Rogue Character Quotes

I laughed. It was just like Owen to make excuses for someone else’s shortcomings. Even fictional characters. Owen found my tendency to speak my mind “refreshingly honest,” and hailed Marc’s temper as “a deep protective instinct.” He said Ethan “thoroughly enjoyed life,” and that Parker “really knew how to have a good time.” According to Owen, we were all doing just fine, and all was right with the world.

A better man wouldn’t play this ‘sweethearts’ game with her when he knew very well it couldn’t lead to more. But he wasn’t a better man. He was Colin Sandhurst, reckless, incorrigible rogue—and damn it, he couldn’t resist. He wanted to amuse her, spoil her, feed her sweets and delicacies. Steal a kiss or two, when she wasn’t expecting it. He wanted to be a besotted young buck squiring his girl around the fair. In other words, he wanted to live honestly. Just for the day.

Sometimes they are heroes. Sometimes they are villains. More often they are something in between, grey characters … and grey has long been my favorite color. It is so much more interesting than black or white.

He was moderately truthful towards men, but to women lied like a Cretan-a system of ethics above all others calculated to win popularity at the first flush of admission into lively society.

You say I haven’t any orginality. But mark this, dear Prince, there’s nothing more annoying for a man of our time and race than to tell him he’s not original, a weak character with no special talents, ordinary in other words. You didn’t even deign to regard me as a genuine rogue, I felt like killing you for that just now, you know that?

Reg: Speaking of blunt, dinner is on my bill tonight, mes amis. Alex: What's the occasion? Augustus: Lady Caroline's agreed to venture out on a picnic with out intrepid hero. Kit: I don't know why you keep insisting she's smitten with me. I've barely spoken five sentences to her. Augustus: It's very simple. Reg has thrown his entire being into pleasing Caroline. She knows every nuance of his thought and character. You, however, are a mystery to be explored, solved, and resolved.

It may be that in his rogues the writer gratifies instincts deep-rooted in him, which the manners and customs of a civilised world have forced back to the mysterious recesses of the subconscious. In giving to the character of his invention flesh and bones he is giving life to that part of himself which finds no other means of expression. His satisfaction is a sense of liberation. The writer is more concerned to know than to judge.

She, the clear heart'ed soul shall show a small crack (in heart) as clearly as the equally transparent, but dirty rogue can cleverly hide it.

It was John Kenneth Galbraith, the hyperliterate economic sage, who coined the phrase “conventional wisdom.” He did not consider it a compliment. “We associate truth with convenience,” he wrote, “with what most closely accords with self-interest and personal well-being or promises best to avoid awkward effort or unwelcome dislocation of life. We also find highly acceptable what contributes most to self-esteem.” Economic and social behaviors, Galbraith continued, “are complex, and to comprehend their character is mentally tiring. Therefore we adhere, as though to a raft, to those ideas which represent our understanding.” So

I go out an honest man, but you stay in a rogue.

Before Five Kingdoms is complete, I will begin work on the sequel series to my Fablehaven books. It will be called Dragonwatch. I’m excited to share more stories about the characters of Fablehaven including Kendra, Seth, Newel, Doren, Warren, Bracken, Vanessa, Raxtus, etc. If you’re liking Five Kingdoms but haven’t tried Fablehaven, you should get to know those people! If you’d like to connect

If!" protested Mercy. "I am marrying you, Kit Turner, and there's an end to it!" Tobias nudged James. "I told you she'd produce a landslide when she got rolling." Kit, however, was not yet fully aware of the character of the girl whom he had just pledged himself. He put his finger to her lips. "Hush, now, this is between your father and me, Mercy. Let me deal with it." "Oh, dear, oh, dear," muttered James, shaking his head. "Our brother has a lot to learn about the fairer sex. You never, ever do that." Kit was suddenly sitting in a chair, a sharp elbow having found a tender spot. Mercy stood before her father, looking defiant, if somewhat bedraggled after her night in prison.

No one who has to live amongst men should absolutely discard any person who has his due place in the order of nature, even though he is very wicked or contemptible or ridiculous. He must accept him as an unalterable fact—unalterable, because the necessary outcome of an eternal, fundamental principle; and in bad cases he should remember the words of Mephistopheles: es muss auch solche Käuze geben[1]—there must be fools and rogues in the world. If he acts otherwise, he will be committing an injustice, and giving a challenge of life and death to the man he discards. No one can alter his own peculiar individuality, his moral character, his intellectual capacity, his temperament or physique; and if we go so far as to condemn a man from every point of view, there will be nothing left him but to engage us in deadly conflict; for we are practically allowing him the right to exist only on condition that he becomes another man—which is impossible; his nature forbids it. [Footnote

The last thing I want to tell you is this: in a real revolution—not a simple dynastic change or a mere reform of institutions—in a real revolution the best characters do not come to the front. A violent revolution falls into the hands of narrow-minded fanatics and of tyrannical hypocrites at first. Afterwards comes the turn of all the pretentious intellectual failures of the time. Such are the chiefs and the leaders. You will notice that I have left out the mere rogues. The scrupulous and the just, the noble, humane, and devoted natures; the unselfish and the intelligent may begin a movement—but it passes away from them. They are not the leaders of a revolution. They are its victims: the victims of disgust, of disenchantment—often of remorse. Hopes grotesquely betrayed, ideals caricatured—that is the definition of revolutionary success. There have been in every revolution hearts broken by such successes. But enough of that. My meaning is that I don’t want you to be a victim.

Conversely the British saw a one-dimensional figure in the Cypriot; they did not realize how richly the landscape was stocked with the very sort of characters who rejoice the English heart in a small country town—the rogue, the drunkard, the singer, the incorrigible.

In the land of historical romance novels, particularly the Regencies, there is no line more quoted than this: Reformed rakes make the best husbands. It's the sort of pithy one-liner a beloved character dashes off and everyone laughs a sparkling laugh, the heroine knits her brow, and the rogue in question scowls but we all know the truth: That bad boy will soon be reformed. And he will like it.

TV stars are cool. Even if their characters are less than admirable, they come across as somehow sympathetic, maybe even neighborly. They are, after all, people you invite into your home every week. If you don't like them, you won't watch them. Movie stars, by contrast, are hot. They have to blaze so fiercely that they fill a screen forty feet high and demand the attention of a crowded theater. That's why very few TV stars have graduated successfully to features. It requires not only different skills but a different personality. You have to go from amiable to commanding. Likewise, some movie stars are simply too big for television. Jack Nicholson is riveting on-screen, but you wouldn't want him in your living room week after week. The television simply couldn't contain his personality.

different sets of facial muscles—and therefore produce different-looking smiles. This divergence explains the difference between genuine smiles and fakey, say-cheese smiles in photographs. People have trouble faking other genuine expressions, too, like fear, surprise, or an interest in someone’s pet stories. To overcome this limitation actors either drill with a mirror and practice conjuring up facial expressions à la Laurence Olivier, or, à la Constantin Stanislavsky, they inhabit the role and replicate the character’s internal feelings so closely that the right expressions emerge naturally.) The limbic system, and the temporal lobes generally, are also closely tied up with sex. Scientists discovered this connection in a roundabout way. In the mid-1930s a rogue biologist named Heinrich Klüver started some

the trio prepared to retreat, Stirling spotted a small guardhouse set apart from the hangars, with a faint light gleaming under the door. Perhaps it was the memory of Mayne’s actions at Tamet, or perhaps it was simply a rush of battle blood, but Stirling now did something that, he later admitted, was “out of character.” Turning to the other two, he suggested they give the Germans “something to remember us by.

Against these popular plans we here solemnly appeal. We say, let your rogues in novels act like rogues, and your honest men like honest men; don’t let us have any juggling and thimble-rigging with virtue and vice, so that, at the end of three volumes, the bewildered reader shall not know which is which; don’t let us find ourselves kindling at the generous qualities of thieves, and sympathising with the rascalities of noble hearts. For our own part, we know what the public likes, and have chosen rogues for our characters, and have taken a story from the “Newgate Calendar,” which we hope to follow out to edification. Among the rogues, at least, we will have nothing that shall be mistaken for virtues. And if the British public (after calling for three or four editions) shall give up, not only our rascals, but the rascals of all other authors, we shall be content: — we shall apply to Government for a pension, and think that our duty is done.

It was only when it dawned upon me that the purloiner of the treasure need not necessarily be a confirmed rogue, that he could be even a man of character, an actor and possibly a victim in the changing scenes of a revolution, it was only then that I had the first vision of a twilight country which was to become the province of Sulaco, with its high shadowy Sierra and its misty campo for mute witnesses of events flowing from the passions of men short-sighted in good and evil.

I overhead Jove, one day,' said Silenus, 'talking of destroying the Earth; he said it had failed; they were all rogues and vixens, who went from bad to worse, as fast as the days succeeded each other. Minerva said she hoped not, they were only ridiculous little creatures, with this odd circumstance, that they had a blur, or indeterminate aspect, seen far or seen near; if you called them bad, they would appear so; if you called them good, they would appear so; and there was no one person or action among that which would not puzzle her Owl, much more all Olympus, to know whether it was fundamentally bad or good.

In a real revolution, the best characters do not come to the front. A violent revolution falls into the hands of narrow-minded fanatics and of tyrannical hypocrites at first. Afterwards come the turn of all the pretentious intellectual failures of the time. Such are the chiefs and the leaders. You will notice that I have left out the mere rogues. The scrupulous and the just, the noble, humane and devoted natures, the unselfish and the intelligent may begin a movement, but it passes away from them. They are not the leaders of a revolution. They are its victims: the victims of disgust, disenchantment–often of remorse. Hopes grotesquely betrayed, ideals caricatured–that is the definition of revolutionary success.

We are each of us the result of billions of years of the universe evolving toward its own splendor. And evolution builds: the very mitochondria that power our cells and give us life once existed as separate organisms that first infected our pre–pre–human ancestors and then became one with them. We each contain not only the slime mold and the worm, the fish and amphibian and reptile, but the pig and the ape and the barely human. If we look hard enough, we can discern hundreds of parts: kings and queens, warriors and troubadours, mages, bullies, and saints. And hustlers, adventurers, survivors, rebels, reactionaries, and rogues. And the part of us that wants to be more than human, or rather more fully human. I believe that we need to enlist all these separate selves into a single army of free companions who respect each other and love each other to the death. And who are willing to devote their lives to fight together in order to win a shared splendor. I will return to this theme of integration again and again, for it is key to everything. All of my characters struggle with themselves, and face as well external obstacles such as exploding stars or dragons or icy wastelands cold enough to freeze the breath. Maram, who writes poems glorifying his second chakra (the body’s sexual center), pants like a dog after every enticing woman he sees. Even as he resists his essential nobility and destiny as a hero, he insists that every man deserves at least one vice. When it is pointed out to him that he also drinks, gambles, gluttonizes, and whores, he declares that he is still trying to decide which vice will be his.

Liberty is poorly served by men whose good intent is quelled from one failure or two failures or any number of failures, or from the casual indifference or ingratitude of the people, or from the sharp show of the tushes of power, or the bringing to bear soldiers and cannon or any penal statutes. Liberty relies upon itself, invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is positive and composed, and knows no discouragement. The battle rages with many a loud alarm and frequent advance and retreat…the enemy triumphs…the prison, the handcuffs, the iron necklace and anklet, the scaffold, garrote and leadballs do their work…the cause is asleep…the strong throats are choked with their own blood…the young men drop their eyelashes toward the ground when they pass each other…and is liberty gone out of that place? No never. When liberty goes it is not the first to go nor the second or third to go…it waits for all the rest to go…it is the last…When the memories of the old martyrs are faded utterly away…when the large names of patriots are laughed at in the public halls from the lips of the orators…when the boys are no more christened after the same but christened after tyrants and traitors instead…when the laws of the free are grudgingly permitted and laws for informers and bloodmoney are sweet to the taste of the people…when I and you walk abroad upon the earth stung with compassion at the sight of numberless brothers answering our equal friendship and calling no man master—and when we are elated with noble joy at the sight of slaves…when the soul retires in the cool communion of the night and surveys its experience and has much extasy over the word and deed that put back a helpless innocent person into the gripe of the gripers or into any cruel inferiority…when those in all parts of these states who could easier realize the true American character but do not yet—when the swarms of cringers, suckers, dough-faces, lice of politics, planners of sly involutions for their own preferment to city offices or state legislatures or the judiciary or congress or the presidency, obtain a response of love and natural deference from the people whether they get the offices or no…when it is better to be a bound booby and rogue in office at a high salary than the poorest free mechanic or farmer with his hat unmoved from his head and firm eyes and a candid and generous heart…and when servility by town or state or the federal government or any oppression on a large scale or small scale can be tried on without its own punishment following duly after in exact proportion against the smallest chance of escape…or rather when all life and all the souls of men and women are discharged from any part of the earth—then only shall the instinct of liberty be discharged from that part of the earth.

She watched as he rolled his shoulders into the exceptionally well made clothing, underscoring the perfect fit- a fit she no longer took for granted now that she had seen hints of the Vitruvian Man beneath. No. She shook her head. She would not think of him as a Leonardo. He was already far too intimidating a character.

But there are human beings who, though of necessity single in body, are dual in character; — in whose breasts not only is evil always fighting against good, — but to whom evil is sometimes horribly, hideously evil, but is sometimes also not hideous at all. Of such men it may be said that Satan obtains an intermittent grasp, from which, when it is released, the rebound carries them high amidst virtuous resolutions and a thorough love of things good and noble. Such men, — or women, — may hardly, perhaps, debase themselves with the more vulgar vices. They will not be rogues, or thieves, or drunkards, — or, perhaps, liars; but ambition, luxury, self-indulgence, pride, and covetousness will get a hold of them, and in various moods will be to them virtues in lieu of vices.

I will be the first to confess that I have too often let my desires run as a spoiled child in the gluttonous pursuit of some rogue agenda that I have skillfully justified as enhancing the greater good, when in fact it enhances nothing more than my greater good. And when I force myself away from the pithy arguments and the reeking pabulum that I have cleverly crafted to justify these actions, I find myself standing toe-to-toe with the very monster that I have so ardently advocated for. And more times than I can tell you, I find myself standing in this place shamed beyond the scope of words to express. And until I submit the barking agenda of my ‘good’ to the ‘greatness’ of God’s character, I will die at the hands of this most horrific cycle.

The dresses are indecent," she said stiffly, the rich silk flowing against her body like water. "But pretty." She shot him another fulminating glance. His eyes lit with that unholy glint she'd learned to mistrust. "Admit it. It's a gorgeous dress and you look gorgeous in it." "It's made for a courtesan." He snorted. "What do you know about courtesans, sweet little lamb?" She narrowed her eyes. "Knowing about courtesans is no character recommendation." "Cutting." His smile reeked satisfaction. "Yet still you wear the gown." "Mrs. Bevan took away my muslin." "She must need a dishclout." She didn't know why she argued. Who could object to wearing something so stylish? While the silk might cling to her body, it wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any London salon. Especially on a lady no longer an ingenue. "No respectable woman would wear this dress." He trailed one finger down her cheek, tracing a prickling path of awareness. "But, amore mio, you're no longer a respectable woman. You're a monster's paramour.

She said she’d found friendship in the characters she read about.

Her entire face lit when she was enthusiastic about something. And that something, more often than not, was characters and stories and tales of adventure.

She rose and reluctantly released his hand. Until she’d had that connection, she hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for a reassuring touch. For years, she’d reconciled herself to being, in many ways, alone. She’d more or less accepted that the characters she came to love in the stories she read on the sly would be her only reliable companions. Vera was pleased to be wrong.

In his presence, unanticipated corners of her character seemed to be unfolding like a secret letter written long ago.

The next morning, boom! She found herself waking in bed next to the handsome, rogue-supporting character of her favourite novel. Out of the blue, Mary Sue was inside the #1 bestseller, epic fantasy novel ever written.

The seven-plus centuries of organized torment originated in a letter from Pope Adrian IV in 1155, which empowered King Henry II to conquer Ireland and its “rude and savage people.” It was decreed that the rogue Irish Catholic Church, a mutt’s mash of Celtic, Druidic, Viking and Gaelic influences, had strayed too far from clerical authority, at a time when English monarchs still obeyed Rome. Legend alone was not enough to save it—that is, the legend of Patrick, a Roman citizen who came to Ireland in a fifth-century slave ship and then convinced many a Celt to worship a Jewish carpenter’s son. Patrick traveled with his own brewer; the saint’s ale may have been a more persuasive selling point for Christianity than the trinity symbol of the shamrock. There followed centuries of relative peace, the island a hive of learned monks, masterly stonemasons and tillers of the soil, while Europe fell to Teutonic plunder. The Vikings, after much pillaging, forced interbreeding, tower-toppling and occasional acts of civic improvement (they founded Dublin on the south bank of the Liffey), eventually succumbed to the island’s religion as well. They produced children who were red-haired and freckled, the Norse-Celts. But by the twelfth century, Ireland was out of line. Does it matter that this Adrian IV, the former Nicholas Breakspear, was history’s only English pope? Or that the language of the original papal bull, with all its authoritative aspersions on the character of the Irish, has never been authenticated? It did for 752 years.

By far the most well known–and star of the Macy’s parade–is the original Pikachu. Created to resemble a cute mouse, Pikachu has been at the center of the Pokemon story since it first began. As the first Pokemon character introduced, and the story’s hero’s–Ash-  personal pet, Pikachu is recognized world wide as an iconic symbol of the franchise. The popularity of Pikachu has more to do with his cute persona and likeable personality. Although he was first portrayed as somewhat of a rogue, disobeying trainer Ash and outwardly harming him, his character has evolved over the years to where his sweet personality matches the cute mouse face. All Pokemon are classified by type, depending on the special powers and characteristics they possess. In the case of Pikachu, he/she is an electric Pokemon, who zaps his enemies with bolts of electricity. Not by accident, the creators developed Pikachu to have a tail shaped like a lightening bolt, to further his identity. Pikachu

Agent Keeler is the mole we planted. He’s been working undercover. The objective was to send an agent to infiltrate the Coalition, discover the mole from the inside out. Keeler’s combat skills, field experience, and brash character made him the perfect candidate for the assignment. We knew the Coalition would jump at the chance to recruit him if they believed he could be swayed to fight for their cause. “I instructed Keeler to play sympathetic to the Coalition’s purpose. It didn’t take long for our mole to make contact. Keeler received an anonymous text giving him a date, time, and place. He showed, spoke to someone who wasn’t the mole but had contact with him or her. Keeler negotiated the terms. He would join their ranks and provide intel so long as Coalition members kept their distance from THIRDS agents, specifically his team. To maintain the illusion he’d gone rogue, it was necessary for Destructive Delta to be kept in the dark. I then fed Keeler inside information to pass along.” All

Perhaps there was something fundamentally wrong with the human character, that it could ignore the suffering of children and delight in the abuse of mute beasts.

Nowhere within me do I have the fortitude to give up power and prestige in order to walk a road of poverty and die a death of agony. And the incomprehensible nature of such rogue decision born of an irrepressible love and executed by an obstinate sacrifice can be nothing other than the stuff of God, for it is not within the character of men.

That she could be so fond of a pair of chauvinistic, bullheaded rogues probably indicated a serious character flaw in her.

Former Child Actor This rare subclass is an offshoot of the Character Actor class. It can only be obtained by Crawlers who have both received the “Cut!” achievement and have obtained at least one trillion views. Once a spoiled brat superstar, then addicted to drugs, you have crawled back from the brink stronger than ever. You are ready for your comeback. This Charisma and Chance-based class could go either way. You’ll either rise to the top, or you’ll be dead in a ditch in a week. This unique Earth class is based on the Bard/Rogue Jack-Of-All-Trades subclass, but with a few distinctive differences. In addition to the following benefits, the most distinct aspect of this multi-faceted class is the Level-3 Character Actor skill. This skill increases in level only upon descent to the next floor. Additional benefits: Immunity to all poisons and diseases. Level-5 Cockroach skill. +10 to Charisma. +15% faster growth in all Charisma-based skills. The Manager Benefit. This is an Earth Class. As an incentive to choose an Earth Class, you will receive a Silver Earth Box upon choosing this class.

If the press says useful things, and makes observations which merit attention, there is no doubt that sometimes, though God knows very rarely, something useful may be gleaned from them. But when you see its present state, when the one side says black and the other white, when the opposite political characters are treated by their respective antagonists as rogues, fools, blockheads, wretches, and all the other names in which the English political dictionary is so VERY RICH, one stands like an ass, between two bundles of hay, considerably embarrassed which ought to be chosen...

A lot of allistic people I know are primarily motivated by social approval so push any rogue queerness down into their subconscious or suppress their thoughts and only get comfortable with it later in life.

Another delay allowed a tour of the Isle of Wight; here Franklin heard the tale of a local governor who had been esteemed a saint in most of his lifetime by nearly all men, but who turned out to have been a great villain. What struck Franklin was that the man’s true character had been discerned by a “silly old fellow” Franklin met, who currently kept the castle and otherwise had little sense about life. The moral? No man, though he possessed the cunning of a devil, could live and die a rogue yet maintain the reputation of an honest man; some slip, some accident, would give him away. “Truth and sincerity have a certain distinguishing native lustre about them which cannot be perfectly counterfeited; they are like fire and flame that cannot be painted.” While on the subject of reputation, Franklin noted a statue of Sir Robert Holmes, formerly governor of Wight, who built a monument to himself, with an autobiographical, and highly flattering, inscription. Franklin observed wryly, “One would think either that he had no defect at all, or had a very ill opinion of the world, seeing he was so careful to make sure of a monument to record his good actions and transmit them to posterity.

One day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character.

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