Plotting My Revenge Quotes

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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...

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

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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?

I’ve waited for this day, dreaming about it night after night while nursing my shattered heart and plotting my revenge for if I ever saw his face again. I stuffed the feelings so goddamn deep, they sank into the pits of my heart and poisoned everything around them. The memories haunted me for years to come in every guy that followed him. He ruined them all for me.

My stomach twists. Oh, holy hell. I’ve suddenly realized exactly what my stomach aerobics around Justin actually mean. They’re not only because he’s so gorgeous. I’m developing feelings for Justin Morris. Not friendship feelings, not revenge-plot feelings, but actual heart-racing, palm-sweating, completely inappropriate romantic feelings.

Danny, you can beat someone’s ass and get away with it, but you can’t humiliate him. If you embarrass someone, they’ll plot revenge until they die.

Somewhere between plotting my revenge and falling in love with him, I became the worst kind of bully. The one who makes you trust them before they break your heart.

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I’m not hotheaded. When I become angry, I don’t rage—I sit down, quietly, very still, armed with pen and paper—and plot my revenge with ice-cold precision.

A new conviction was crystallizing out of the murky fluid of my own thoughts. There was no cure for the human condition because every man read the present and plotted the future in the light of his own past. There was no such thing as a clean start, because no one truly forgave and no one wholly forgot. In the end, the folk memory betrayed us all. The wrongs of the fathers were revenged on the children.

The truth was Janessa had always flirted with me. I’d never reciprocated. “No, we never dated,” I said. “Why not?” “Many reasons.” “Which are?” She waited. “I’m not interested,” I said. “That would be the main reason. I have a very specific type.” “Oh yeah? And what’s that?” she said, cocking her head. I went back to studying my menu. “Well, my dream woman is a glass-half-full kind of person. She fights for what she wants and believes in the humanity of others—and she’s usually right. She makes the most of bad situations, deeply dislikes heights. She’s funny. Smells great. A fan of seashells and mustard, hates chorizo. And she never brings the right jacket.” I raised my eyes to hers. “Interesting,” she said, looking back at her menu. “My perfect man can speak to animals. He’s very principled. Not a big talker, but is paying more attention than anyone in the room. He became an animal doctor as part of a hero-arc-slash-revenge plot, which is an energy I can get behind. Hates people, loves pets. Wonderful with rambunctious pre-teen kids and frightened memory care patients. Really good at sex. He doesn’t like compliments but he’s gonna have to muscle through that one, it’s too important not to bring up.

Little store excerpt: My marriage ended at a charity gala I organised. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter’s screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart were expecting a child.Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach wasn’t just an affair; it was a public declaration thaterased me and our baby.To protect his company’s billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother. By following that link you can dive into the full story of From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress and begin the journey with Charlotte Jennings.Read more… Introduction When you pick up From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress, you’re diving into a tale of betrayal, heartache, resilience and ultimate transformation. In From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress, the heroine is forced to walk away from everything she thought she knew—and rebuild on her own terms. This article delves into From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress, the author, the key themes, and why it’s a must-read. About the Book From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress is written by Gavin (often credited simply as Gavin). In this novel, Gavin takes readers on an emotional roller-coaster where a once contented wife becomes the architect of her own destiny. The full title emphasises the pivot: From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress. According to listing details, this book appears under the tag “Short stories” by Gavin. The premise is that a woman’s world is overturned at the very moment she thinks she will become a mother and remain a partner—and from that devastation she rises as an heiress to her own power. Plot Synopsis Here’s a summary of the core storyline of From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress: The protagonist, Charlotte Jennings, is the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan. At a glamorous charity gala she organised, her world collapses: a reporter’s screen announces that Gabe and his childhood sweetheart (Harper) are expecting a child. Across the room, Charlotte sees them together, his hand on her stomach — public confirmation of betrayal. She and the unborn baby are effectively erased. To protect the company’s billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother and even Charlotte’s adoptive parents conspire against her: they move Harper into her home/bed, treat Charlotte as if she were the outsider, lock her in a room and demand she terminate her pregnancy. Facing abandonment and betrayal, Charlotte reaches out to her biological father, Antony Dean—a powerful, shadowy figure who can make her husband’s world burn. From that moment begins her transformation: from the betrayed wife to the powerful heiress she was always meant to become. Themes & Why It Resonates 1. Betrayal and the collapse of trust In From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress, the initial betrayal sets the tone: Charlotte trusted her husband, she trusted the life they built, and in one public moment it all disintegrates. The betrayal is not private—it is broadcast, symbolic of how power and image can destroy personal lives. 2. Identity and reclamation The journey in From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress is as much about reclaiming self as it is about revenge. Charlotte is cast aside, labelled as unstable and unfit—but she fights to reclaim her name, her unborn child, her right to be heard. The “heiress” in the title is two-fold: heir to her father’s power and heir to her own identity.

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