or go, Not meet to be of counsell to a king, Whose mind in meat and drinke was drowned so, That from his friend he seldome knew his fo: Full of diseases was his carcas blew, And a dry dropsie through his flesh did flow And next to him rode lustfull Lechery, Vpon a bearded Goat, whose rugged haire, And whally eyes (the signe of gelosy,) Was like the person selfe, whom he did beare: Who rough, and blacke, and filthy did appeare, Vnseemely man to please faire Ladies eye; Yet he of Ladies oft was loued deare, When fairer faces were bid standen by: O who does know the bent of womens fantasy? In a greene gowne he clothed was full faire, Which vnderneath did hide his filthinesse, And in his hand a burning hart he bare, Full of vaine follies, and new fanglenesse: For he was false, and fraught with ficklenesse, And learned had to loue with secret lookes, And well could daunce, and sing with ruefulnesse, And fortunes tell, and read in louing bookes, And thousand other wayes, to bait his fleshly hookes. And greedy Auarice by him did ride, Vpon a Camell loaden all with gold; Two iron coffers hong on either side, With precious mettall full, as they might hold, And in his lap an heape of coine he told; For of his wicked pelfe his God he made, And vnto hell him selfe for money sold; Accursed vsurie was all his trade, And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce waide. His life was nigh vnto deaths doore yplast, And tired-bare cote, and cobled shoes he ware, Ne scarse good morsell all his life did tast, But both from backe and belly still did spare, To fill his bags, and richesse to compare; Yet chylde ne kinsman liuing had he none To leaue them to; but thorough daily care To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne, He led a wretched life vnto himselfe vnknowne. And next to him malicious Enuie rode, Vpon a rauenous wolfe, and still did chaw Betweene his cankred teeth a venemous tode, That all the poison ran about his chaw; But inwardly he chawed his owne maw At neighbours wealth, that made him euer sad For death it was, when any good he saw, And wept, that cause of weeping none he had But when he heard of harme, he wexed wondrous glad. And him beside rides fierce reuenging Wrath, Vpon a Lion, loth for to be led; And in his hand a burning brond he hath, The which he brandisheth about his hed; His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red, And stared sterne on all, that him beheld, As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded; And on his dagger still his hand he held, Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him sweld.
Edmund Spenser (The Faerie Queene)
But every time I got hurt, my mom would start screaming. Not for me, but at me. I couldn’t understand it. When my friends got hurt, their mothers scooped them up and told them it was going to be okay, or they went straight to the doctor. White people were always going to the doctor. But when I got hurt, my mom was livid, as if I had maliciously damaged her property.
Michelle Zauner (Crying in H Mart)
The Wizard, the Giant, and the Magic Fruit Trees: A Happy Ending When we last visited our hero the wizard, he was in sad shape. Vandals and thieves had wrecked his magic fruit trees, and so he conjured up a lava moat to surround the enchanted orchard and keep the intruders away. Unfortunately, the lava moat also kept out the good villagers who came to the orchard to pick fruit (and, not coincidentally, to buy potions from the wizard). To solve this problem, the wizard invited his friend the giant to live in the orchard. The giant was tall enough and strong enough to jump over the lava moat, so whenever one of the villagers wanted a piece of fruit, he could simply shout his request to the giant and the giant would fetch the fruit for him. This would have been a perfect solution and a happy ending to the story, except for the fact that while the giant was indeed very tall and very strong, he wasn’t particularly smart! The giant followed the wizard’s instructions to the letter—which were simply to serve the villagers’ requests—so when a sneaky young man came up to the giant and asked him to fetch the wizard’s collection of magic scrolls, the giant happily complied and unwittingly gave up all of the wizard’s precious secrets. The wizard—correctly realizing that the fault was his own, not the giant’s—sat the giant down and set down some better rules for him to follow. “Never trust the villagers,” the wizard said, and explained that the giant should only serve villagers’ requests for fruit. The wizard didn’t bother to list out all the things the giant shouldn’t serve, like scrolls or crystal balls or wands; he knew that if he tried to list out forbidden objects, he would inevitably forget one. No, the better approach was simply to state what was allowed and not what was forbidden. Furthermore, since the giant had no legitimate need to ever go up into the wizard’s tower, the wizard cast another spell that prevented the giant from entering there. That way, should an even sneakier villager try to break the rules again (“Fetch me the fruit that’s sitting on the wizard’s desk”), the giant would be unable to comply. With these new rules in place, the giant did a much better job of preventing troublemakers from stealing the wizard’s secrets; the villagers got their fruit faster since the giant wasn’t off running malicious errands to the tower; and the wizard slept better at night and sold more potions. And they all lived happily ever after.
Bryan Sullivan (Web Application Security, A Beginner's Guide)
I maintain that if a trickster pranks her way into your life, it’s time to pay attention. They are the definition of duality. Both heroic and villainous, foolish and wise, benign and malicious. Both lovable and hateful. Friendly and fearsome. Both light and dark. If you find yourself drawn to or repulsed by a mischievous trickster or a clown, a rule breaker or magician, it’s a clear sign you need to explore the hidden—the buried—parts of your own nature, because the trickster is trying to poke a stick at your pretensions, your worldviews, your illusions, your false beliefs, your rigid ‘rules.’ In the trickster’s playful provocation, there always lies a hidden message.
Loreth Anne White (The Maid's Diary)
They used my name and permit to grow the weed and earn money to repay their debts and compensate their investors. To keep my girlfriend. To take her. I am uncertain if any of them have ever spent a minute in jail for any of these activities. Adam proudly showcases his new motorcycles on Instagram, posing on a hill above Barcelona. He also displays his brand new electric camper van, which they use to travel and transport drugs across Europe and Iberia, as well as his gigantic marijuana cultivation located in Portugal. People like Ruan and Martina admire his public images. I came across a picture of Ruan and Martina together in Berlin, where their mother Fernanda visited them. Martina became member of the Evil Eye Cult, and the custom made mafia group in Spain, which used her as a pawn in their porn and drug-related activities. She now operates as their representative in Berlin. Martina and I have lost the ability to genuinely smile. Her social media posts only show disinterest or a malicious demeanor. ‘A boot stomping on a human face.’ In a picture with her brother and mother, she puts on a forced fake “good vibe” and “happy” smile, revealing her flawless teeth and the subtle lines of aging. With each passing day, she bears a greater resemblance to her rich and so happy mother, the bad person. As far as I know, none of these individuals have faced consequences for their actions, such as having their teeth broken. As I had. Innocently. Taking care of business and their lives. With love. I find this to be incredibly unjust. In the 21st century. In Europe. On planet Earth. By non-EU criminals. “Matando – ganando” – “killing and gaining” like there were no Laws at all. Nowadays, you can observe Sabrina flaunting her fake lips and altered face, just like Martina her enhanced breasts. Guess who was paying for it? It seems that both girls now sustain themselves through their bodies and drug involvement, to this day, influencing criminals to gain friends in harming Tomas and having a lavish lifestyle filled with fun and mischief. Making a living. Enjoying Spain. Enjoying Life. My money. My tears. This is the situation as it stands. I was wondering what Salvador Dali was trying to tell me. I stood in front of the Lincoln portrait for a long time, but I couldn't grasp the point or the moral behind it. I can listen to Abraham Lincoln and ‘trust people. To see. If I can trust them.’ But he ultimately suffered a tragic fate, with his life being taken. (Got his head popped.) I believe there may have also been a female or two involved in that situation, too, possibly leading to his guards being let down. While he was watching: Acting performances, he was facing a: Stage. Theater. It is disheartening, considering he was a good person. Like Jesus, John Lennon and so on. Shows a pattern Machiavelli was talking about. Some individuals are too bright for those in darkness; they feel compelled to suppress those brighter minds simply because they think and act differently. Popping their heads. Reptilian lower brain-based culture, the concept of the Evil Eye, Homo erectus. He couldn't even stand up properly when I was shouting at him, urging him to stand up from the stairs. ‘Homo seditus reptilis.’ But what else was there in the Lincoln image that I didn't see? What was Dali trying to convey or express or tell me? Besides the fact that the woman is in his mind, on his mind, in the image, exactly, his head got popped open. Perhaps because he was focusing on a woman, trusting her for a split second, or turning his head away for a moment.
Tomas Adam Nyapi (BARCELONA MARIJUANA MAFIA)
Tricksters have a key function in life and art. I maintain that if a trickster pranks her way into your life, it’s time to pay attention. They are the definition of duality. Both heroic and villainous, foolish and wise, benign and malicious. Both lovable and hateful. Friendly and fearsome. Both light and dark.
Loreth Anne White (The Maid's Diary)
It was Mr. Darrow's good-bye to his dear friend. He stood up and his loose figure and slyly malicious face wore an unaccustomed seriousness. The audience waited, but the facile Mr. Darrow was having difficulty locating his voice, his words. His eyes, blurred with tears, were still staring at the coffin. Finally Mr. Darrow began. His dear friend. Dead. So charming a man. So brilliant a mind. Dead now. He had been so amazingly alive it seemed incredible that he should be dead. It was as if part of himself—Mr. Darrow—lay in the coffin.
Ben Hecht (A Thousand and One Afternoons in Chicago)
You’ll seize on any excuse to sell Eversby Priory because you don’t want to take on a challenge.” “It’s only a challenge when there’s some small hope of success. This is a debacle. The list of creditors is longer than my bloody arm, the coffers are empty, and the annual yields have been cut in half.” “I don’t believe you. You’re planning to sell the estate to settle personal debts that have nothing to do with Eversby Priory.” Devon’s hands knotted with the urge to destroy something. His rising bloodlust would only be satisfied with the sound of shattering objects. He had never faced a situation like this, and there was no one to give him trustworthy advice, no kindly aristocratic relation, no knowledgeable friends in the peerage. And this woman could only accuse and insult him. “I had no debt,” he growled, “until I inherited this mess. God’s bollocks, did your idiot husband never explain any of the estate’s issues to you? Were you completely ignorant of how dire the situation was when you married him? No matter--someone has to face reality, and Christ help us all, it seems to be me.” He turned his back on her and returned to the desk. “Your presence isn’t wanted,” he said without looking back. “You will leave now.” “Eversby Priory has survived four hundred years of revolutions and foreign wars,” he heard Kathleen say contemptuously, “and now it will take but one self-serving rake to bring it all to ruins.” As if he were entirely to blame for the situation. As if he alone would be accountable for the estate’s demise. Damn her to hell. With effort, Devon swallowed back his outrage. Deliberately he stretched out his legs with relaxed indolence and glanced at his brother. “West, are we quite certain that Cousin Theo perished in a fall?” he asked coolly. “It seems far more likely that he froze to death in the marital bed.” West chuckled, not above the enjoyment of a malicious quip. Totthill and Fogg, for their part, kept their gazes down. Kathleen crossed the threshold and sent the door shuddering with a violent slam. “Brother,” West said with mock chiding, “that was beneath you.” “Nothing’s beneath me,” Devon replied, stone-faced. “You know that.
Lisa Kleypas (Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels, #1))
Here is the tragedy of the thug. From all we know of his treatment of his own people, military and civilian, he is the perfect picture of the tyrant. His policy is not steady, but based on urgently felt desires of the moment. He has attacked on all sides. He has opportunistically killed communists. He has attacked Western interests. He has persecuted Kurds and Shiites, he has invaded Iran and Kuwait. It is all according to his momentary hopes and fears. There is no solid thing, no guiding principle other than tyrannical selfishness underlying his state. It is all false and rotten. And now he is surrounded and isolated. He is being used by Russia and China and yet, he is not really supported by them. As for his military prowess, he cannot hope to win any future war. In Zhuge Liang and Liu Ji's commentaries on Sun Tzu, eight kinds of decadence are listed for generals. "First is to be insatiably greedy." Look at Saddam's personal wealth, his many palaces, to see how closely he fits this description. "Second is to be jealous and envious of the wise and able." In Saddam's many purges the wise and able fell, leaving incompetent lackeys to run the army. "Third is to believe slanderers and make friends with the treacherous." His friendship treaty with Moscow and his belief in a Western conspiracy against the Arab world has landed him in a fatal fix. "Fourth is to assess others without assessing oneself." For Saddam, this is a psychological imperative. "Fifth is to be hesitant and indecisive." And what of his decisive recklessness? "Sixth is to be heavily addicted to wine and sex." Consider the behavior of Saddam's eldest son, Uday, who is known for rape as well as drunkenness. "Seventh is to be a malicious liar with a cowardly heart." Here we do not say that Saddam has a cowardly heart, but he lies all the same. "Eighth is to talk wildly, without courtesy." This was Saddam's trademark from the first.
J.R. Nyquist
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