R Suspicious Quotes

I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.

I am become a sour woman, Catelyn thought. I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.

The ones who look the most suspicious are likely innocent. It's the ones who look innocent I need to beware.

I have become a sour woman. I take no joy in meat nor mead, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.

We should affirm the great value of reading just for the fun of it. . . . In my experience, Christians are strangely reluctant to take this advice. We tend to be earnest people, always striving for self-improvement, and can be suspicious of mere recreation. But God doesn’t just create, he takes delight in his creation, and expects us to delight in it too; and since he has given us the desire to make things ourselves—has allowed us to be “sub-creators,” as J. R. R. Tolkien says--we may rightly take delight in the things that we (and others) make. Reading for the sheer delight of it—reading at whim—is therefore one of the most important kinds of reading there is.

Harwin's eyes went from her face to the flayed man on her doublet. "How do you know me?" he said, frowning suspiciously. "The flayed man . . . who are you, some serving boy to Lord Leech?" For a moment she did not know how to answer. She'd had so many names. Had she only dreamed Arya Stark? "I'm a girl," she sniffed. "I was Lord Bolton's cupbearer but he was going to leave me for the goat, so I ran off with Gendry and Hot Pie. You have to know me! You used to lead my pony, when I was little." His eyes went wide. "Gods be good," he said in a choked voice. "Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her." "She broke my nose." Lem dumped her unceremoniously to the floor. "Who in seven hells is she supposed to be?" "The Hand's daughter." Harwin went to one knee before her. "Arya Stark, of Winterfell.

Jaime, he frowned. There’s a cold suspicious look if ever I saw one. That one

The old-school Italians turned out to be a lot like Shadows: closed off to outsiders, proud of their traditions, suspicious of people they didn’t know. But once you were in with them? Once you proved yourself and were accepted? They were so loyal and generous it was almost like they weren’t humans at all. In fact, to him, proper Italians had become a subspecies apart from the other rats without tails on the planet.

Taking off your clothes can feel like taking off armor; revealing vulnerability feels dangerous. And even the sanest person has to admit that the physical experience of orgasm is disorienting, even somewhat hallucinogenic—for me, that letting-go, falling-through-space feeling hadn’t always been good. When space looks suspiciously like an abyss, and “losing yourself” can equal psychosis, ceding control can be terrifying.

His story and the detailed nature of his belief system make me suspect that he is suffering from paranoid ideas. I love that: I'm suspicious that Mr. Hill is suspicious. It makes me think of those now yellowing crime-fighting signs from ten or fifteen years earlier that say: Report suspicious people. Suspicious people report suspicious people. Suspicious people report suspicious people report suspicious people. Add paranoia, stir and repeat, stir and repeat, stir and repeat.

The tactical situation seems simple enough. Thanks to Marx’s prophecy, the Communists knew for certain that misery must soon increase. They also knew that the party could not win the confidence of the workers without fighting for them, and with them, for an improvement of their lot. These two fundamental assumptions clearly determined the principles of their general tactics. Make the workers demand their share, back them up in every particular episode in their unceasing fight for bread and shelter. Fight with them tenaciously for the fulfilment of their practical demands, whether economic or political. Thus you will win their confidence. At the same time, the workers will learn that it is impossible for them to better their lot by these petty fights, and that nothing short of a wholesale revolution can bring about an improvement. For all these petty fights are bound to be unsuccessful; we know from Marx that the capitalists simply cannot continue to compromise and that, ultimately, misery must increase. Accordingly, the only result—but a valuable one—of the workers’ daily fight against their oppressors is an increase in their class consciousness; it is that feeling of unity which can be won only in battle, together with a desperate knowledge that only revolution can help them in their misery. When this stage is reached, then the hour has struck for the final show-down. This is the theory and the Communists acted accordingly. At first they support the workers in their fight to improve their lot. But, contrary to all expectations and prophecies, the fight is successful. The demands are granted. Obviously, the reason is that they had been too modest. Therefore one must demand more. But the demands are granted again44. And as misery decreases, the workers become less embittered, more ready to bargain for wages than to plot for revolution. Now the Communists find that their policy must be reversed. Something must be done to bring the law of increasing misery into operation. For instance, colonial unrest must be stirred up (even where there is no chance of a successful revolution), and with the general purpose of counteracting the bourgeoisification of the workers, a policy fomenting catastrophes of all sorts must be adopted. But this new policy destroys the confidence of the workers. The Communists lose their members, with the exception of those who are inexperienced in real political fights. They lose exactly those whom they describe as the ‘vanguard of the working class’; their tacitly implied principle: ‘The worse things are, the better they are, since misery must precipitate revolution’, makes the workers suspicious—the better the application of this principle, the worse are the suspicions entertained by the workers. For they are realists; to obtain their confidence, one must work to improve their lot. Thus the policy must be reversed again: one is forced to fight for the immediate betterment of the workers’ lot and to hope at the same time for the opposite. With this, the ‘inner contradictions’ of the theory produce the last stage of confusion. It is the stage when it is hard to know who is the traitor, since treachery may be faithfulness and faithfulness treachery. It is the stage when those who followed the party not simply because it appeared to them (rightly, I am afraid) as the only vigorous movement with humanitarian ends, but especially because it was a movement based on a scientific theory, must either leave it, or sacrifice their intellectual integrity; for they must now learn to believe blindly in some authority. Ultimately, they must become mystics—hostile to reasonable argument. It seems that it is not only capitalism which is labouring under inner contradictions that threaten to bring about its downfall …

contimpt iv coort, the coorts ar-re in contimpt iv th' gov'nor, an' if annybody but Tiddy Rosenfclt has anny other feelin' f'r ayether iv thim I haven't heerd him speak." "They ought to fire out the raypublican," said Mr. Hennessy. "Sure 'tis comin' to a nice state iv affairs whin th' likes iv him can defy the coorts." "Thrue f'r ye," said Mr. Dooley. "But I don't like th' looks iv it fr'm our side iv th' house. Whiniver a dimmycrat has to go to coort to win an iliction I get suspicious. They'se something wr-rong in Kentucky, Hinnissy. We were too slow. Th' inimy got th' first cheat." YOUNG

When God communed with these ancient writers, He did not inform them that the seat of emotion is actually the brain rather than the innards. God is infinitely wise, and His reasons for not correcting the ancients' physiological knowledge can only be speculated upon. One may postulate that to revise the ancients' entire understanding of science was superfluous to the purpose and message God had for these people. God did not feel the need to update their scientific knowledge—perhaps because God felt no need to do so, or perhaps to do so would have bewildered them and made them suspicious of this God who knew nothing of their 'correct' science.

You and Father are far too trusting!” Charis said, but the vehemence of her protest was dulled by the visible twitch at the corner of her lips. “And you are far too suspicious. Fortunately, as long as we have each other it will balance out,” Nerissa said with a contagious grin.

The many faces of fear are familiar to us all. We have felt free-floating anxiety and panic. We have been paralyzed and frozen by fear, with its accompanying palpitations and apprehension. Worries are chronic fears. Paranoia is its extreme. In milder forms of fear, we are merely uneasy. When it is more severe, we become scared, cautious, blocked, tense, shy, speechless, superstitious, defensive, distrustful, threatened, insecure, dreading, suspicious, timid, trapped, guilty, and full of stage fright.

He therefore began to collect detailed information about the Shire, its chief persons and families, its roads, and other matters. For this he used Hobbits within the Shire, in the pay of the Bracegirdles and the Sackville-Bagginses, but his agents were Men, of Dunlendish origin. When Gandalf had refused to treat with him Saruman had redoubled his efforts. The Rangers were suspicious, but did not actually refuse entry to the servants of Saruman – for Gandalf was not at liberty to warn them, and when he had gone off to Isengard Saruman was still recognised as an ally.

He had forgotten or had never heard about dragons’ sense of smell. It is also an awkward fact that they can keep half an eye open watching while they sleep, if they are suspicious.

Tommy was not a big believer in twists of fate or flukes or chance. Characteristically, he was not a suspicious person, but he’d never felt more wary than he had for the past week, ever since Patrick returned. One time in his life, for just a few minutes, he was sure that destiny had to be real. It was the night he snapped open the Chinese fortune cookie and found a tooth. He thought it was maybe a clue to some ancient lost fortune, but his mother just grabbed the tooth from his hand and phoned the Better Business Bureau. Wing Fung’s shut down one week later. So much for destiny.

Finance and I adored each other, which is how it should be—a true partnership rather than a suspicious overlord protecting the company’s cash from spendthrifts.

King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind… and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.” Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon Snow." The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. “What are you reading about?” he asked. "Dragons." Tyrion told him. "What good is that? There are no more dragons," the boy said with the easy certainty of youth. "So they say," Tyrion replied. "Sad, isn't it? When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own." "You did?" the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him. "Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back.

Going through the customs dampened them further. Customs inspectors must have a mental twist that makes them suspicious of innocence. Dewy-eyed honeymooners, red-cheeked provincials, and helpless little old ladies lash them into frenzied investigation while slinking Orientals hugging small black bags are passed with scarcely a glance. George and Harriet stood under the letter “R” and watched reproachfully while a muttering little man flung their underclothes and dirty laundry right and left, leaving scattered heaps for them to put back in their suitcases. “I thought the French were supposed to be so polite,” said Harriet indignantly. Maybe it can't be proven statistically, but it’s a safe bet that any given American on his or her first trip to France will at some point remark with indignation that he or she had thought the French were supposed to be so polite.

Those were crows! And nasty suspicious-looking creatures at that, and rude as well. You must have heard the ugly names they were calling after us. But the ravens are different.

The ones who look the most suspicious are likely innocent, he decided. It’s the ones who look innocent I need to beware.

Mr. Bagggins saw then how clever Gandalf had been. The interruptions had really made Beorn more interested in the story, and the story had kept him from sending the dwarves off at once like suspicious beggars. He never invited people into his house, if he could help it. He had very few friends and they lived a good way away; and he never invited more than a couple of these to his house at a time. Now he had got fifteen strangers sitting in his porch!

Gods save me, some previous tenant had written on the wall in something that looked suspiciously like blood, the blue is calling.

Quite simple. Too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days.

Angela had presented an insurmountable obstacle. Angela would have been able to mentally and, apparently, physically torture her, without redress, as long as Carol had stayed at that office. Sure, people were a little suspicious of Angela after this incident. Maybe Angela would think twice before forcing out the next employee she didn’t like. Maybe there’d been a little polish off that apple, but nothing fatal. Angela was a good worker, after all, and strange things happen. People would forget about it in a year or so. Just an unusually vicious co-worker spat. Carol knew that. But she’d done something, at least. Life could be inscrutable, it could be horrendously unfair. But you make do, as Angela said, with what you have, the best you can.

You’re strangely prepared.” “Not for this, no. I just heard condoms were really good for opening a stuck jar. You just pop it on top and instant hand grip. That’s the only reason I’ve been carrying one around.” “You… often come across bottles you can’t open?” “Far too much. And the lube was for greasing up… stuff, obviously. I didn’t at all plan to have you take me to an amusement park and fuck me in the car or something weird,” I say as I tear open the packet of lube. After I squirt some onto my hand, he takes it from me. “I’m surprised you weren’t planning for something R-rated on the carousel or something after dark.” “Ooh, that’s a good one. Especially with that music they play, it’d be the best sex jam ever.” “Would it?” he asks suspiciously. “Of course,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. “If I had my phone, I’d play it and you could fuck me to the beat.” “I don’t think carousel songs have a ‘fucking beat,’ but I could be wrong.

The puzzle is why dramatic cases in which people use guns to save lives are virtually never covered. Some of the difference in treatment is understandable. Dead bodies are more newsworthy than mere brandishings that cause criminals to run away. Dead bodies of innocent victims are probably also more newsworthy than dead bodies of criminals, but it is suspicious when the media are already covering a story and leaves out how the crimes were stopped.

He taught consistently, as we have seen, that the Spirit is given to believers; so how could he have asked his questions unless something made him suspicious of their Christian life and therefore of their profession of faith?

You’re one of that kind, are you?” said Fuller disgustedly. “You first kick another chap in the middle, and then offer him a bribe to get off. Well, you’ve made a little mistake this time. Bates” (this to the constable) “I’m detailed to stop here. You’d better whistle up your point-mate at the next corner and tell him to take over your beat till you return. Report to the superintendent that the man you’ve got in charge was arrested for suspicious behaviour attempting to enter the Belfry, and that he attacked the officer in charge in attempting to escape. And you can keep your explanation for my superior officers, sir,” he ended up in his best manner.