Sibling Rivalry Quotes

The more you love,the more love you have to give.It's the only feeling we have which is infinite...

And you, Percy, are my favorite son.

Desire is both imitative (we like what others like) and competitive (we want to take away from others what they have). As children, we wanted to monopolize the attention of a parent, to draw it away from other siblings. This sense of rivalry... makes people compete for the attention.

What are we doing with him?" Briec asked eagerly. "Are we throwing him out a window? Let's throw him out a window! Or off the roof!

Many toxic parents compare one sibling unfavorably with another to make the target child feel that he's not doing enough to gain parental affection. This motivates the child to do whatever the parents want in order to regain their favor. This divide-and-conquer technique is often unleashed against children who become a little too independent, threatening the balance of the family system.

At the snowy summit of all these things, however, is the fact that you simply cannot go about locking your siblings in towers when they misbehave. It is unseemly and betrays a sad lack of creativity.

are you because of me? am I me because of you? the lines have long since blurred. if, that is, they ever existed." from "The Complication of Sisters

Love is close to hate when it comes to sisters. You're as close as two humans can be. You came from the same womb. The same background. Even if you're poles apart, mentally. That's why it hurts so much when your sister is unkind. It's as though part of you is turning against yourself.

In truth, I did not have to wonder. She would be feeling that disturbing mixture of emotions that she always summoned from me: admiration and envy, pride and a furious rivalry, a longing to see a beloved sister succeed, and a passionate desire to see a rival fall.

My mom wasn't home to arbitrate, so he forced me to try to strangle him with a phone cord.

Lorelai smirked at Leo, who raised a brow and then glared up at the sky. "The two of you are conspiring against me again, aren't you?" "She just wants to share her lunch with you." Leo blanched. "Last time she shared, I got a face full of rabbit guts from above. Tell your bird to keep her victims to herself.

Solidarity was admirable; loyalty was the person standing next to you when the devil came to call.

It’s important to make a distinction between allowing feelings and allowing actions,” I replied. “We permit children to express all their feelings. We don’t permit them to hurt each other. Our job is to show them how to express their anger without doing damage.

Sometimes opposites attract, or so they say, but Paloma and Rocío were like arroz and mangú: they didn’t really mix well.

That's the difference between you and Greta. She has better things to do. She gets involved in clubs, activities. She has friends. But you? You slump around in that room of yours--

I always thought my intellect would keep me alive, but now I shall be killed by my own baby brother with a rock. The ultimate sibling rivalry.

Sibling Rivalry Yes, my mother was a better mother To my sisters and brothers, But they were better children Than me, the prodigal who yearned And spurned and never returned.

I'm beginning to wish that you were an orphan, love. Can you both manage to focus on the task at hand without trying to catch up on fourteen years of sibling rivalry?

I told my mother he looked like a deflated balloon. Greta said he looked like a small gray moth wrapped in a spider's web. That's because everything about Greta is more beautiful, even the way she says things.

The two of them were like oil and water. Her older sister was forever stuck in surrogate mommy role. But Viviana had never needed, nor wanted a replacement mother. Fate had seen fit to remove her biological mother, so she figured that was the way it was supposed to be.

Ah, such a good pretty one.' There was a pause, 'You even got yourself dressed up.

INSTEAD OF DISMISSING NEGATIVE FEELINGS ABOUT A SIBLING, ACKNOWLEDGE THE FEELINGS.

More people would be depressed, if parents tried to please their children as frequently and as badly as children try to please their parents.

Burial is just another recipe

The eldest child is the golden one, the middle child invisible, and the youngest child is loud.

But I'm in the water, too, I wanted to say. And there are plenty eyes on you. No one's watching to see if I stay afloat.

Even after Sonja graduated secondary school at the top of her class and matriculated to the city university biology department, their parents found more to love in Natasha. Sonja's gifts were too complex to be understood, and therefore less desirable.

Your relationship with your brother will be, in many ways, the most complex and bewildering of all the interpersonal connections you will form. An older brother is both authority and peer, friend and bitter enemy, partner and rival, and will play these contradictory roles to varying degrees throughout your life. At this point the rivalry is most prominent, owing to the difference in age and the resentment your brother feels toward you monopolizing your mother's attention. Try to remember, in the face of the poor treatment you receive at his hands, that more than a pure desire to cause you harm or pain, this is an effort on his part to win back some of that attention, even if it's only through being scolded and punished.

I thought a polished appearance and stellar behavior would be the passport to belonging. And when I inevitably failed at perfection, I could at least wilfully do everything in my power to be kicked out before anyone left me.

One only has to watch aging siblings scrap over the worthless pots and pans and scuffed furniture of a deceased parent's estate- like toddlers over toys- to see how desperate is the need to wrest some last, pathetic, tangible measure of their parent's devotion.

To be loved equally,” I continued, “is somehow to be loved less. To be loved uniquely—for one’s own special self—is to be loved as much as we need to be loved.

No one else in the world could strike a nerve in [her] quite like her sister.

Was this what being an older sister was like? Wanting to yell at someone most of the time but still be willing to jump in front of a car for them? If so, it was awful.

The last image I registered was Ethan and my hand – linked, bound and unbreakable.

Get done with the damn sibling rivalry and let's get back with the task at hand here so we can figure out what we're going to do.

'Still too thin. You've let your hair grow out a bit, though. Trying to look pretty for your prince? I've told you time and again you're far too ugly to be saved.' 'You've got no room to talk of ugly. Your poor wife, always having to wear a blindfold to bed. If I'm too thin, it's because you've got all my weight. Palace life is making you into a unicorn.'

It’s not at all what I thought it would be. Nothing is. No matter how much I love it, it doesn’t love me back. If I weren’t so broken, it would fit. I feel like I don’t have a home.

The passion and excitement you feel about a child’s achievement should be saved for a moment when just the two of you are together. It’s too much for the other siblings to have to listen to.

When he heard his father call out for Abel and he saw his borther go forth, it made him feel like he was nothing. He couldn’t even say that he felt like Cain anymore. One could not feel like Cain because it had no flavor. Cain was the absence of flavor. Cain was like saliva or a Wednesday.

Sibling abuse is underreported and it goes under the radar. The concern with sibling rivalry is when it turns into sibling abuse. The core root of sibling abuse is the intent to harm and control the other sibling.

My cheeks are hot when he stalks right up to me, eyes narrowed. Pinched between his bloody fingers is a piece of scrap metal laced with seilgflùr from the blunderbuss—a shot that would have killed any other faery. “Really?” he says. “You were traipsing around in a low-visibility field while enemy fae are afoot,” I say defensively, hoping he can’t tell I’m blushing. “What is wrong with you?” Aithinne snickers and Kiaran casts her a sharp glance. “It’s not funny.” His sister tries to hold back a laugh, but doesn’t quite succeed. “I’m sorry,” she says. “But you just . . . I’ve never seen you look like such a complete mess.” Kiaran studies her with a narrowed gaze. “And both of you look like you’ve gone three rounds with a roving band of feral cats. I’d say we’re even.” “Even? Oh, please.” Aithinne ticks off each finger. “Thus far the Falconer and I escaped through a forest of spiked trees, fought off the mara, fled from Lonnrach’s soldiers, and defeated two mortair. You were shot by accident with some weapon composed of a wooden stick with a barrel on the end—” “A blunderbuss,” I correct helpfully. Kiaran gives me a pointed look that says, Whose side are you on? “—so I’d say I win this round.” She finishes with the sort of arrogant grin that makes it very clear that this must be an ongoing competition. Sibling rivalry, it seems, is not just for humans. If Kiaran’s glare is any indication, he’s contemplating about fifty different ways of killing his own sister. “Just remember,” I whisper to him, “murder is frowned upon in most societies.” “Not mine,” Kiaran says shortly. “She’s lucky I love her.

Now, glancing over...as she knelt with her eyes closed, her fingertips touching and pointed to Heaven, and her lips shaping soft words of devotion, I had to pinch myself to keep in mind that I was sitting next to the Devil's Hairball.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach. T. Berry Brazelton. Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with ‘Goodnight Moon’ and ‘Where the Wild Things Are,’ they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. . . . The biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make. . . .I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of [my children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Sibling rivalry is further reinforced in dysfunctional families by the fact that all the children are subsisting on minimal nurturance, and are therefore without resources to give to each other. Moreover, competition for the little their parents have to give creates even fiercer rivalries.

The doppelganger nature of the country’s identity is embedded in the dualistic language used to describe it, in which everything is double and never singular: Israel-Palestine, Arab and Jew, Two States, The Conflict. Based on a fantasy of symmetrical power, this suturing together of two peoples implies conjoined twins in a state of unending struggle, an irresolvable sibling rivalry between the two peoples, both descended from Abraham. For Rooney, Israel as doppelganger exists on two levels. First, it is a doppelganger of the forms of chauvinistic European nationalisms that turned Jews into pariahs on the continent since well before the Inquisition. That was Zionism’s win-win pitch to anti-Semitic European powers: you get rid of your “Jewish problem” (i.e., Jews, who will leave your countries and migrate to Palestine), and Jews get a state of their own to mimic/twin the very forms of militant nationalism that had oppressed them for centuries. (This is why Zionism was so fiercely opposed by the members of the Bund, who believed that nationalism itself was their enemy and the wellspring of race hatred.) Israel also became a doppelganger of the colonial project, specifically settler colonialism. Many of Zionism’s basic rationales were thinly veiled Judaizations of core Christian colonial conceptions: Terra Nullius, the claim that continents like Australia were effectively empty because their Indigenous inhabitants were categorized as less than fully human, became “A land without a people for a people without a land”—a phrase adopted by many Zionists and that originated with nineteenth-century Christians. Manifest Destiny became “land bequeathed to the Jews by divine right.” “Taming the wild frontier” became “making the desert bloom.

Merry Christmas," said George. "Don't go downstairs for a bit." "Why not?" said Ron. "Mum's crying again," said Fred heavily. "Percy sent back his Christmas jumper." [I guess that's a sweater, though my jury is still out on it until I get a future confirmation.] "Without a not," added George. "Hasn't asked how Dad is or visit him [in the hospital] or anything..." "We tried to comfort her," said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait. "Told her Percy's nothing but a humongous pile of rat droppings--" "--didn't work," said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. "So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.

Not till the bad feelings come out can the good ones come in.

You know, I don’t think your brother dislikes you as much as you think. After all, he gave up a kingdom to stay with his family.

Only a sister, an alternative self, could inspire such a sordid mix of disgust and envy.

Insisting upon good feelings between the children led to bad feelings. Acknowledging bad feelings between the children led to good feelings.

She was quit a handsome man, my sister.

Sisters never stand a chance to be friends. We're pitted against each other from the moment that we are born. A daughter is a treasure. Two is a tax.

...he hasn't spent his whole life playing catch-up. He was born in the lead. I don't have that luxury. I swallow hard. "You wouldn't get it. You're the older one.

Tell Anne..." I broke off. There was too much to send in one message. There were long years of rivalry and then a forced unity and always and ever, underpinning our love for each other, our sense that the other must be bested. How could I send her one word which would acknowledge all of that, and yet tell her that I loved her still, that I was glad I had been her sister, even though I knew she had brought herself to this point and taken George here too? That, though I would never forgive her for what she had done to us all, at the same time, I totally and wholly understood? "Tell her what?" Catherine hovered, waiting to be released. "Tell her that I think of her," I said simply. "All the time. Every day. The same as always.

Whatever ill we bore one another, it was always within the accepted confines of sibling rivalry, but in the absence of parents to inspire that rivalry we lost confidence in ourselves, and in our love for one another. We fought for life to continue as it had always been, we fought for our right to be in the house that we loved, we fought for stature, for respect, for equality.

Kingsley used to tell the following anecdote about sibling rivalry – how he found me, when I was four or five, lying on the stairs in an ecstasy of grief, how he worriedly knelt at my side and, after several minutes, managed to quell my hiccuppy gaspings, my heaving chest. Then he said, ‘Easy now . . . What is it?’ When at last I could find and shape the words, I said, ‘Philip had a biscuit’ . . .

To help everyone better understand the difference between giving equally with measured amounts, and giving uniquely, in terms of each child’s legitimate needs, I handed out the following illustrations:

Insisting upon good feelings between the children led to bad feelings. Acknowledging bad feelings between the children led to good feelings. A circuitous route to sibling harmony. And yet, the most direct.

Valentine’s concept of introversion includes traits that contemporary psychology would classify as openness to experience (“thinker, dreamer”), conscientiousness (“idealist”), and neuroticism (“shy individual”). A long line of poets, scientists, and philosophers have also tended to group these traits together. All the way back in Genesis, the earliest book of the Bible, we had cerebral Jacob (a “quiet man dwelling in tents” who later becomes “Israel,” meaning one who wrestles inwardly with God) squaring off in sibling rivalry with his brother, the swashbuckling Esau (a “skillful hunter” and “man of the field”). In classical antiquity, the physicians Hippocrates and Galen famously proposed that our temperaments—and destinies—were a function of our bodily fluids, with extra blood and “yellow bile” making us sanguine or choleric (stable or neurotic extroversion), and an excess of phlegm and “black bile” making us calm or melancholic (stable or neurotic introversion). Aristotle noted that the melancholic temperament was associated with eminence in philosophy, poetry, and the arts (today we might classify this as opennessto experience). The seventeenth-century English poet John Milton wrote Il Penseroso (“The Thinker”) and L’Allegro (“The Merry One”), comparing “the happy person” who frolics in the countryside and revels in the city with “the thoughtful person” who walks meditatively through the nighttime woods and studies in a “lonely Towr.” (Again, today the description of Il Penseroso would apply not only to introversion but also to openness to experience and neuroticism.) The nineteenth-century German philosopher Schopenhauer contrasted “good-spirited” people (energetic, active, and easily bored) with his preferred type, “intelligent people” (sensitive, imaginative, and melancholic). “Mark this well, ye proud men of action!” declared his countryman Heinrich Heine. “Ye are, after all, nothing but unconscious instruments of the men of thought.” Because of this definitional complexity, I originally planned to invent my own terms for these constellations of traits. I decided against this, again for cultural reasons: the words introvert and extrovert have the advantage of being well known and highly evocative. Every time I uttered them at a dinner party or to a seatmate on an airplane, they elicited a torrent of confessions and reflections. For similar reasons, I’ve used the layperson’s spelling of extrovert rather than the extravert one finds throughout the research literature.

Imagine,” I thought, “a world in which brothers and sisters grow up in homes where hurting isn’t allowed; where children are taught to express their anger at each other sanely and safely; where each child is valued as an individual, not in relation to the others; where cooperation, rather than competition is the norm; where no one is trapped in a role; where children have daily experience and guidance in resolving their differences.

But until you’ve experienced the incredible mix of emotions that a sibling brings to your life it’s really very hard to imagine. The love and the hate, the fun and the fights, the rivalry and the kinship. No one else knows your world like a sibling does. They’re there, every crap summer holiday, every day off school, every time your parents argue, every boring Christmas Day, every birthday party, they’re there. And they are a part of you.

You’ll never go wrong if you describe what you think the child might be feeling (‘You must be so proud of yourself!’) or what the child has accomplished (‘A lot of practice and perseverance went into winning that medal’).

The family bully takes sibling rivalry to a whole new level; sibling abuse. While it’s common for families to have sibling rivalry, what stands out the most with the bully is their intent to hurt others badly, especially the family scapegoat. They can physically harm you. They will mentally torture you. In some cases, they will sexually violate you. They have evil motives to control their family members, manipulate them, and gaslight them.

...that secret hostility natural between brothers, the roots of which --little nursery rivalries--sometimes toughen and deepen as life goes on, and, all hidden, support a plant capable of producing in season the bitterest fruits.

Children often experience praise of a brother or sister as a put-down of themselves. They automatically translate, ‘Your brother is so considerate’ into ‘Mom thinks I’m not.’ It’s a good idea to save our enthusiastic comments for the ear of the deserving child.

There was another matter which caused much disturbance in our mind: the viciousness of sibling rivalry. We knew that kingship knows no kinship. No bridge of affection spans the abyss that separates a monarch from his sons; no bonds of affection exist between the sons of kings. Sired though they may have been by the same loins, lain in succession in the same womb and suckled the same breasts, no sooner were they old enough to know the world than they understood that they must destroy their siblings or be destroyed themselves.

1. Start by acknowledging the children’s anger towards each other. That alone should help calm them. 2. Listen to each child’s side with respect. 3. Show appreciation for the difficulty of the problem. 4. Express faith in their ability to work out a mutually agreeable solution. 5. Leave the room.

But a vague jealousy, one of those dormant jealousies that develop between brothers or sisters almost unnoticed until maturity, only to burst out when one of them marries or has a stroke of good fortune, kept them constantly on the alert in a fraternal, unaggressive hostility. They did love each other, yet they kept an eye on each other.

Why don’t you just go run to your room and cry little girl or better yet kill yourself?” Cora spat out ferociously. “Oh honey, if I was going to kill myself I’d do it right here out of spite just to see you get down on your knees and wash the blood off the tiles and haunt your ass til kingdom come.” Sienna spat back with even more ferocity.

Jake eyed his brother. "I never forget. All data is stored in my memory banks. And one day, candy pig, you will pay." "You 're such a geek." "Thesbo." "That's Jack's latest insult." Seth gestured with his wine-glass. "A play on thespian, since Kev's into that." "Rhymes with lesbo," Jake explained helpfully while Anna stifled a groan. "It's a slick way of calling him a girl.

In Eudora Welty’s masterful story “Why I Live at the P.O.” (1941), the narrator is engaged in a sibling rivalry with her younger sister, who has come home after leaving under suspicious if not actually disgraceful circumstances. The narrator, Sister, is outraged at having to cook two chickens to feed five people and a small child just because her “spoiled” sister has come home. What Sister can’t see, but we can, is that those two fowl are really a fatted calf. It may not be a grand feast by traditional standards, but it is a feast, as called for upon the return of the Prodigal Son, even if the son turns out to be a daughter. Like the brothers in the parable, Sister is irritated and envious that the child who left, and ostensibly used up her “share” of familial goodwill, is instantly welcomed, her sins so quickly forgiven. Then

When we were children, Bapi used to dress us up in the same clothes, going to Apsara for ‘Titanic’ or reruns of ‘Dadar Kirti’ and we used to be so embarrassed by that, even at six. Day before yesterday when I saw Neev and you wearing matching purple shirts, I encountered envy for the first time. You had taken on his colors, as though you were in his house already. I felt as though that moment you had stopped needing me to make you feel whole and nothing was ever going to remain the same.’ ('Left from Dhakeshwari')

Schedule family meetings. You wouldn’t expect your car to run without periodic refueling and maintenance, yet we expect our family unit to run without regular checkups. The most enthusiastic endorsement for family meetings comes from parents and children who have experienced them. One teenager told us, “It’s a great way to make sure tensions never build up. We sit around and talk about family activities, chores, who wants to do what, who wants to trade off what, who’s bothered by what.” His mother added, “It’s a time for all of us to think creatively about what we need for ourselves and how we can be supportive of each other.

I thought of Emily's legs hanging down as Mother carried her. I thought about the empty look on her face as Mother hugged her. I thought about never being able to play in the forest alone, or make a friend, or spend more than a few minutes by myself. I thought about not having even the privacy of my own bed at night. I thought, for the first time in a long time, about how those things had made me feel, when Mother slept with me. But to Lilith I said, "She doesn't know how good she's got it," and for a moment she and I were united once more in our disdain for our little sister, our parent's favorite, who couldn't understand how lucky she was.

I couldn't see her, a blackness hung before my eyes, but I felt her fall back and I felt her skin beneath my nails, her bones beneath my fingers, my beloved sister, my enemy, my protector, my betrayal-(you sent him to me!)-and then she was hitting me, shoving me to the ground, kicking my stomach, my side, my ribs, my head. She was screaming (I saved you, all those years it was me, I saved you, I was the only one who saved you, nobody but me) and above it Emily was wailing, stop it! stop it! you're hurting her! Then her small body was between Lilith and me, pushing Lilith away, but Lilith's hands were on her throat, (not you, you got none of it, ever, you were safe, safe, safe, SAFE) and I couldn't get up, my ribs were in agony, the world was spinning, but I got to my knees and I shouted, "Let her go!" because Lilith was shaking Emily back and forth so that her hair whipped and flew- and she did stop, for just an instant, Emily's pale, fragile throat in her hands, and the whole dark earth held its breath.

Who's no longer an infant," Luc said. "Lily and I are ... 'friends' ... as well. As a matter of fact, she and I were trying on corsets together, just last night." I rolled my eyes. "You were doing what?" Max demanded. "It's an ancient bonding ritual," I said, annoyed with both men. What were they, thirteen years old? "Invoked to ward off childish displays of sibling rivalry. Obviously it didn't work." Bronwyn laughed, and Luc smiled a crooked smile.

A glance through the Bible quickly dispels the rumor that sibling problems are an invention of the twenty-first century.

The two brothers looked so alike now and their faces seemed to ripple under the weight of powerful emotions. Hatred, love, violence and fear. The crowd stepped back to form a circle, as though they might be caught between falling buildings.

a solution that was fair to all. (I said it, but I didn’t

Selfless love can transform sibling rivalry. — Emily Osburne —

Sibling rivalry is considered the most common form of bullying.

In some circumstances, the puppy views the child as another puppy to bite and bully. At other times, a child becomes jealous of the attention the new addition is getting, which leads to sibling rivalry between the child and the puppy.

But I didn’t say any of that. I did a complete turnaround.

Na segunda-feira seguinte, na fábrica, todos já sabiam. Marfiza era um diabo-espalha-fatos, que inferno. Quando ouvi o primeiro comentário na fábrica, fiquei com um vermelho-roxo no rosto. Ela jamais seria capaz de enxergar. Se estivesse na minha frente, faria escorrer do pescoço dela. Boca aberta. Futriqueira. Venenosa. Rouba-vida. Mexeriqueira. Língua de escorpião. Maldosa. Ressentida. Vilipendiadora. Sonsa.

treating our children, not as they are, but as we hoped they would become.

She ran a streak of foundation under each eye, highlighter down the bridge of her nose, and bronzer beneath each cheekbone—a layer of armor before battle. Because that’s what these parties were to her, a war on all the heartbreaking boys in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Sibling rivalry is natural. God’s love is supernatural.

Great research labs are like big families, a lot of sibling rivalry, a very successful big family. There's a certain bonding that occurs that is really rather special ... I think it comes from that notion of it like being in a big family. There's some sibling rivalry, but everybody is doing fantastically well.

By 2001, however, India was decoupling from its long rivalry with Pakistan. India’s economy was booming. Its generals and foreign policy strategists professed to be more concerned about China than about their dysfunctional sibling neighbor to the west. Yet the Pakistan Army used fear of India as a justification for dominating Pakistan’s politics.

You haven’t lived in your sibling’s shadow, struggling to gain the approval of your father and the rest of the mage community. And… you won’t be forced to marry someone you don’t love.

Describe what you see “I see a brand new jacket on the floor.” or Describe what you feel “That bothers me.” or Describe what needs to be done “This jacket belongs in the closet.

My son never seems to be able to see things from his sister's point of view. Lately I've been asking him, “How would you like it if she did that to you?” But he never answers me. Why is that? The question puts him on the spot. Were he to answer you honestly, he'd have to admit that he wouldn't like it. If you want your son to be able to consider another point of view, make a simple statement that gives him credit: “I'm sure you can imagine how that would feel if that were done to you.” Now he has to think, “Can I imagine it? What would it feel like?” But he doesn't have to answer to anyone except himself. And that's good enough.

There is something about sibling love that is greatly overlooked due to the talk of sibling rivalry, a phenomenon characterized by competition, jealousy and fighting between brothers, between sisters, and even between a brother and a sister. An older sibling’s love for the younger sibling starts when the younger brother or sister is in the crib. That love evolves into a rivalry that can be silent or overt as the siblings grow older. But do not be mistaken by all the appearances. The older sibling subconsciously retains his or her protective instinct whenever the younger sibling pursues a dangerous path in life, just like in the old days when the younger sibling was a helpless baby and the older sibling assumed the role of a protector even without being asked to. It is that protective instinct of the older sibling that eventually overcomes his misgivings about the ways of his younger sibling.

You knew he was here?” I said. “Sure,” Matthias said. “One of the times I checked on you during the night, he was in your bed. Thought it was Ayden at first, but who am I to judge? Except for their poor choice in women.

It's been forever since we watched Friends. Besides, you're the one who made me sit through that show." "Because if it was up to you, we would've watched Bewitched reruns every night." "I Love Lucy," Alisha muttered. "And you say you're not a boomer." "Whatever. You're just bitter my mind is more sophisticated than yours and didn't immediately make the leap year to pop culture when I met Quentin." "Oh, okay." Simone crossed her arms, and the gold cuff on her wrist flashed in the sunlight. "You're gonna stand there and tell me you and your minion Meg haven't been dropping Jurassic Park references since he showed up?" Tongue in her cheek, Alisha scowled. "I hate you so much." "Behold, my sister the meganerd." Cackling, Simone struck a Vanna White pose.

Since the picture is supposedly PG..." "How do you even know there is a picture?" "Are you going to share it or leave it to my imagination?" With a petty smirk, Alisha said, "I'll take door number two." "Oh, girl, c'mon." "Nuh-uh, nope. You took the wrong approach." Alisha kept the phone pressed to her chest. "Maybe one day you'll learn: shock and awe can't win every campaign.

Freud continued to be perplexed by traumatized patients behaving in compulsive and seemingly very unpleasurable ways, almost as if they wanted to relive the event that had traumatized them rather than forget it. On the one hand, conflicts between our conscious aims and our unconscious desires could go some of the way toward explaining this. People’s reactions to traumatic events may be much more complex than we like to imagine, for one thing—we harbor unconscious death wishes for those close to us, as a result of sibling rivalries and the like. But ambivalence could not be the whole story. Why do war veterans obsessively relive objectively horrifying combat situations in their dreams? Why do neurotics find it so hard to “let go” of real or imagined traumas and end up staging situations that essentially repeat and reinforce them, almost as though they are trying to (re)create those traumas instead of move on? For a doctor whose whole theory of human motivation rested on the individual’s pursuit of his or her wishes in dreams and of pleasure in daily life, this compulsive returning to past traumas was a conundrum

Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,' Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful. Prince Dain smiled. 'Let us exchange arrows at least. Then, if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow then went awry.' Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he'd had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false. Instead, he notched Dain's arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King's attention for something good, then perhaps he could get if for something really, really bad. Cardan's hand wobbled. The mortal's liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him. Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. 'I simply will not shoot under these conditions,' he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. 'The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It's getting all in my eyes.' But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing. It happened so fat that Cardan didn't cry out, didn't react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him. 'Ah,' said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. 'A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.

Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,' Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful. Prince Dain smiled. 'Let us exchange arrows at least. Then, if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow then went awry.' Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he'd had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false. Instead, he notched Dain's arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King's attention for something good, then perhaps he could get if for something really, really bad. Cardan's hand wobbled. The mortal's liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him. Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. 'I simply will not shoot under these conditions,' he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. 'The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It's getting all in my eyes.' But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing. It happened so fast that Cardan didn't cry out, didn't react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him. 'Ah,' said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. 'A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.

Diplomacy is the precursor of globalization, fortified foreign policies, and international relations. Diplomacy is an art, performed with dexterity. It is the art of negotiating important issues concerning governments. International affairs, law, and diplomacy are siblings. The development of international law requires diplomacy. Thereby it is said that international law and diplomacy are interconnected and interdependent. Nations have strengthened their ties with the aid of diplomacy. It aids in advancing foreign policies. Diplomats orchestrate plans and strategies in their prudence to enhance international political relations, thus fortifying concrete international diplomatic ties between nations. Professional diplomats intervene, study, and resolve any conflicting matters that may come to the fore including matters that may relate to trade, commerce, international relations, human rights, etc. Diplomats gather information, study it, represent and further the country's interest, and thereby invariably even contribute towards shaping the thoughts of the country they represent to a certain extent, either politically or economically. However, at times it cannot be denied that diplomacy and international law stand in rivalry and are incompatible. Hollow diplomacy may lead to a domino effect which means with the removal of one card the entire pack of cards collapses, likewise, when one government collapses, the other leaning governments fall as well. Such imprudence must be avoided at all costs, thereby calling for specially qualified diplomats to handle such a role with strategic protocols on behalf of a nation.