Plot Revenge Quotes

Me with nothing left to lose, plotting my big revenge in the spotlight. Give me violent revenge fantasies as a coping mechanism.

Yet, all armor—from a lobster’s shell to a Navy SEAL’s flak jacket—ultimately reveals the same truth. All armor highlights vulnerability. It trumpets the fact that below that hard exterior lies an interior that is soft, fragile, and in need of protection.

For the moment, he's off plotting his Igoresque revenge. I don't know about you, but I have this image of him rubbing his hands together and laughing like Dexter from Dexter's Laboratory. (Kyrian)

He had a wrinkled, pointy face like a rubber glove puppet with the fingers drawn together.

The trouble with aggressive nonsmokers is that they feel they are doing you a favor by not allowing you to smoke. They seem to think that one day you'll look back and thank them for those precious fifteen seconds they just added to your life. What they don't understand is that those are just fifteen more seconds you can spend hating their guts and plotting revenge.

Survival isn't wrong. You can sell your honor in small ways, so long as you guard yourself. you can pour a glass of wine like it's meant to be poured, and watch a man drink, and plot your revenge.

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

That I am totally devoid of sympathy for, or interest in, the world of groups is directly attributable to the fact that my two greatest needs and desires — smoking cigarettes and plotting revenge — are basically solitary pursuits.

She turned and walked towards Krupp. She moved like smoke from the end of a cigarette in a still room, languorous, smooth. Her beauty stopped the conversation of the few people she walked past. Eyes of envy, lust, admiration, longing, followed her every move as she glided through the sumptuously furnished, dimly lit Champagne Bar. Krupp realised she was moving through the room deliberately towards him. He held his breath again as she approached him. His heart thumped against his lungs, making it hard to breathe out. Krupp sat up and he gulped when she saw him and looked straight into his eyes. He felt a tingle up his spine as she seemed to float, slowly, like a ghostly spirit between the tables. He wondered if she was real or a spectre. This could not possibly be Freya, he thought, and yet there was something … She arrived at the table. She relaxed a knee. Their eyes met, a small smile on her lips. Krupp suddenly remembered his manners and stood, hauling himself up with the aid of his stick and the arm of the sofa. It could not have been an elegant move, he thought with annoyance. He should have remained seated. “May I join you?” she said in perfect German.

Narcissists have poor self-esteem, but they are typically very successful. They feel entitled; they’re self-important; they crave admiration and lack empathy. They are also exploitative and envious. The malignant types never forget a slight. They may kill you ten years later for cutting them off in traffic. But they act perfectly normal while plotting their revenge.

It was a basic plot in any number of her books: girl strikes out, makes good, finds love, gets revenge. In that order. The making good and striking out part I liked. The rest would just be bonus.

How did I get to be a grown-up? At times, I find myself still sitting on the hillside, plotting revenge against the adult world.

It was strange how he’d made a 180-degree change. Not sure what to make of that curly, bigheaded, bozo yet, she thought, other than fruitcake nuts! “Blah, I’m not sure about your other big brother,” Savanna said, wiggling her nose upward. “I’d rather not chat about him. Do you come to the museum often?” she asked, quickly changing the topic. “I love unusual old history,” she divulged.

Kestrel's eyes slipped shut. She faded in and out of sleep. When Arin spoke again, she wasn't sure whether he expected her to to hear him. 'I remember sitting with my mother in a carriage.' There was a long pause. Then Arin's voice came again in that slow, fluid way that showed the singer in him. 'In my memory, I am small and sleepy, and she is doing something strange. Every time the carriage turns into the sun, she raises her hand as if reaching for something. The light lines her fingers with fire. Then the carriage passes through shadows, and her hand falls. Again sunlight beams through the window, and again her hand lifts. It becomes and eclipse.' Kestrel listened, and it was as if the story itself was an eclipse, drawing its darkness over her. 'Just before I fell asleep,' he said, 'I realized that she was shading my eyes from the sun.' She heard Arin shift, felt him look at her. 'Kestrel.' She imagined how he would sit, lean forward. How he would look in the glow of the carriage lantern. 'Survival isn't wrong. You can sell your honor in small ways, so long as you guard yourself. You can pour a glass of wine like it's meant to be poured, and watch a man drink, and plot your revenge.' Perhaps his head tilted slightly at this. 'You probably plot even in your sleep.' There was a silence as long as a smile. 'Plot away, Kestrel. Survive. If I hadn't lived, no one would remember my mother, not like I do.' Kestrel could no longer deny sleep. It pulled her under. 'And I would never have met you.

Nall, there’s nothing but friendship between Jase and me,” Savanna explained. “He’s been such a huge help to me. When I first arrived in your big, beautiful city, it was his darling, handsome face I saw first, waiting for me. He’s such a good friend and co-worker,” she complimented.

He who plots revenge must dig two graves.

Bread and water will not break me, and if you choose to isolate me, I shall have only but more time to plot against my oppressors.

Little girls plot revenge. Smart women sit back and let karma do its job." "I hope karma is a bloodthirsty bitch.

This is what we do. We fix things. We’re tinker-ers. If we didn’t tinker with cars, we’d tinker with people.” Drew flashed a rare grin. “You already tinker with people, Cletus.” “You are correct,” I sat straighter in my seat, ready to defend myself, “but only my family. And y’all deserve my tinkering.” “Don’t get me wrong. You’re good at tinkering. Aside from those revenge plots, people are lucky to have you interfering in their lives.

I'm going to get even, I swear I will. Mark my words, I'm a pregnant cranky woman with insomnia. I have time to plot my revenge.

This sunball-watching person doesn't fit with my mental image of the Shadow of Death.' 'Sorry to disappoint.' Hunt's turn to lift a brow. 'What do you think I do with my spare time?' 'I don't know. I assumed you cursed at the stars and brooded and plotted revenge on all your enemies.

What you’re saying is this spider, with a brain the size of strawberry seed, hid in your car with its face covered to avoid being gassed by insect spray.” He stood in front of me, laughing, peering down into my eyes. “And then, when the fumes dispersed, he set about plotting revenge. Once he’d come up with his plan, he exited your car and, even though he didn’t see which direction you went in, he found the front door because he knew you were inside this house.” Biting down on his bottom lip, Ric smirked. “Don’t you think, if he was as smart as all that, he’d have worn a mask before he ran out from under visor so you couldn’t recognise him on your doormat?

I told you, Apollo, the world has many crises. Just this morning, scientists released another study tying soda to hypertension. If they continue to disparage the name of Diet Coke, I will have to smite someone!” He stormed off to plot his revenge on the health industry.

Or, you know, instead of revenge plots, we could focus our energy on going off to university in a few weeks,’ he said brightly. ‘You haven’t even picked out a new duvet set; I’m told that’s a very important milestone.

But if you plot revenge against an evildoer, you are harming yourself: Not because the thought may come back to injure you, which is superstition, but because negative thinking reinforces the source of negativity. Darkness adds to darkness.

Dionysus probably could have enlightened me, but he'd already checked us off his to-do list. 'I told you, Apollo, the world has many crises. Just this morning, scientists released another study tying soda to hypertension. If they continue to disparage the name of Diet Coke, I will have to smite someone!' He stormed off to plot his revenge on the health industry.

The Mueller report exposed the Left’s plot to remake America. Donald Trump’s election interrupted the leftward, globalist course Barack Obama had set. It would have been full steam ahead under Hillary Clinton. So, they had to take Trump down if they were ever going to get back on course.

All day, I worried—what if she resorts to the bathrobe sweater at the last minute? What if she gets something in her teeth and doesn’t notice? What if this guy doesn’t see how totally adorable she is? What if he hurts her feelings? Saturday night, I went to a movie with a friend, but the whole night I was checking my phone to see if my mother had called or texted. When she finally called at midnight, I picked up the phone on the first ring. “How was it?” “Aw, it didn’t go so well.” My heart sank. I was already hatching revenge plots against the cad when she continued, “He was nice, but I’m not sure I’m interested.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Not everyone is lucky enough to hang out with my fashionable, smooth, totally cool mom. Just me.

Where are the unwise, who are not only impatient but plot revenge day and night? But why? Because they do not see how great is the damage of those who have not kept the law of the Lord, therefore they have no sympathy with them but also themselves depart from the law of God through anger and impatience.

I could not, somehow, make contact with any familiar emotion. As I lingered in front of a lighted window, apparently beguiled by a pair of burgundy leather shoes, I could only identify a feeling of exclusion. I felt as if the laws of the universe no longer applied to me, since I was outside the normal frames of reference. A biological nonentity, to be phased out. And somewhere, intruding helplessly and to no avail into my consciousness, the anger of the underdog, plotting bloody revolution, plotting revenge.

Revenge, I've come to learn, is not impulsive, or reactionary, or blind. It's calculating, patient, and observant. And if it's going to work- the timing must be perfect.

They conned us, they gamed us, and they lied to us, over and over and over, for three years.

I never go to bed angry. I stay awake and plot my revenge.

Everyone watching over his shoulder, Free French plotting revenge on Vichy traitors, Lublin Communists drawing beads on Varsovian shadow-ministers, ELAS Greeks stalking royalists, unrepatriable dreamers of all languages hoping through will, fist, prayer to bring back kings, republics, pretenders, summer anarchisms that perished before the first crops were in . . . some dying wretchedly, nameless, under ice-and-snow surfaces of bomb craters out in the East End not to be found till spring, some chronically drunk or opiated for getting through the day's reverses, most somehow losing, losing what souls they had, less and less able to trust, seized in the game's unending chatter, its daily self-criticism, its demand for total attention . . .

Do you really have no idea how I feel about you? Do you not understand that, even as I sit here, worried about you, livid and plotting revenge on your behalf, I’m trying to figure out how to prove you can trust me? Always. I love you with every part of myself, you’ve invaded every corner, every secret place, and I only want—I’ve only ever wanted—your happiness. If you want me to stay, then with you is always where I want to be.

Perhaps you imagine the Negroes to be a mild tempered, tractable kind of people. Some of them are indeed so. But the majority are of a plotting disposition, dark, sullen, malicious, revengeful and cruel in the highest degree.”23

As a result, we stood witness to the biggest scandal in American history, bar none: an attempted elimination of a presidential candidate and then coup against the duly elected president of the United States from within the government itself.

Tonight, no one will rage and cry: "My Kingdom for a horse!" No ghost will come to haunt the battlements of a castle in the kingdom of Denmark where, apparently something is rotten. Nor will anyone wring her hands and murmur: "Leave, I do not despise you." Three still young women will not retreat to a dacha whispering the name of Moscow, their beloved, their lost hope. No sister will await the return of her brother to avenge the death of their father, no son will be forced to avenge an affront to his father, no mother will kill her three children to take revenge on their father. And no husband will see his doll-like wife leave him out of contempt. No one will turn into a rhinoceros. Maids will not plot to assassinate their mistress, after denouncing her lover and having him jailed. No one will fret about "the rain in Spain!" No one will emerge from a garbage pail to tell an absurd story. Italian families will not leave for the seashore. No soldier will return from World War II and bang on his father's bedroom dor protesting the presence of a new wife in his mother's bed. No evanescent blode will drown. No Spanish nobleman will seduce a thousand and three women, nor will an entire family of Spanish women writhe beneath the heel of the fierce Bernarda Alba. You won't see a brute of a man rip his sweat-drenched T-shirt, shouting: "Stella! Stella!" and his sister-in-law will not be doomed the minute she steps off the streetcar named Desire. Nor will you see a stepmother pine away for her new husband's youngest son. The plague will not descend upon the city of Thebes, and the Trojan War will not take place. No king will be betrayed by his ungrateful daughters. There will be no duels, no poisonings, no wracking coughs. No one will die, or, if someone must die, it will become a comic scene. No, there will be none of the usual theatrics. What you will see tonight is a very simple woman, a woman who will simply talk...

Animal welfare - yes. Animal rights - don't make me laugh. I'm not an animals rights activist. I certainly do not love animals. In fact, I secretly mistrust all four-legged / furry / two-winged / feathered / shelled ar scaly brothers and sisters. If I were them, I would by now be plotting ultimate revenge on a scale previously unknown to man. ... I stick to a vegan diet only for reasons of self-preservertion. Call it insurance. When the time of the great animal uprising comes, I may have a small chance of escaping ...

They destroyed lives, reputations, and families. And, in the end, no one connected with Donald Trump or his campaign colluded, coordinated, or conspired with Russia. Not Donald Trump himself, not any member of the Trump family, not anyone on the campaign, not one American.

I almost let him die. I did. I’m not proud of that now. It was a mistake. But when all you can think of is revenge, you don’t think straight. I haven’t for a long time. I’ve plotted and manipulated and stolen to get what I want, and it’s cost me everything. When I lost my mother, I lost a bit of myself to the hatred. It clouded my judgment. I couldn’t think straight anymore, and I lost both my father and brother because of it. I lost the love of my life. I lost the respect of my fellow Bloods. I lost control over you. By using deception to get my revenge, I lost everything, Kara. I lost everything that ever used to matter to me. - Blood Gavin

But if you find that your anger hasn’t passed away in a reasonable amount of time or if weeks, months, or years after the hurtful event you are still ruminating over the injury, plotting revenge, or feeling the same level of pain, your anger has probably turned into a smoldering resentment. You are a prime candidate for choosing the forgiveness process.

I have never even seen a witch, let alone felt the need to burn one to death. We can conclude, then, that our forefathers, equipped with the knowledge that supernatural explanations were reasonable, rounded up all the witches in existence and took care of them. The other possibility is that there are witches out there, hiding somewhere, plotting their revenge, liberally applying fireproofing compounds to themselves. And someday they may reappear and start causing trouble.

From Caliban’s Notebook They dreamed it. There was no storm, no shipwreck, nobody came. Prince Ferdinand was a rock or a tree. M dreamed it. She said to the tree, “Bow gracefully,” and the tree bowed with Ariel in it. As for revenge— the old man’s dream— even in his dream he could not change them, not utterly; they still plotted, still schemed— as though in a play— until Ariel once again was sent to intervene.           And they never got away, for here we all are, M and myself and doddering P, still islanded, still ailing, looking seaward               for company.

He remembered Amy reading a review of The Organ-Grinder’s Boy which had first acknowledged the book’s pace and readability, and then suggested a certain derivativeness in its plotting. She’d said, “So what? Don’t these people know there are only about five really good stories, and writers just tell them over and over, with different characters?” Mort himself believed there were at least six stories: success; failure; love and loss; revenge; mistaken identity; the search for a higher power, be it God or the devil. He had told the first four over and over, obsessively,

She heard Arin shift, felt him look at her. “Kestrel.” She imagined how he would sit, lean forward. How he would look in the glow of the carriage lantern. “Survival isn’t wrong. You can sell your honor in small ways, so long as you guard yourself. You can pour a glass of wine like it’s meant to be poured, and watch a man drink, and plot your revenge.” Perhaps his head tilted slightly at this. “You probably plot even in your sleep.” There was a silence as long as a smile. “Plot away, Kestrel. Survive. If I hadn’t lived, no one would remember my mother, not like I do.” Kestrel could no longer deny sleep. It pulled her under. “And I would never have met you.

The loss of Jarlaxle and the others, which seemed more likely than not, was hitting him harder than any loss he had ever known. He had been more outraged at the fall of House Oblodra those many decades before, but even with that catastrophe, even with the loss of his mother and family, he had not felt like this. For now, for the first time in his centuries of life, Kimmuriel Oblodra realized a profound sense of sadness, a level of grief that wouldn’t even allow him to plot or scheme around it, whether to find some manner of revenge or to better protect himself from any repercussions. None of that even seemed to matter at this time. He was just sad. Nakedly so.

That I am totally devoid of sympathy for, or interest in, the world of groups is directly attributable to the fact that my two greatest needs and desires—smoking cigarettes and plotting revenge—are basically solitary pursuits.

A Phantom Banquet by Stewart Stafford Forego the seminal salad, Lest it retraces your lips, As ambushing vomitus with, Greasy, peccant aftertaste. It is not willing regurgitation, For the young's sustenance, But spitting of venom, I say, Rendering venting of spleen. Savour secret ingredients, All shall emerge in the end, A reading of the entrails, And of potted plots afoul. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved

That’s all Rome seemed to become: a map of grievances, fresh or half-healed. To patronize a shop, or cast a vote, or merely brush off a stranger who had fallen in the muck, was to risk pleasing one party and provoking another. There was only one man in the city who mattered now. In place of significance came victimhood. Every man and woman nurtured his or her private hurts, protecting and suckling and growing them. Instead of futures, Romans had plots for imminent revenge.

brilliant assassination plot is already underway. And the final element is trapped amid the firestorm of a civil war in Myanmar.

Trump isn’t smart enough for such plotting. He’s just a bloviating asshole who shouts in public what he wants and people react to it. The Russians took him up on his offer.

Come with me, I think I have a new escape for you.

Emergency margarita night? I’ll bring the tequila, you bring the drama. We can toast to new beginnings… or plot elaborate revenge schemes—remember, my husband has plenty of resources and a license to kill (wink emoji). Your choice.

Never one to plot revenge in the conventional way, Modi bade his time before he could get back at Joshi.

Writing down your anger seems like it won't be of any use but this technique is of great use if done the correct way. One should always keep in mind that neither do we intend to write a letter full of hate nor do we want to write to remember who has behaved how with you so that you could plot for a revenge.

If anyone insists on his own goodness and despises others . . . let him look into himself when this petition confronts him. He will find he is no better than others and that in the presence of God everyone must duck his head and come into the joy of forgiveness only through the low door of humility.210 Luther adds that this petition is not only a challenge to our pride but a test of spiritual reality. If we find confession and repentance intolerably traumatic or demeaning, it means “the heart is not right with God and cannot draw . . . confidence from his Gospel.” If regular confession does not produce an increased confidence and joy in your life, then you do not understand the salvation by grace, the essence of the faith. Jesus tightly links our relationship with God to our relationship with others. It works two ways. If we have not seen our sin and sought radical forgiveness from God, we will be unable to forgive and to seek the good of those who have wronged us. So unresolved bitterness is a sign that we are not right with God. It also means that if we are holding a grudge, we should see the hypocrisy of seeking forgiveness from God for sins of our own. Calvin puts it vividly: If we retain feelings of hatred in our hearts, if we plot revenge and ponder any occasion to cause harm, and even if we do not try to get back into our enemies’ good graces, by every sort of good office deserve well of them, and commend ourselves to them, by this prayer we entreat God not to forgive our sins.211

Me rejecting her old ass was probably part of the reason she was down for Penny’s plot for revenge. “I’m

The very next day after Miss West and I’d talked about her son and missions, she was the same as she’d always been: volatile and unhappy with a hatred that spewed out of her like missiles. I thought I understood why. She must have hated us for being alive when her son was dead. Lately the class has been turning against her. They’re openly hostile, and they whisper plots for revenge. It seems unfair, the way unhappiness flows out of a person, just to ricochet. “Adam…do you think we have a missions?” He looks at me with a confused expression. “What kind of missions?” “I don’t know. Do you think you have a mission?” I shrug, disappointed. If Adam doesn’t know, then I guess no one does. A girl turns onto our hall, eyes red and sad, and she passes, Adam sends her a smile. Her whole face brightens and she sends him a smile back. Hate ricochets, but kindness does too. Page 178.

Harsh Interventions There are times when it seems as if one must intervene powerfully, suddenly, and even harshly. The wise leader does this only when all else fails. As a rule, the leader feels more wholesome when the group process is flowing freely and unfolding naturally, when delicate facilitations far outnumber harsh interventions. Harsh interventions are a warning that the leader may be uncentered or have an emotional attachment to whatever is happening. A special awareness is called for. Even if harsh interventions succeed brilliantly, there is no cause for celebration. There has been injury. Someone’s process has been violated. Later on, the person whose process has been violated may well become less open and more defended. There will be a deeper resistance and possibly even resentment. Making people do what you think they ought to do does not lead toward clarity and consciousness. While they may do what you tell them to do at the time, they will cringe inwardly, grow confused, and plot revenge. That is why your victory is actually a failure.

the framework of the conflict between former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Russian President Vladimir Putin, angered by U.S. intrusion in his wars in Georgia, Syria, Ukraine, the military seizure of Crimea, and pressures on NATO allies Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania, Putin may be unleashing Trump’s challenge as a way to exact revenge on the United States. Putin

FRANK ... so, many things happen in the 70s to transform the horror genre. Present end premodern fears mix, birthing scary movies which are more seedy, grim, but also more artistic and religious. Criminal evil escapes the prison of murder-mystery and revenge plots, making us see trough the eyes of killer and victim. Supernatural evil is freed from the gothic frame, making viewers believe again in the reality of the devil and other medieval superstitions. If the 60s were about love, the spirit of the 70s is fear. Which means they are more horribly real, more perversely in touch with the dark mystery.

She looked ahead at Joe and silently plotted her revenge, which involved his nose, four peanuts and a chopstick.

Here, in the United States, we are alarmed by new calls to adopt socialism in our country. America was founded on liberty and independence—not government coercion, domination, and control. We are born free, and we will stay free. Tonight, we renew our resolve that America will never be a socialist country. ----- President Donald J. Trump - State of the Union Address - February 5, 2019

President Trump’s Fourth of July celebration on the mall was the first in almost seventy years. He recounted great moments in our history: the Revolutionary War, the fight by the suffragettes to get the vote, and the work of the civil rights movement. Donald Trump doesn’t just believe America is great; he believes America is the most exceptional nation in history. It was vintage Donald Trump, the man who came from the outside, selected by the forgotten men and women of America, reminding us that American success is a choice worth celebrating, that American innovation is worth encouraging, and that America’s military is always worth honoring.

Protector was one face of their power, but destroyer was still the other face. And neither one put your fate in their hands. They protected what was theirs, to protect or destroy and sometimes the plot was about his grief that he'd failed to protect or his revenge against other men and sometimes he'd destroyed her himself. And the story was still about him.

Silveny, who was preening the feathers on her glistening wings, looking gleaming and majestic and without a single fleck of poop on her anywhere. Sophie started plotting revenge.

Hey there, beautiful! Just a friendly reminder that your future, incredibly awesome self is out there, stalking & judging your every move. Do you think it will cherish you, thank you or be impressed by your current state of mind, health & questionable choices, decisions & daily doings? Most likely – Not… So, before your future self starts plotting revenge against your present self, how about you challenge yourself to be a slightly-less-messy & slightly-more-awesome self today? Darling listen – every morning, ask yourself: “What’s one tiny step I can take towards being a little bit more… awesome today? Then, go crush it, even if it’s just drinking an extra glass of water, or walking one extra mile or making one more phone or one more squat (you know what one or two things you can do, must do). Everything will count & matter, my friend! Onward to Awesomeness (at your own pace)! Happy New Week! P.S. this was a reminder not from me but from your future self with love…

The only people who would try to assault someone with this many spirits hanging around them is either a human without enough mana to see spirits or someone with a death wish.

—but I’ll admit there were times right afterward when I lay awake at night plotting elaborate revenge. Good thing I never got around to doing any of it.

Often you’ll hear it said that revenge is a dish best served cold. This is a mistake; you must never lose the heat of rage that drives you to revenge.” He studied Roo’s face. “Forgiveness is a virtue in some temples. But if you are not virtuous, then study your enemy.” He tapped his head. “Think. Think about what drives him and what his strengths and weaknesses are. Keep the fires within banked, and plot coolly, but when everything is in place, unleash the fire and enjoy the hot flush of revenge.

Chancellor Palpatine, whose Sith name was Darth Sidious, looked calmly at the angry young Jedi with the glowing lightsaber. This was the point toward which all his plots and plans had been heading for many years. “Yes, I am a Sith Lord,” he told Anakin.

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

Having acknowledged that a man must master his circumstances or otherwise be mastered by them, the Count thought it worth considering how one was most likely to achieve this aim when one had been sentenced to a life of confinement. For Edmond Dantes in the Chateau d'If, it was thoughts of revenge that kept him clear minded. Unjustly imprisoned, he sustained himself by plotting the systematic undoing of his personal agents of villainy. For Cervantes, enslaved by pirates in Algiers, it was the promise of pages as yet unwritten that spurred him on. While for Napoleon on Elba, strolling among chickens, fending off flies, and sidestepping puddles of mud, it was visions of a triumphal return to Paris that galvanized his will to persevere. But the Count hadn't the temperament for revenge; he hadn't the imagination for epics; and he certainly hadn't the fanciful ego to dream of empires restored. No. His model for mastering his circumstances would be a different sort of captive altogether: an Anglican washed ashore. Like Robinson Crusoe stranded on the Isle of Despair, the Count would maintain his resolve by committing to the business of PRACTICALITIES. Having dispensed with dreams of quick discovery, the world's Crusoes seek shelter and a source of fresh water; they teacher themselves to make fire from flint; they study their island's topography, its climate, its flora and fauna, all the while keeping their eyes trained for sails on the horizon and footprints in the sand.

The White House stands alone like an ancient walled city with barbarians storming the gates, looking to annihilate the man the American people put in that house in 2016.

Until Donald Trump upped the ante with the threat of tariffs, Mexico had no respect for Washington, DC. After all the empty threats during the Bush, Obama, and previous administrations, it’s no wonder they believed Donald Trump was bluffing. But on the Friday before Trump’s deadline, with the first 5 percent tariff just three days away and the president leaving for England for a state visit with the royal family, it finally dawned on Mexico that Trump wasn’t bluffing.

Finally, Mexico had been forced to act. For years they had been ignoring the problem, counting the money they were raking in from exports to the United States, as well as money sent back home by illegals working here, and letting US law enforcement clean up their immigration mess. And why not? For them, it made perfect sense. Why send their military to the border when the United States was patrolling it with their own border agents, spending millions of dollars a year to make sure migrants who’d come through Mexico couldn’t get across? Why waste any resources at all with the United States footing the bill? Like so many of our so-called allies, Mexico had been taking advantage of the United States for too long. President Trump made it as clear to the Mexicans as he made it to our NATO allies: those days are over.

The Left doesn’t want to enforce immigration laws. We know this because House Democrats told us so. House Republicans attempted to introduce a clause into HR 1, which read, “allowing illegal immigrants the right to vote devalues the franchise and diminishes the voting power of United States citizens.” All but six House Democrats voted against adding that language.10

The moon didn’t die every night to let the sun breathe. No. He disappeared willingly so he could plot his revenge for the day when the sun would bleed light no more.

fear has inspired just as many acts of inhumanity. Elizabeth’s Government was, with reason, supremely fearful of the Catholic Church; James’s inherited that fear. Both preached regular sermons on their own essential decency and reasonableness (in marked contrast to what they perceived as the king-killing doctrines of Rome), both endorsed State-sanctioned acts of inhumanity: forced internments, show trials, revenge punishments, and the erosion of the common law. The argument goes that it is reductive to judge the past by the standards of today. Still, that does not mean we cannot examine the choices made in a fearful and uncertain past, better to evaluate those available to us in a fearful and uncertain present.

In 2016 and 2017 alone, MS-13 was responsible for twenty-eight murders, mostly of young people. It was only when President Trump got tough on the gang at the end of 2017 that the violence declined. In 2018 and 2019, the number of murders linked to MS-13 on Long Island fell almost to zero.33

He was the outsider, beholden to no one, who promised to take back their government from the corrupt special interests who had stolen it from them in order to remake America into a borderless, multicultural, socialist wasteland they could then plunder and leave to rot.

According to Ronald B. Tobias (1999), in all of fiction there are only twenty master plots: “quest, adventure, pursuit, rescue, escape, revenge, the riddle, rivalry, underdog, temptation, metamorphosis, transformation, maturation, love, forbidden love, sacrifice, discovery, wretched excess, ascension, and descension.” Christopher Booker (2004) argues that there are only seven basic plots: “overcoming the monster, rags to riches, the quest, voyage and return, comedy, tragedy, and rebirth.

When plotting revenge, you should dig two graves - one for your enemy, and the other for yourself

In the wake of his new division of ascetic opinion, Nietzsche not only stumbles upon the fundamental meaning of the practising life for the development of styles of existence or 'cultures'. He puts his finger on what he sees as the decisive separation for all moralities, namely into the asceticisms of the healthy and those of the sick, though he does not show any reservations about presenting the antithesis with an almost caricatural harshness. The healthy - a word that has long been subjected to countless deconstructions - are those who, because they are healthy, want to grow through good asceticisms; and the sick are those who, because they are sick, plot revenge with bad asceticisms.

The most powerful response to those who undervalued you is not seeking revenge, harboring hatred, or plotting payback. It's choosing to rise above-- to love yourself more deeply, honor your worth unapologetically, and set your standards so high they become untouchable to anything or anyone unworthy of your light. Your healing is your triumph. Your growth is your revolution. Together, they are your greatest victories.

plotting revenge

If I suffer, let it be because of my own decisions and actions, not because you are the reason behind my suffering for not agreeing with you. You are lobbying and paying people to hurt me, plotting my downfall and demise. You are recruiting people to harm me and spreading lies and misinformation about me. You threaten those close to me, telling them not to associate with or help me because you want to teach me a lesson that I am nothing without you. You want to control me. Why can't you just let me be?

They teach us that in school, matters of principle. I swear it's a plot to get us all slaughtered the day they graduate us out the door. It's their revenge, see? Here we are reading books in literature class about some banana who's only got one oar in the water to start with, and then he pops it out worrying about principles.

By 1963, Marcello took the Kennedys’ animosity toward him personally and plotted revenge.