Rumors Hurt Quotes

There will always be someone willing to hurt you, put you down, gossip about you, belittle your accomplishments and judge your soul. It is a fact that we all must face. However, if you realize that God is a best friend that stands beside you when others cast stones you will never be afraid, never feel worthless and never feel alone.

Your dignity can be mocked, abused, compromised, toyed with, lowered and even badmouthed, but it can never be taken from you. You have the power today to reset your boundaries, restore your image, start fresh with renewed values and rebuild what has happened to you in the past.

Stupidity is to have amnesia over your own faults when the person you hate makes theirs.

People should get their information from the source with facts before sharing it. Rumors can be lots of different opinions, based on what other people think. This is where lies begin to build and develop into things that are harmful to others.

He is a ghost, a rumor, a story whispered after the children have gone to bed, and she was cold and hurt, all alone in the rising dark - and yet she hadn't run from him until he told her to. The house has always had a taste for the brave ones.

A mistake does not make a shadow. The people who you hurt through the mistake and what they decide to say about it is what leaves a shadow. The only way to erase that shadow is to shed light on it. If that is not possible, moving on to somewhere brighter is always an option.

Some of the things he’s said over the past few days are starting to make sense, and I begin to feel more and more like the people I despise. He told me outright that he would answer anything if I just asked, yet I chose to believe the rumours about him instead. No wonder he was so irritated with me. I was treating him just like everyone else treats me.

I’ve learned to bully doesn’t only involve attacking someone physically or verbally; it is so much more. Bullying consists of invading other people’s property, humiliation, mind games (pretending to be someone’s friend), manipulation, making threats, spreading rumors, showing aggressive behavior, and/or excluding someone from a group on purpose.

Harry - I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is. I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open,Harry. Sirius Dear Sirius, I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about me, my head feels completely normal. Harry Nice try, Harry. I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls,and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself Don't forget what I said about your scar. Sirius

The Stain That Conner left on our lives will not vanish as easily. I don’t care about Mom and her birds. Their estimation of my brother doesn’t bother me at all. Neither do I worry about Dad and what his lobbyist buddies think. His political clout has not diminished. As twins go, Conner and I don’t share a deep affection, but we do have a nine-months-in-the-same-womb connection. Not to mention a crowd of mutual friends. God, I’ll never forget going to school the day after that ugly scene. The plan was to sever the gossip grapevine from the start with an obvious explanation— accident. Mom’s orders were clear. Conner’s reputation was to be protected at all costs. When I arrived, the rumors had already started, thanks to our neighbor, Bobby Duvall. Conner Sykes got hurt. Conner Sykes was shot. Conner Sykes is in the hospital. Is Conner Sykes, like, dead? I fielded every single question with the agreed fabrication. But eventually, I was forced to concede that, though his wounds would heal, he was not coming back to school right away. Conner Sykes wasn’t dead. But he wasn’t exactly “okay.

Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods . . . well, there certainly will be rumors now she’s printed that.

What the Lady was happening? The man had his mouth smashing on Tarin's, and his tongue was shoving at Tarin's tongue. Tarin tried to scream. The men did eat boys. It wasn't just a scary fire-rumor. He bucked his body and writhed. He was going to be consumed alive! "Lady!" he bawled like a little kid. It sort of worked. The man moved his mouth and laughed. "Now, no fussing. I won't hurt you if you're a good boy." "Don't eat me," moaned Tarin. He was too scared to be brave. This was why no boys ever escaped from the Before Times buildings. The men ate them! No wonder men were so sleek and strong. They had boy meat to get them through the winter

In The Bloudy Tenent, Williams points out that Constantine "did more to hurt Christ Jesus than the raging fury of the most bloody Neroes." at least under the Christian persecutor Nero, who was rumored to have had the Apostle Paul beheaded and Saint Peter crucified upside down, Christianity was a pure (if hazardous) way of life. But when Constantine himself converted to Christianity, that's when the Church was corrupted and perverted by the state. Williams explains that under Constantine, "the gardens of Christ's churches turned into the wildernesss of national religion, and the world (under Constantine's dominion) to the most unchristian Christendom." Legalizing, legitimizing the Church turned Christianity into just another branch of government enforced by "the sword of civil power," i.e., through state-sponsored violence.

It was bullshit. They didn’t know me. How dare they throw their judgments from behind their keyboards as if they were saints. How dare they diminish the most important relationship in my life down to rumors and lies. How dare they hurt me without having a damn clue about how damaging words could be. If humans knew how damaging words could be to someone’s mental health and stability, then maybe they would’ve chosen them differently. Then again, maybe they liked the outcome. Maybe some sick fucks enjoyed hurting others in a way to make themselves feel better about their own shitty lives.

I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me all the campus gossip about me. Right?” “I do have a life. Maybe I’ve been too busy to listen to rumors,” he huffed, pretending to have hurt feelings. I looked at him. He sighed. “Okay, you win. I’m bored out of my skull. Second Magician is busy playing detective, and Gelsi is neck-deep in some project and I never see her anymore.” Dax paused dramatically. “My life is so boring that I have to live vicariously through your adventures.” “And since the rumors are so accurate—” “Your adventures have turned into legends.” He swept his arms wide, laughing. “So where are you off to now? Going to slay a dragon? Can Itag along as your lowly squire? I’ll polish your staff of power every night with my shirt. I promise.” “I’m glad my problems are keeping you entertained,

But it's more than a scratch it's a slap in the face and a knife in the back, it's a punch in the stomach because you'd rather believe some made up rumor than what you knew to be true. So tell me Jessica, did you drag yourself to my funeral? And what about you-the rest of you- did you drag yourself to my funeral, and if you did, did you see the scars you left? No, probably not because most of them can't been seen with the naked eye.

Whoever it was that hurt you," he said in a low voice that rumbled through her, "was an idiot." They were just inches apart as she agreed, "Yes, he was." "Rumor has it," he said with a small smile that drew her in closer for the kiss she was trying not to give him, "that my IQ is quite high." How could she possibly fight her feelings for him when he didn't just make her burn but made her laugh, too? "Is that so?" "One hundred sixty, and my mother still has the test results to prove it," he said with a grin.

The implication that the change in nomenclature from “Multiple Personality Disorder” to “Dissociative Identity Disorder” means the condition has been repudiated and “dropped” from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) of the American Psychiatric Association is false and misleading. Many if not most diagnostic entities have been renamed or have had their names modified as psychiatry changes in its conceptualizations and classifications of mental illnesses. When the DSM decided to go with “Dissociative Identity Disorder” it put “(formerly multiple personality disorder)” right after the new name to signify that it was the same condition. It’s right there on page 526 of DSM-IV-R. There have been four different names for this condition in the DSMs over the course of my career. I was part of the group that developed and wrote successive descriptions and diagnostic criteria for this condition for DSM-III-R, DSM–IV, and DSM-IV-TR. While some patients have been hurt by the impact of material that proves to be inaccurate, there is no evidence that scientifically demonstrates the prevalence of such events. Most material alleged to be false has been disputed by someone, but has not been proven false. Finally, however intriguing the idea of encouraging forgetting troubling material may seem, there is no evidence that it is either effective or safe as a general approach to treatment. There is considerable belief that when such material is put out of mind, it creates symptoms indirectly, from “behind the scenes.” Ironically, such efforts purport to cure some dissociative phenomena by encouraging others, such as Dissociative Amnesia.

Fiancé. The very word scraped him raw. Dom had met Blakeborough half a dozen times back when he’d been courting Jane, but their paths hadn’t crossed since then. As Dom recalled, the earl had been too handsome for his own good. Through the years, however, rumors had begun to circulate about the man’s disposition--that he was a curmudgeon of sorts, cynical about women and about marriage in general. Which is why Dom had initially been surprised to hear that Jane was engaged to the arse. Still was engaged to the arse. Dom scowled. He’d spent the entire trip imagining what he would do when confronted with the man. The idea of challenging Blakeborough to a duel over Jane was tempting, but not remotely practical. For one thing, it would hurt Jane’s reputation. For another, it might result in Dom losing her anyway. Because if afterward Dom had to flee to avoid prosecution, she might not agree to leave England with him. Besides, it would be awfully hard to drag Rathmoor Park out of arrears from afar. Dom had even considered telling Blakeborough that his fiancée was no longer chaste. But that would send her into an apoplectic fit, and rightly so. A gentleman didn’t impugn a woman’s reputation to gain what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was the woman as his wife. No, he would just have to hope that Jane did the right thing and broke with the fellow. In the meantime, Dom would pray he could speak to the man with civility…or at least without wanting to call him out.

You have something to say to me, Cassidy, say it. Or shut the fuck up.” “All right,” Jules said. “I will.” He took a deep breath. Exhaled. “Okay, see, I, well, I love you. Very, very much, and . . .” Where to go from here . . .? Except, his plain-spoken words earned him not just a glance but Max’s sudden full and complete attention. Which was a little alarming. But it was the genuine concern in Max’s eyes that truly caught Jules off-guard. Max actually thought . . . Jules laughed his surprise. “Oh! No, not like that. I meant it, you know, in a totally platonic, non-gay way.” Jules saw comprehension and relief on Max’s face. The man was tired if he was letting such basic emotions show. “Sorry.” Max even smiled. “I just . . .” He let out a burst of air. “I mean, talk about making things even more complicated . . .” It was amazing. Max hadn’t recoiled in horror at the idea. His concern had been for Jules, about potentially hurting his tender feelings. And even now, he wasn’t trying to turn it all into a bad joke. And he claimed they weren’t friends. Jules felt his throat tighten. “You can’t know,” he told his friend quietly, “how much I appreciate your acceptance and respect.” “My father was born in India,” Max told him, “in 1930. His mother was white—American. His father was not just Indian, but lower caste. The intolerance he experienced both there and later, even in America, made him a . . . very bitter, very hard, very, very unhappy man.” He glanced at Jules again. “I know personality plays into it, and maybe you’re just stronger than he was, but . . . People get knocked down all the time. They can either stay there, wallow in it, or . . . Do what you’ve done—what you do. So yeah. I respect you more than you know.” Holy shit. Weeping was probably a bad idea, so Jules grabbed onto the alternative. He made a joke. “I wasn’t aware that you even had a father. I mean, rumors going around the office have you arriving via flying saucer—” “I would prefer not to listen to aimless chatter all night long,” Max interrupted him. “So if you’ve made your point . . .?” Ouch. “Okay,” Jules said. “I’m so not going to wallow in that. Because I do have a point. See, I said what I said because I thought I’d take the talk-to-an-eight-year-old approach with you. You know, tell you how much I love you and how great you are in part one of the speech—” “Speech.” Max echoed. “Because part two is heavily loaded with the silent-but-implied ‘you are such a freaking idiot.’” “Ah, Christ,” Max muttered. “So, I love you,” Jules said again, “in a totally buddy-movie way, and I just want to say that I also really love working for you, and I hope to God you’ll come back so I can work for you again. See, I love the fact that you’re my leader not because you were appointed by some suit, but because you earned very square inch of that gorgeous corner office. I love you because you’re not just smart, you’re open-minded—you’re willing to talk to people who have a different point of view, and when they speak, you’re willing to listen. Like right now, for instance. You’re listening, right?” “No.” “Liar.” Jules kept going. “You know, the fact that so many people would sell their grandmother to become a part of your team is not an accident. Sir, you’re beyond special—and your little speech to me before just clinched it. You scare us to death because we’re afraid we won’t be able to live up to your high standards. But your back is strong, you always somehow manage to carry us with you even when we falter. “Some people don’t see that; they don’t really get you—all they know is they would charge into hell without hesitation if you gave the order to go. But see, what I know is that you’d be right there, out in front—they’d have to run to keep up with you. You never flinch. You never hesitate. You never rest.

He pulled me towards the front desk to check in. The petite redhead behind the counter had a hard time forming a coherent sentence when she looked at Jake. She pressed a few buttons and handed him a key card. She kept a firm grasp on the card and looked admiringly at him. “I’m off at one.” She batted her eyelashes. “Are you seriously offering yourself to me in front of my girlfriend? I mean no offense, but look at her and look at you.” He scoffed. I gasped. I was going to sneak in his room and murder him in his sleep. He grabbed my hand, and I tried to pull away to no avail. His hand refused to leave mine. “That’s how rumors get started you know. Now let me go so I can check into my room.” I said tersely, watching the cameras still flashing through the glass. “Whatever, just wait until morning when pictures hit the press. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re plastered everywhere in an hour.” “I’m going to kill you in your sleep.” I mumbled under my breath. “What was that?” He started laughing. “Nothing.” I backpedaled. “It will be easy since we’re sharing a room.” “What!?” I shrieked. “I have the entire top floor. There’s more than enough room.” He shrugged. “You have got to be kidding me!” “Aubrey, I thought we were going to try and be friends. Why are you fighting the inevitable? I’m not that awful, I promise. I don’t bite, unless you’re into that kind of thing, then I’d gladly make an exception.” He winked, and I slugged him in the stomach. Damn, his stomach must be made of iron because it hurt my hand.

Several sources maintain that the Romans enshrined a goddess named “Rumor”—a winged demon with a hundred eyes and a hundred mouths who spoke only the most hurtful side of the truth.

They say that sticks and stones can break your bones, but words will never hurt you. I disagree. Words, in the form of rumors, can destroy someone’s reputation.

Special Place Verse] In a town hall meeting full of whisper and stare, Folks like to chatter, some just don't care, They point their fingers, cast their doubt, But in your arms, I never have a reason to shout. [Verse 2] Mama always said, watch who you choose, There’s someone out there looking to light your fuse, But you stand by me, through trials and tides, In your tender heart, I find my pride. [Chorus] There'll always be someone with a hurtful tone, But you’re the one who makes me feel like home, In this world of hurt and endless race, You’re the one who holds a special place. [Verse 3] Late night rumors, gossip flies fast, But beside you, I’ve found a love to last, When shadows loom and the day turns gray, You’re the beacon, guiding my way. [Verse 4] In church pews and fields of gold, Stories are spun, hearts grow cold, But by your side, I feel so free, With you, I am all I need to be. [Chorus] There'll always be someone with a hurtful tone, But you’re the one who makes me feel like home, In this world of hurt and endless race, You’re the one who holds a special place.

You think you can handle someone else, when you can’t even handle the things I’ve still got planned for you? Tempting me like you’re not still sore from the first time.” He pulls back and smirks. “Sore?” I tip my chin up, challenging him because I can’t help it. “Was that supposed to hurt? Gotta tell you, Crew, I thought you were better at inflicting pain after hearing all the rumors. I’m a little disappointed.

[Verse] In this small-town life, you’ll learn a thing or two, Folks talkin' ‘bout the things they think they knew, Down at the diner, where rumors turn the wheel, It’s a rough kinda love that takes time to heal. [Verse 2] You’ll meet folks who smile, but they’re twistin' every knife, There’s always someone lookin' to stir up strife, They’ll keep you guessin', with a heart so untrue, But then there’s someone who sees the real you. [Chorus] There will always be someone, tryin' to bring you down, Gossip rings loud in this two-horse town, But the one who matters, won't make you feel alone, It's the love that, through it all, stands on its own. [Verse 3] In the fields where the golden grain meets the sky, There’s a truth you can feel, 'neath that endless eye, It’s the hand that you hold when the storms roll through, In the quiet of the night, you’ll know they’re true. [Verse 4] There are days, oh buddy, when you’ll feel life's weight, Every hurtful whisper will try to seal your fate, But remember who stood by you without shame, They’re the ones who deserve to share your name. [Chorus] There will always be someone, tryin' to bring you down, Gossip rings loud in this two-horse town, But the one who matters, won't make you feel alone, It's the love that, through it all, stands on its own.

Someone Who Stands By You [Verse] In this small-town life, you’ll learn a thing or two, Folks talkin' ‘bout the things they think they knew, Down at the diner, where rumors turn the wheel, It’s a rough kinda love that takes time to heal. [Verse 2] You’ll meet folks who smile, but they’re twistin' every knife, There’s always someone lookin' to stir up strife, They’ll keep you guessin', with a heart so untrue, But then there’s someone who sees the real you. [Chorus] There will always be someone, tryin' to bring you down, Gossip rings loud in this two-horse town, But the one who matters, won't make you feel alone, It's the love that, through it all, stands on its own. [Verse 3] In the fields where the golden grain meets the sky, There’s a truth you can feel, 'neath that endless eye, It’s the hand that you hold when the storms roll through, In the quiet of the night, you’ll know they’re true. [Verse 4] There are days, oh buddy, when you’ll feel life's weight, Every hurtful whisper will try to seal your fate, But remember who stood by you without shame, They’re the ones who deserve to share your name. [Chorus] There will always be someone, tryin' to bring you down, Gossip rings loud in this two-horse town, But the one who matters, won't make you feel alone, It's the love that, through it all, stands on its own.

Your youngster looks like he knows his way around a deck. When you think he’s ready to try a term under a different captain, he’d be welcome aboard Tarman. Things are a bit more rustic and he’s be sleeping in the deckhouse with the crew, but I’d be glad to foster him for a trip or two.” Brashen and Althea exchanged a look, but it was not his mother who said, “Not quite old enough yet. But I’ll take you up on that offer when he is. I know he’d like to see his aunt and uncle soon. Not to mention his cousin Ephron.” Brashen smiled as he attempted to change the subject. “When do you think Malta and Reyn might be bringing the baby downriver for a visit?” “You’d take Boy-o off my decks?” Paragon was appalled. “Only for a short time, ship. I know he’s yours as much as ours,” Brashen replied placatingly. “But a slightly wider circulation of experience wouldn’t hurt him.” “Hmph.” The figurehead crossed his arms on his carved chest. His mouth went to a flat line. “Perhaps when Ephron is old enough to take his place here for a time. An exchange of hostages, as it were.” Brashen rolled his eyes at them. “He’s in a mood today,” he said in a low voice. “I am not in a mood! Merely pointing out that you are a liveship family, and that you should think well before letting one of your own go off on another liveship, with no guarantees that he will be returned. Ideally, the exchange should be a member of Tarman's family.” He turned his gaze to Leftrin and Alise. “Do you expect to breed soon?” Leftrin choked on his tea. “Not that I'm aware,” Alise replied demurely. “A pity. It might be productive for you just now.”Paragon was politely enthused. “Can we please just not?” Althea asked him, almost sharply. “It's bad enough to have you offering Brashen and me your helpful insights into productive breeding without you extending your wisdom to our guests.” Alise could not tell if Brashen were embarrassed or red from suppressing laughter. “It was Tarman’s suggestion that they might find such information helpful, as so far they have enjoyed breeding, but fruitlessly. That’s all.” Paragon was unflustered. Brashen cleared his throat suddenly. “Well, speaking of hostages—” “Were we?” his ship interjected curiosity. “We were. Speaking of hostages, how did all that work out? There were rumors in Bingtown, but we left to go south and pick up your stock, and then returned right up the river. So wr haven’t heard much of that.

Always Someone Verse] Always someone out to hurt you Tear you down and lay you low Gossip flies and rumors circle Spin around and watch the show [Verse 2] They will chatter they will whisper Secrets flow like southern tea Let them talk it doesn’t matter We stand strong and wild and free [Chorus] Let them talk let them whisper We stand tall we grow bolder Always someone out to hurt you But they just make us stronger [Verse 3] Dusty roads and neon bar signs Hear the twang of steel guitar Brush it off and keep on moving In this honky tonk of stars [Bridge] We got heart and we got fire Burning on through darkest night Let them try and let them falter We will rise and shine so bright [Chorus] Let them talk let them whisper We stand tall we grow bolder Always someone out to hurt you But they just make us stronger

In my mind there’s a difference between a rumor and a lie: intent. People tell rumors to hurt someone else. People tell lies to save themselves. Or someone they love.

Just tell me. What is odd about the Callans? Something that is carried in the blood?” Jankyn nodded. “Cats. The original source of the, er, taint is a wee bit obscure. Twas either brought back by a Crusader or from some ancient Celtic bride, a priestess in the old religion, a shape-shifter.” He shrugged. “Despite what I am, I find that a wee bit difficult to imagine. But, there it is. The Callans appear to have done what ye plan to do—bred it out. There are tales from the old, misty past that hint at some difficulties because of this trait, but the Callans began to be verra particular in their mates. Their family lines are kept meticulously complete right to the most distant of cousins. Intermarriage, no matter how rich the prize, is strictly forbidden for fear that this trait will blossom in its full glory again and pull them all back into danger.” “So, they have bred it out then?” Cathal could understand why Bridget might hide this fact about her clan, but still felt hurt and angry that she would hide it from him. “Most of it. There lingers a hint, though. In the coloring, for example. Twas the medallion that set me on the right path. It reminded me of a tale I had once been told. I found that and soon tracked down the rest. It also explains a lot of things such as how your wife hisses and scratches, how she can run as she does.” “How she purrs,” Cathal whispered. “Does she? How intriguing.” Jankyn met Cathal’s scowl with a sweet smile. “The way she seems to sense danger, her keen eyesight, especially in the dark, and that certain grace she has. All Callan women are rumored to be small, lovely, graceful, passionate, and fertile. Verra, verra fertile. Your wee wife comes from a verra big family.” “Do ye recall the first night she was here? The way she acted when she first awoke?” Jankyn nodded. “Verra like a cat.” “Aye, but for one fleeting moment there was something in her face, something verra catlike.” “Why didnae ye say so?” “I thought it a trick of the light. Now I think not. It also means it might be impossible to breed out all our MacNachton traits. The Callans havenae fully succeeded, have they?” “Would that be such a bad thing? I can think of a few that would only serve us weel and would only raise envy, nay fear.” “True. I suspicion some of the things in the Callan bloodline do the same. The more I think on it, the more I curse myself as a blind fool. Aye, some of what Bridget does could just be considered, weel, a female’s ways. But nay all of them. Certainly nay the way she fought Edmee. I was but stunned when Edmee tossed me aside. Couldnae move, but I could see how Bridget leapt at Edmee. She used those cursed long nails of hers on Edmee and it took Edmee a few moments to get a firm grasp on Bridget. I can now see that the way Bridget moved to try to stay out of Edmee’s grasp was verra like a cat. Then Edmee threw Bridget and, somehow, e’en as she was flying through the air, she curled that wee body of hers into a ball. That and the heather saved her.” “Aye. Raibeart and I were close enough to see that. Raibeart still mutters about it. That and the fact that your wee wife made sure to take a few large hanks of Edmee’s hair with her when she was thrown. Of course, a cat is said to land on its feet. For one wee minute, I truly thought she was about to perform that wondrous feat, but then she curled up into the ball. I wonder why.” “Mayhap when I have finished bellowing at her, I will ask her that question.” He smiled faintly when Jankyn laughed. “So, ye will keep her?” “Aye. E’en when I feared ye were about to tell me she had MacNachton blood, something that would near ruin all my grand plans, I meant to keep her.” He sighed, finished off his wine, then rose to refill his goblet. “I had best send for her, confront her with this, and hear what she has to say for herself.” “No need. I believe I hear the patter of wee paws approaching.” Cathal

Just as we were passing the school, Blake slid his hand down my arm and intertwined our fingers. “Rachel, why did you finally agree to go out with me?” When I looked up, I was surprised at his somber expression. I would have expected something a little more taunting. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?” “I’d appreciate it. I’ve asked you out for . . . shit. I don’t know, nine months now? No matter what I said, your answer was always no. Until last night.” “Well . . .” I looked down at the sidewalk passing beneath our feet. “You can tell me, it’s fine. You never were one to hide your feelings. And your hate for me lately has been a little more than apparent. I’m already expecting the worst.” “I don’t hate you. I just don’t exactly like you . . . anymore.” I squinted up at him and nudged his side with the arm he still had a firm grip on. He gave a little grunt with a forced smile. “Um, Candice is always bugging me for turning you down. She said she would stop if I agreed to one date with you.” I know, I know, I could have made something up that wasn’t so harsh. But I didn’t. If I hadn’t looked back down, I probably would have missed the pause in his step. “Figures.” We walked for a few more minutes before he paused and turned to me. “I’m not going to make you go out with me.” “You aren’t. I said I’d go.” He raised an eyebrow, making it disappear under his shaggy hair. “You also told me earlier today that we weren’t going anymore. I’m just letting you know I’ll stop. All of it. Asking you all the time, what I did today. And I’ll talk to Candice.” “Blake—” “No, Rach, I should have stopped a long time ago. I’m sorry you felt pressured into it last night. I want you to want to go on a date with me. I don’t want you to go just so she’ll drop it or because you want me to quit asking. Which I will.” I couldn’t tell if he looked more embarrassed or hurt. Is it ridiculous that I want to comfort him? “I want to go.” “No, you don’t.” Okay, still somewhat true. “I didn’t . . . before.” Ugh, who am I kidding. He knows I’m lying anyway. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. You can’t exactly blame me for not wanting to go out with you.” He looked as if I’d slapped him. I hurried on before I could chicken out on the rest. “I mean, come on, Blake, you were rumored to be screwing all these students, coworkers, and faculty. And not once did you try to shut down those rumors. Add to that, the Blake I grew up with is completely gone; now you’re usually kind of a douche. Why would I want to go out with someone like that?” “Rumors are going to spread no matter what I do. The more I try to stop them, the guiltier I look. Trust me. As for you thinking I’m a douche . . .” His voice trailed off and he ran a hand through his hair. “Try seeing it from my side. The only girl I’ve wanted for years now and can’t get out of my head no matter what I do repeatedly blows me off like I’m nothing.” Did he say years? Letting go of my hand, he turned away from me and ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your dorm.” “What about drinks?” “I’m not going to make you do this, Rachel.” “Blake, why can’t you just be like this all the time? If how you were growing up, last night, and the last hour was how you always were . . . I probably wouldn’t have ever turned you down.” He huffed a sad laugh. “Yeah, well . . . obviously I’ve already fucked that up.” I watched him begin walking in the direction of the dorms and squeezed my eyes shut as I called after him, “You know, you kinda traumatized me tonight. I feel like you owe me a beer.” Peeking through my eyelashes, I saw him stop but not turn around. “And maybe dinner on Friday night?” When Blake turned to face me, his smile was wide and breathtaking.

It’s like Jack Kennedy,” DeMarco said to Emma. “All the rumors about Joe Kennedy being a bootlegger and having ties to the mob and getting rich on insider trading never really hurt Jack. It sounds like the same thing with Stephanie. By the time she jumped onto the political stage, her old man was dead, his money had been laundered clean, she had nothing to do with his past life.

Then on top of that, there were rumors going around in the pen that her and the nigga Kace were fucking around. I didn’t believe the shit at first, because for one I didn’t give a fuck, and two, I never seen them actually fucking.

You look different.” He said nothing, knowing that his face would appear leaner to her, his eyes perhaps taking on more of a yellow tinge in the brown depths. “You are very pale, but . . .” She was obviously trying to puzzle it out, but didn’t understand and was growing frightened and confused. “Aye, nae doubt I am pale. I lost a fair amount o’ blood,” Connall said, wishing he could ease this for her. “Aye.” She nodded slowly and tried to smile, but was having difficulty with it and he knew she could see the hunger in him. “You need food and rest to rebuild it.” “I need blood.” Eva stared at him silently, then her eyes moved back to his wound as if drawn there by some unseen force. He could tell by her expression that it was continuing to heal, growing smaller by the moment. “You heal much more quickly than we do,” she said finally. Her voice was bleak and Connall winced at the knowledge in it. We. She had finally admitted to what was staring her in the face; the supposed reaction to the sun, the rumors, his wound healing so quickly . . . The fact that Aileen aged had probably confused her, but she was seeing it now. You heal more quickly than we. We. He was not one of her kind, at least not wholly. He was different. Connall always had been, and should be used to it by now, but somehow it hurt hearing Eva say it. Her face was expressionless when she turned it back to him to ask, “Are you soulless?” Connall knew that she was making a decision in her mind, one vital to their future. He had feared this moment, but felt hope in the fact that she hadn’t simply turned away in horror. “Nay. I’m no a dead, soulless creature as the rumors proclaim,” he answered solemnly. “I’m jest different.” “But

Cats. The original source of the, er, taint is a wee bit obscure. Twas either brought back by a Crusader or from some ancient Celtic bride, a priestess in the old religion, a shape-shifter.” He shrugged. “Despite what I am, I find that a wee bit difficult to imagine. But, there it is. The Callans appear to have done what ye plan to do—bred it out. There are tales from the old, misty past that hint at some difficulties because of this trait, but the Callans began to be verra particular in their mates. Their family lines are kept meticulously complete right to the most distant of cousins. Intermarriage, no matter how rich the prize, is strictly forbidden for fear that this trait will blossom in its full glory again and pull them all back into danger.” “So, they have bred it out then?” Cathal could understand why Bridget might hide this fact about her clan, but still felt hurt and angry that she would hide it from him. “Most of it. There lingers a hint, though. In the coloring, for example. Twas the medallion that set me on the right path. It reminded me of a tale I had once been told. I found that and soon tracked down the rest. It also explains a lot of things such as how your wife hisses and scratches, how she can run as she does.” “How she purrs,” Cathal whispered. “Does she? How intriguing.” Jankyn met Cathal’s scowl with a sweet smile. “The way she seems to sense danger, her keen eyesight, especially in the dark, and that certain grace she has. All Callan women are rumored to be small, lovely, graceful, passionate, and fertile. Verra, verra fertile. Your wee wife comes from a verra big family.” “Do ye recall the first night she was here? The way she acted when she first awoke?” Jankyn nodded. “Verra like a cat.” “Aye, but for one fleeting moment there was something in her face, something verra catlike.” “Why didnae ye say so?” “I thought it a trick of the light. Now I think not. It also means it might be impossible to breed out all our MacNachton traits. The Callans havenae fully succeeded, have they?” “Would that be such a bad thing? I can think of a few that would only serve us weel and would only raise envy, nay fear.” “True. I suspicion some of the things in the Callan bloodline do the same. The more I think on it, the more I curse myself as a blind fool. Aye, some of what Bridget does could just be considered, weel, a female’s ways. But nay all of them. Certainly nay the way she fought Edmee. I was but stunned when Edmee tossed me aside. Couldnae move, but I could see how Bridget leapt at Edmee. She used those cursed long nails of hers on Edmee and it took Edmee a few moments to get a firm grasp on Bridget. I can now see that the way Bridget moved to try to stay out of Edmee’s grasp was verra like a cat. Then Edmee threw Bridget and, somehow, e’en as she was flying through the air, she curled that wee body of hers into a ball. That and the heather saved her.” “Aye. Raibeart and I were close enough to see that. Raibeart still mutters about it. That and the fact that your wee wife made sure to take a few large hanks of Edmee’s hair with her when she was thrown. Of course, a cat is said to land on its feet. For one wee minute, I truly thought she was about to perform that wondrous feat, but then she curled up into the ball. I wonder why.” “Mayhap when I have finished bellowing at her, I will ask her that question.” He smiled faintly when Jankyn laughed. “So, ye will keep her?” “Aye. E’en when I feared ye were about to tell me she had MacNachton blood, something that would near ruin all my grand plans, I meant to keep her.” He sighed, finished off his wine, then rose to refill his goblet. “I had best send for her, confront her with this, and hear what she has to say for herself.” “No need. I believe I hear the patter of wee paws approaching.” Cathal gave Jankyn a disgusted look as he retook his seat. “I would be wary of teasing her too much. Dinnae forget those nails.” “Cathal?

Rumor has it you and Gage caught up with your team. I’m not sure where you’re going, but—” A lump rose up in her throat. She cleared it away. “Wherever it is, be careful.” And please, please don’t get hurt. The world needs more men like you. But

Stones and Shadows" - Modern Country Remix (Verse 1) In this fast-paced world, where rumors fly on screens, Hurtful words can hide, but they're not what they seem. I walk with confidence, with every step, every stride, 'Cause I've got God beside me, and there's no need to hide. (Chorus) Yeah, there'll be those who'll hurt you, with stones they'll try to throw, But I'm standing unshaken, in the light I know. With faith as my compass, I'm never alone, God's standing with me, that's the truth I own. (Verse 2) They'll try to put you down, make you feel so small, But I've got a power, that'll outlast it all. In the rhythm of life, in the beat of my heart, I find strength in His presence, right from the start. (Bridge) So let the gossip roll off, like water on a duck's back, I've got better things to do, than to keep track. For every harsh word, for every low blow, I've got a higher calling, that's where I'll go. (Chorus) Yeah, there'll be those who'll hurt you, with stones they'll try to throw, But I'm standing unshaken, in the light I know. With faith as my compass, I'm never alone, God's standing with me, that's the truth I own. (Outro) So here's to the strong ones, who know where they stand, With God as their partner, they'll walk this land. No fear, no feeling worthless, they're in the zone, 'Cause when God's on your side, you're never alone.

To spread rumors, to make people look bad, is to be a fool, the Scripture says. The reason it’s foolish is because what you sow, you’re going to reap. If you sow hurtful words, disparaging remarks, talking bad behind their back, it’s going to happen to you.

I’d be more concerned about the rumors if he didn’t love Vivian so much. One only had to look at him to know he’d rather throw himself off the Empire State Building than hurt her.

When you go away,” he said, the distant torchlight illuminating the rugged planes of his face, “I have no idea what’s happening to you. I don’t know if you’re hurt or rotting in a gutter somewhere. Yesterday I heard a rumor that they caught the killer responsible for Nirall’s death.” He brought his face close to hers, his voice hoarse. “Until you arrived today, I thought they meant you. I was about to go down there myself to find you.” “Have a little more faith in me than that. I am the King’s Champion, after all.

I never did believe the rumors,” Lacey said. “It’s a way of filling a void. The human mind doesn’t like unanswered questions. The instinct is to fill the unknown gaps with something, anything, even if it’s bizarre. That’s why closure is so important. Knowing, even when the truth hurts, you know?

College students often ask me why anyone should pay for professional journalism when there are plenty of people out there, like themselves, willing to write blogs for free? One answer is that government and corporations are investing millions of dollars into their professional communications campaigns. We deserve at least a few professionals working full-time to evaluate all this messaging and doing so with some level of expertise in ascertaining the truth. Young people are not alone in their skepticism about the value of professional journalism. A 2010 Gallup Poll showed Americans at an under 25 percent confidence in newspapers and television news—a record low. Pew Research shows faith in traditional news media spiking downward as Internet use spikes upward, and that a full 42 percent believe that news organizations hurt democracy. This is twice the percentage who believed that in the mid-1980s, before the proliferation of the net. As cultural philosopher Jürgen Habermas offered during his acceptance speech of a humanitarian award in 2006, "The price we pay for the growth in egalitarianism offered by the Internet is the decentralized access to unedited stories. In this medium, contributions by intellectuals lose their power to create a focus." To be sure, the rise of citizen journalism brings us information that the mainstream media lacks either the budget for or fortitude to cover. Initial reports of damage during Hurricane Katrina came from bloggers and amateur videographers. However, these reports also inflated body counts and spread rumors about rape and violence in the Superdome that were later revealed not to have occurred.

It is often said that Vietnam, with its quotidian cruelties and pointlessness broadcast on the nightly news, caused Americans to lose their innocence about war. I don’t deny that this is true. The immediate power of the moving image is well attested to. It does, however, call to mind a quip I once heard: “The Americans have lost their innocence, but don’t worry, they’ll find it soon.” The power of the written word has the capacity to counteract this tendency, a value of which broadcast television is at best less capable. It provides every reader with a permanent opportunity for a private encounter with the reality of experience. So perhaps someone reading this book, now or many years in the future, will encounter a passage about a wounded Marine with “the hurt, dumb eyes of a child who has been severely beaten and does not know why.” Or they will read about an experienced NCO’s assessment that “one of the most brutal things in the world is your average nineteen-year-old American boy.

What?! Oh, Ellen, so the rumors are true! She’s married to Everett Shepherd! Why, I could wring his scrawny neck! I knew he was trouble. All men are! That cheating, no-good liar, cad, and—” “Please, Frances, I appreciate your taking up for me, but cursing him won’t help me. I’ve had a lot of time to ponder it, and I don’t think he’s worthy of that much censure. You see, he had been engaged to Leona Bingham for years, and it might have gone a little stale. He was attracted to me at first, but he stuck by Leona, as he ought to do. Men get tempted, but what really matters is what they do in the end.” Frances looked up at her, eyes and brows narrowed into a legible V. “Yep, you’re hurt. Girls like you, when they get hurt, they always defend the fella.

The archaic pantheons—Norse, Egyptian, Greek—all have a god dedicated to the dark art of gossip. The book of Proverbs treats the topic thoroughly; one verse from many cautions that “a man who lacks judgment derides his neighbor, but a man of understanding holds his tongue.” “Judge not lest you be judged” is one of the most famous phrases in the whole Bible. Several sources maintain that the Romans enshrined a goddess named “Rumor”—a winged demon with a hundred eyes and a hundred mouths who spoke only the most hurtful side of the truth. Appropriately enough, I can’t seem to confirm this.