Best 258 quotes in «bully quotes» category

Fear of a bully, fear of a volcano; the power within you does not distinguish. It does not recognize degree.

For those who think religious people live in a constant state of fear and quaking, compare Ps 111:10 to Ps 112:7. There, you will find that the person who fears God will not fear anyone, or anything else. This is not living in fear. By choosing one fear, they are liberated from the many fears.

Guys like this Henry always pushed even the most unfunny joke two steps too far...then looked wounded and misunderstood when someone yelled at them. And it was always Wassa matter? and it was Can'tcha take a joke? and it was Why don'cha lighten up a little?

He pushed to his feet, wobbly, still adjusting to his new center of gravity. He gingerly moved one forepaw, then the next, one rear paw, then the other. He picked up the pace, but still slow as he circled the clearing. A snort, like he'd figured it out, and he broke into a lope, stumbled and plowed muzzle-first into the undergrowth. I stifled a laugh, but not very well. and he glowered at me. "Forget running. A nice, leisurely stroll might be more your speed." He snorted and turned fast. When I fell back, he gave a growling chuckle. "Still can't resist throwing your weight around, can you?" He lunged again. This time I stood my ground and he checked his leap at the last second...and toppled sideways. I didn't hide my laugh that time. He twisted fast, grabbed my pajama leg and wrenched, and down I went. "Bully." He growled a chuckle. I fingered an imaginary tear in my pant leg. "Great. I finally get some pj's and you rip them." He walked over for a better look. I tried to grab his foreleg, but he darted out of my reach and tore across the clearing.

He felt as if he has heard similar stories before. The wimp at school had grown to become stronger than the bully. And by some devious twist of fate, he would pop back into your life years later and take his revenge in the most unimaginable ways, and make sure that you suffer as much, or more, than he ever did before.

If I could give one message to the bullies, it would be this: You are incredible. You are bound for great things. You have the potential to be anybody you want to be. There are people who believe in you. There are people who love you. Be what we know you can be, even if you don’t believe in yourself right now.

I caught him by the collar and dumped him into the nearest bin. "That's where people like YOU belong!" I spat at him as his legs wiggled in the air. "In the garbage!" - Chapter 2: Miserable Torture

If I could give one message to the bullied, it would be this: You are not alone. You are strong. You have a voice. You are beautiful. You are intelligent. There are many kids who want to speak up for you, but they don’t because they are afraid of becoming bullied themselves. There are many of us in the world who love you. I love you. You have the power to end this now. That power is in your voice. Find it. Once you use your voice, bullies want no part of you. If you feel that you lack the courage, fake it until you do. Finally, I know it’s hard to see a life that exists beyond high school. It is there, and it is beautiful.

I don't care what people say about how I look or even their opinion on my relationship. But the moment you judge my character is when we have a problem.

If someone is telling a lie, whether it's about you or anything else, you've got every right to call it a lie. You don't have to believe in or repeat any lies that you've been told. And just because the president of the United States mispronounces nuclear, it doesn't mean you have to. Claiming your own voice and language can be your best line of defence against any bully culture and any government that practices a politic of domination and exclusion. You are entitled to live bully-free and in a healthier political climate than that. It's possible.

If you don't fit in someone's circle, it's because they're afraid you'll become the ring leader.

I'm joking," She said to the group. Ah, the joking defense. The tried and true excuse for bullies everywhere.

I know what I'm talking about, Alecto! When I think of Jud, I think of the times he wanted to be a coal miner, the times he took Wendy and me sailing in the harbour, the times he showed me how to play soccer, but I forgot all the bullying and I’ll never understand why. And now you ask me, you ask me what happened once we were in high school. You said you didn’t understand what having a family was like, so ask me!” Mandy was shouting at him without even realizing it, her words sharp and unforgiving. “I….” Alecto started, hesitating for a moment. “You don’t seem like yourself Mandy Valems, not at all….” “No, go ahead! You want to know what having a real family is like?” Mandy snapped, turning to stare at him coldly. “Ask me what happened, I’ll tell you anything you want to know!” “…What happened?” Alecto asked quietly, looking nervous and confused. “I stayed late after school in shop class when I was in grade 9, trying to keep my lousy grades up. I was building a birdhouse, something like that, and that was when Jud and all his popular jock friends came storming in, laughing and swearing like a bunch of pigs,” Mandy continued. “So ask me what happened next.” “I… I don’t want to ask you what happened,” Alecto replied. “Ask me!” Mandy yelled. “Alright, what happened next…?” Alecto questioned.

I'm not a feminist. Many of those who carry its flag are as selfish as male chauvinists. They want privileges but not responsibilities. Bullies hiding under a fine cause.

In this bubble of time, I wasn't a freak and he wasn't a bully, and we could be friends without anyone knowing, and at least for now, that was enough.

In retrospect, I suppose it might be difficult to develop early as a girl. Guys talking to your chest rather than your face is one thing. Then you’re also surrounded by a bunch of girls with pre- adolescent bodies who wrongly think that no breasts and no ass are a good thing. Plus, if you own your sexuality at all as a teen girl you’re a slut with a capital S. God, I’m glad those days are over. Not like adulthood is void of sexist platitudes, it’s just easier to talk about. In high school, though, if you call someone out on their shit you get bullied. It’s really a horrible time in life. Honestly, I don’t even know why there is an entire genre of books dedicated to it.

I often wonder, in a catfight, when one doesn't want to fight, if the other cat calls it a pussy.

Interesting how the selfish, the ignorant, and the constantly angry all tend to be the same person.

In this world where too many are willing to see only the light that is visible, never the Light Invisible, we have a daily darkness that is night, and we encounter another darkness from time to time that is death, the deaths of those we love, but the third and most constant darkness is with us everyday, at all hours of every day, is the darkness of the mind, the pettiness and meanness and hatred, which we have invited into ourselves, and which we pay out with generous interest.

Mandy would much rather have imaginary friends who were real than real friends who were imaginary.

I think you're wrong." "Well I think you're naive," Hayley snapped. "Maybe," Marley conceded, starting to walk away. "But I'd rather be that than a bully like you.

I want to be bullied. But in again and you'll pay." "She... wants to be bullied...?

I will no longer let the fear of vicious comments or replies stop me from speaking what I believe to be right. I will also never give a message that everybody will agree with. I know that even my most faithful followers will never agree 100% with what I say. I also know that they know that and are fine with it. I am done letting the bullies win. They won’t anymore. Not here.

Madeleine Albright says, “There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women.” I wonder what happens to women who bully other women.

Luke said that he was surprised when I showed up at his room. That he hadn’t meant to give me the wrong idea. That he would never have taken it beyond just kissing. And he looked so genuine. So trustworthy. So sorry about what had happened. He almost convinced me that I’d misread his signals.” Hallelujah pauses. “The whole time, I kept my mouth shut. I wish I hadn’t. But I was still so humiliated. And I felt guilty. I made out with him. I liked it. And no one made me go to his room.” Her voice breaks. She has to swallow past a lump in her throat. “I know Luke’s not a good guy. I know what he did isn’t my fault. It’s his. But still, none of it would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone to his room.” She’s almost there. Almost done. Almost heard. Something deep inside her hurts like it hasn’t hurt in a long time. But she knows that this gash had to reopen in order to heal. That’s how wounds work. They need air. “I knew I’d get punished, and I did. My parents grounded me. I was put on youth group probation. But I honestly thought Luke’s lies would just fade away if I kept a low profile. There’s always gossip about someone. This time it was me.” ... “Luke is still telling people about what supposedly happened that night,” Hallelujah says. “And he makes fun of me. All the time. What I look like, what I say, my name. And he does this thing at church: whenever we sing a hymn with my name in it, he sings it like he’s hooking up with me. He sings the word ‘hallelujah’ at me. He moans it. And I hate it.” That’s one of the reasons she stopped singing: his voice, his fake grunts of satisfaction, ruining the music she loved so much. “You said,” she says to Jonah, “he wanted to keep me upset. To keep me from telling anyone what really happened. Well, it worked.” She pauses. “Until now.” “Until now,” Rachel repeats. Then she curses. “I can’t believe him. I can’t believe he got away with it.” “I let him get away with it,” Hallelujah says softly. “No. He’s the one who crossed the line. And okay, maybe you could’ve spoken up sooner. But if no one pushed you for your side of the story, that’s on them.” Rachel yawns and stretches. “And when we get home, we’re going to set the record straight.

Pag sinabihan kang panget o mataba, bullying yun. Pero pag binungangaan ka o pinitik man lang, assault yun. That's a crime! Dapat magreklamo ka na sa pulis o barangay.

Pain and humiliation is always amusing when it happens to someone else.

Persistence is a writer's best friend disguised as a bully.

Ralon didn't make anyone else put his tack away?" Alex wanted to know. "You didn't see anything strange?" Alanna didn't look up. "No." It wasn't strange , she excused her lie mentally. Ralon does things like that all the time.

Some big guys, they think struttin' the muscle will put your tail between your legs, but all they got is strut, they ain't got the guts to back up the brag

Some people love to mentally bully others into feeling inferior. Sadly, they often succeed in doing so because a lot of people aren't in the habit of defining their true self-worth.

The hoodlum-occultist is “sociopathic” enough to, see through the conventional charade, the social mythology of his species. “They’re all sheep,” he thinks. “Marks. Suckers. Waiting to be fleeced.” He has enough contact with some more-or-less genuine occult tradition to know a few of the gimmicks by which “social consciousness,” normally conditioned consciousness, can be suspended. He is thus able to utilize mental brutality in place of the simple physical brutality of the ordinary hooligan. He is quite powerless against those who realize that he is actually a stupid liar. He is stupid because spending your life terrorizing and exploiting your inferiors is a dumb and boring existence for anyone with more than five billion brain cells. Can you imagine Beethoven ignoring the heavenly choirs his right lobe could hear just to pound on the wall and annoy the neighbors? Gödel pushing aside his sublime mathematics to go out and cheat at cards? Van Gogh deserting his easel to scrawl nasty caricatures in the men’s toilet? Mental evil is always the stupidest evil because the mind itself is not a weapon but a potential paradise. Every kind of malice is a stupidity, but occult malice is stupidest of all. To the extent that the mindwarper is not 100 percent charlatan through-and-through (and most of them are), to the extent that he has picked up some real occult lore somewhere, his use of it for malicious purposes is like using Shakespeare’s sonnets for toilet tissue or picking up a Picasso miniature to drive nails. Everybody who has advanced beyond the barbarian stage of evolution can see how pre-human such acts are, except the person doing them. Genuine occult initiation confers “the philosopher’s stone,” “the gold of the wise” and “the elixir of life,” all of which are metaphors for the capacity to greet life with the bravery and love and gusto that it deserves. By throwing this away to indulge in spite, malice and the small pleasure of bullying the credulous, the mindwarper proves himself a fool and a dolt. And the psychic terrorist, besides being a jerk, is always a liar and a fraud. Healing is easier (and more fun) than cursing, to begin with, and cursing usually backfires or misfires. The mindwarper doesn’t want you to know that. He wants you to think he’s omnipotent.

Turning at the sound of voices, Amelia saw Merripen carrying her sister outside. Win was dressed in a nightgown and robe and swathed in a shawl, her slim arms looped around Merripen’s neck. With her white garments and blond hair and fair skin, Win was nearly colorless except for the flags of soft pink across her cheekbones and the vivid blue of her eyes. “… that was the most terrible medicine,” she was saying cheerfully. “It worked,” Merripen pointed out, bending to settle her carefully on the chaise. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you for bullying me into taking it.” “It was for your own good.” “You’re a bully,” Win repeated, smiling into his dark face. “Yes, I know,” Merripen murmured, tucking the lap blankets around her with extreme care. Delighted by the improvement in her sister’s condition, Amelia smiled. “He really is dreadful. But if he manages to persuade more villagers to help clean the house, you will have to forgive him, Win.” Win’s blue eyes twinkled. She spoke to Amelia, while her gaze remained on Merripen. “I have every faith in his powers of persuasion.

We are not the stories that others hear about us, we are the stories that we know about ourselves

We need to teach our kids to be tough: the system may be synthesized to protect them from bullies, but who will protect them against a system gone wrong?

...what started with those simple requirements -- make her notice me, but guarantee that nobody understood how I felt -- turned into the cruelest thing I have ever done to another human.

You can't even communicate in English. Real life is not a series of levels.

You’re innocent until proven guilty,” Mandy exclaimed, unable to hide her gleeful smile. She missed the way people used to have normal conversations, used to be more caring for each other than themselves, back in the Seventies and Eighties. These days, she realized, neighbors kept to themselves, their kids kept to themselves, nobody talked to each other anymore. They went to work, went shopping and shut themselves up at home in front of glowing computer screens and cellphones… but maybe the nostalgic, better times in her life would stay buried, maybe the world would never be what it was. In the 21st century music was bad, movies were bad, society was failing and there were very few intelligent people left who missed the way things used to be… maybe though, Mandy could change things. Thinking back to the old home movies in her basement, she recalled what Alecto had told her. “We wanted more than anything else in the world to be normal, but we failed.” The 1960’s and 1970’s were very strange times, but Mandy missed it all, she missed the days when Super-8 was the popular film type, when music had lyrics that made you think, when movies had powerful meanings instead of bad comedy and when people would just walk to a friend’s house for the afternoon instead of texting in bed all day. She missed soda fountains and department stores and non-biodegradable plastic grocery bags, she wished cellphones, bad pop music and LED lights didn’t exist… she hated how everything had a diagnosis or pill now, how people who didn’t fit in with modern, lazy society were just prescribed medications without a second thought… she hated how old, reliable cars were replaced with cheap hybrid vehicles… she hated how everything could be done online, so that people could just ignore each other… the world was becoming much more convenient, but at the same time, less human, and her teenage life was considered nostalgic history now. Hanging her head low, avoiding the slightly confused stare of the cab driver through the rear view mirror, she started crying uncontrollably, her tears soaking the collar of her coat as the sun blared through the windows in a warm light.

A bully is not reasonable - he is persuaded only by threats.

A bully has no respect for a weakling and the way to stop a bully is not to be weak. The way to stop a bully from ever being a bully is to say: "I'm as strong as you. Anything you do to me, I can do to you." We are going for nuclear and conventional disarmament but we're going about it in the right way.

Actually I feel sorry for the bully because they probably don't have love and support at home.

All we can do about bullies is wish them happiness & celebrate our own.

America is a mere bully, from one end to the other, and the Bostonians by far the greatest bullies.

A placated bully is a hand-fed bully.

As a former lifelong Republican, it pains me to tell you that today's Republicans - and their standard-bearers, Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan - just aren't up to the task. They're beholden to 'my way or the highway' bullies, indebted to billionaires who bankroll ads and allergic to the very idea of compromise.

Donald Trump is a bully who thrives on division.

Donald [Trump] has had a long career of using great wealth and power trying to bully others.

Even bullies need love.

Even when I was at school, I wanted to be liked by everyone, even the bullies. I didn't like them, but I needed to know that they liked me.

Everybody's got a bully pulpit now, and everybody's mad. I don't blame people for being angry and frustrated about everything. I'm old, but I'm not pulling my pants up to my tits. I take deep breaths of air when I enter a room and celebrate the fact that I'm alive.