Best 93 quotes in «retribution quotes» category

All by yourself, unable to express the pain of your distress with your deeper inside. You alienate yourself and everybody else.

All emphasis in American prisons is on punishment, retribution, and disparagement, and almost none is on rehabilitation.

As they croak, I see myself in the pistol smoke.

An eye for an eye til everyone is blind.

A traitor commits his crime but once. The rest/is retribution.

But grant the wrath of Heaven be great, 'tis slow. [Lat., Ut sit magna tamen certe lenta ira deorum est.]

A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

Forgiveness doesn't diminish justice; it just entrusts it to God. He guarantees the right retribution.

But if used for retribution, magic is vengeance incarnate.

Every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back, I hope you feel it.

God's mills grind slow, But they grind woe.

Fundamentalist Muslim terrorists kill three thousand Americans, but America isn't supposed to respond, because if we respond, they'll respond. We always hear about 'karmic retributions' and the 'cycle of violence' only after we've been hit.

I don't know karate, but I know crazy.

Heaven never defaults. The wicked are sure of their wages, sooner or later.

I'd love to spit some Beechnut in that dude's eye and shoot him with my ole forty-five.

Heaping glowing coals on another person's head is usually misunderstood and comes to nothing because the other person knows just as well that he is in the right and has also given some thought on his own part to heaping coals.

I was ready to approach her with my English charm, when her brass knuckled boyfriend grabbed me by the arm.

Jealousy endlessly eats through my mind, and jealously endlessly makes me be unkind.

Let's just kill everyone and let God sort them out.

Justice can span years. Retribution is not subject to a calendar.

My trigger finger itching, positioned at your dome, one twitch and it's on. No remorse or second thoughts.

My homie lost his family and snapped, shot up half the block to bring them back.

Retribution is a dog chasing its tail.

Revenge is more wild, less calculated...deeply personal. Retribution is a punishment that is morally right and fully deserved. (Mitch Rapp)

It is a just retribution for improper sexual misconduct

Strip those clowns down to nudity, shove the chrome where they doo doo be.

That was clearly a tackle aimed at getting revenge - or maybe it was just out-and-out retribution.

The best revenge is to always survive yourself.

There is no satisfaction in vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him, and why retribution has come upon him.

The forces of retribution are always listening. They never sleep.

The light that stopped the night felt like forgiveness.

Too much of nothing, it just makes a fellow mean.

We must repay goodness and wickedness: but why exactly to the person who has done us a good or a wicked turn?

We're out playing ball in the gym, I put boogers on the basketball and pass it to him.

When they finally put you in the ground, I'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down.

You can bring your enemies to their knees with the possible exception of the North Vietnamese.

There are some duties we owe even to those who have wronged us. There is, after all, a limit to retribution and punishment.

Your so bitter, like kitty litter.

Accidents and sicknesses are accepted as deserved retribution by the person who has feelings of guilt

An action made by an unwitting man, shall not define, nor justify a common thought and interpretation.

An action made by a unwitting man, shall not define, nor justify a common though and interpretation.

And they came up on the broad plain of the earth and surrounded the camp of the saints and the beloved city, and fire came down from heaven and devoured them. -Revelations 20:9

Ashes, ashes.” Her whispered words of an old rhyme smashed through the silence as thunder, and in unison, the shadow figures answered. “We all fall down.

A system of justice does not need to pursue retribution. If the purpose of drug sentencing is to prevent harm, all we need to do is decide what to do with people who pose a genuine risk to society or cause tangible harm. There are perfectly rational ways of doing this; in fact, most societies already pursue such policies with respect to alcohol: we leave people free to drink and get inebriated, but set limits on where and when. In general, we prosecute drunk drivers, not inebriated pedestrians. In this sense, the justice system is in many respects a battleground between moral ideas and evidence concerning how to most effectively promote both individual and societal interests, liberty, health, happiness and wellbeing. Severely compromising this system, insofar as it serves to further these ideals, is our vacillation or obsession with moral responsibility, which is, in the broadest sense, an attempt to isolate the subjective element of human choice, an exercise that all too readily deteriorates into blaming and scapegoating without providing effective solutions to the actual problem. The problem with the question of moral responsibility is that it is inherently subjective and involves conjecture about an individuals’ state of mind, awareness and ability to act that can rarely if ever be proved. Thus it involves precisely the same type of conjecture that characterizes superstitious notions of possession and the influence of the devil and provides no effective means of managing conduct: the individual convicted for an offence or crime considered morally wrong is convicted based on a series of hypotheses and probabilities and not necessarily because he or she is actually morally wrong. The fairness and effectiveness of a system of justice based on such hypotheses is highly questionable particularly as a basis for preventing or reducing drug use related harm. For example, with respect to drugs, the system quite obviously fails as a deterrent and the system is not organised to ‘reform’ the offender much less to ensure that he or she has ‘learned a lesson’; moreover, the offender does not get an opportunity to make amends or even have a conversation with the alleged victim. In the case of retributive justice, the justice system is effectively mopping up after the fact. In other words, as far as deterrence is concerned, the entire exercise of justice becomes an exercise based on faith, rather than one based on evidence.

The divine power moves with difficulty, but at the same time surely.

You beef wit me, I'm-a even the score equally. Take you on Jerry Springer and beat your ass legally.

After reading Burgum, [Patricia Highsmith] wrote in her cahier that, like Kafka, she felt she was a pessimist, unable to formulate a system in which an individual could believe in God, government or self. Again like Kafka, she looked into the great abyss which separated the spiritual and the material and saw the terrifying emptiness, the hollowness, at the heart of every man, a sense of alienation she felt compelled to explore in her fiction. As her next hero, she would take an architect, 'a young man whose authority is art and therefore himself,' who when he murders, 'feels no guilt or even fear when he thinks of legal retribution'. The more she read of Kafka the more she felt afraid as she came to realise, 'I am so similar to him.

An action made by an unwitting man, shall not define, nor justify a common thought or interpretation.

A strike within the realm of the professional never justifies retribution in the realm of the personal

I blurt out my story, how I had hired Nicola to be the maîtress d'hôtel at our restaurant, Grappa, when I was seven months pregnant. How I suspected Jake and Nicola had begun having an affair when Chloe was just hours old; and how one night, when Chloe woke up and Jake still wasn't home at two-thirty in the morning, I bundled her up and strapped her into the portable infant carrier, walked the three blocks to the restaurant, and snuck in the side door. The door was locked, but the alarm wasn't on, the first odd thing, because Jake always locks up and sets the alarm before leaving the restaurant. Chloe had fallen back to sleep in her infant seat on the way over, so I carefully nestled the carrier into one of the leather banquettes. I crept through the dining room and into the darkened kitchen, where I could see the office at the far end was aglow with candlelight. As I moved closer I could hear music. "Nessun dorma," from Turandot, Jake's favorite. How fitting. On the marble pastry station I found an open bottle of wine and two empty glasses. It was, to add insult to what was about to be serious injury, a 1999 Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Masseto Toscano- the most expensive wine in our cellar. Three hundred and eighty dollar foreplay. I picked up the bottle and followed the trail of clothes to the office. Jake's checkered chef's pants and tunic, Nicola's slinky black dress, which I hated her for being able to wear, and a Victoria's Secret lacy, black bra. They were on the leather couch, Nicola on top, her wild, black hair spilling over Jake's chest, humping away like wild dogs. Carried away by their passion, they were oblivious to my approach. I drained the last of the wine from the bottle and hurled it over their backsides where it smashed against the wall, announcing my arrival. Before Jake could completely extricate himself, I jumped on Nicola's back and grabbed hold of her hair and pulled with all the strength of my hot-blooded Mediterranean ancestors. Nicola screamed, and clawed the air, her flailing hands accidentally swiping Jake squarely on the chin. He squirmed out from under her and tried to tackle me, but I'm not a small woman. Armed with my humiliation and anger, I was a force in motion. In desperation, Jake butted his head into the middle of my back, wrapped his hands around my waist, and pulled with all his might. He succeeded, pulling so hard that Nicola's hair, which I had resolutely refused to yield, came away in great clumps in my hands. Nicola's screams turned to pathetic whimpers as she reached to cover her burning scalp. She then curled herself into a fetal position, naked and bleeding, and began to keen.