Best 960 quotes in «revenge quotes» category

He that deserves to be slapped, should not be let go with a scolding.

He took my family,” Adamat said. “Blackmailed me, and he still has my wife and oldest son. I want to get them back, and then kill him slowly.” “A lot of violence planned, for a family man,” the eunuch said. Adamat leaned forward. “‘Family,’” he said. “Remember that word. There is nothing that will make a man more desperate and more capable of violence than endangering his family.

Het op eigen gezag beslechten van geschillen mocht dan in vroegere tijden gangbaar zijn, thans behoort het thuis bij de rechterlijke macht.

He wanted the world to believe that he was a horse rider. So let him ride his horses at the bottom of the ocean.

He was almost at his door when Vik’s earsplitting shriek resounded down the corridor. Tom was glad for the excuse to sprint back toward him. “Vik?” He reached Vik’s doorway as Vik was backing out of it. “Tom,” he breathed, “it’s an abomination.” Confused, Tom stepped past him into the bunk. Then he gawked, too. Instead of a standard trainee bunk of two small beds with drawers underneath them and totally bare walls, Vik’s bunk was virtually covered with images of their friend Wyatt Enslow. There were posters all over the wall with Wyatt’s solemn, oval face on them. She wore her customary scowl, her dark eyes tracking their every move through the bunk. There was a giant marble statue of a sad-looking Vik with a boot on top of its head. The Vik statue clutched two very, very tiny hands together in a gesture of supplication, its eyes trained upward on the unseen stomper, an inscription at its base, WHY, OH WHY, DID I CROSS WYATT ENSLOW? Tom began to laugh. “She didn’t do it to the bunk,” Vik insisted. “She must’ve done something to our processors.” That much was obvious. If Wyatt was good at anything, it was pulling off tricks with the neural processors, which could pretty much be manipulated to show them anything. This was some sort of illusion she was making them see, and Tom heartily approved. He stepped closer to the walls to admire some of the photos pinned there, freeze-frames of some of Vik’s more embarrassing moments at the Spire: that time Vik got a computer virus that convinced him he was a sheep, and he’d crawled around on his hands and knees chewing on plants in the arboretum. Another was Vik gaping in dismay as Wyatt won the war games. “My hands do not look like that.” Vik jabbed a finger at the statue and its abnormally tiny hands. Wyatt had relentlessly mocked Vik for having small, delicate hands ever since Tom had informed her it was the proper way to counter one of Vik’s nicknames for her, “Man Hands.” Vik had mostly abandoned that nickname for “Evil Wench,” and Tom suspected it was due to the delicate-hands gibe. Just then, Vik’s new roommate bustled into the bunk. He was a tall, slim guy with curly black hair and a pointy look to his face. Tom had seen him around, and he called up his profile from memory: NAME: Giuseppe Nichols RANK: USIF, Grade IV Middle, Alexander Division ORIGIN: New York, NY ACHIEVEMENTS: Runner-up, Van Cliburn International Piano Competition IP: 2053:db7:lj71::291:ll3:6e8 SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-4 Giuseppe must’ve been able to see the bunk template, too, because he stuttered to a stop, staring up at the statue. “Did you really program a giant statue of yourself into your bunk template? That’s so narcissistic.” Tom smothered his laughter. “Wow. He already has your number, man.” Vik shot him a look of death as Tom backed out of the bunk.

He was the oldest. When we left Kentucky, our folks told him to look after me. Didn't say a word to me. Wouldn't have occurred to them.

He who plots revenge must dig two graves.

His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and he replied, "To seek one who fled from me.

His eyes were like two wafers of slate, grey and lifeless.

His guilt swelled up, churning like a paddle wheel in his stomach. He wanted desperately to flee. How do you escape something that comes from inside? The revenant, he knew, searched for him.

History is full of examples of men with deep-seated grievances who embraced good causes, in part at least, to settle old scores.

Hold mirth tight against your breast, but answer every injury with bladed heart.

Hot from hell. Caesar's spirit raging in revenge. Cry,havoc! And let slip the dogs of war.

How easy it all was, to get drunk, to go mad, to vandalise, to commit fraud. Perhaps she had always had criminal tendencies;

How well I know you by your deeds and how invariably you succeed in living down to what one expects of you!

How very kind of her, ' I said. 'I must remember to send her a card.' I'd send her a card alright. It would be the Ace of Spades, and I'd mail it anonymously from somewhere other than Bishop's Lacey.

Humans might have so many roles in life.... yet revenge is not one of them

I admired so many things about you. Almost everything. But I don’t want to wind up like you. I don’t want to starve to death, all alone on some island inside my own head. Hopeless.

I also knew that the deep rumble rolling through us was only nerves, a sensitivity to imagined repercussion, as if a sound were built into revenge.

I almost regret having helped you in your researches & having told you what I did

I always thought high school was supposed to be a time for finding yourself, but I guess that's only if you fit into the mold people have made for you.

I am talking about offering my services to Nahara. Helping them to rise in world power.” -Kai Sera Cerin Heliot: “It will be hard to convince them you are capable of this.” Kai: “Will it? I have the blood of the gods, Cerin, and Nahara is a country of religion.” Cerin: “What gives you such drive?” Kai: “Revenge.

I am Damian, the king of Antion, and no one will ever take someone I love from me again and live.

I believe in revenge... I’ve lost faith in much over the years, but not that.

(aside) Oh, you are well tuned now, But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am.

I can be ruthless, unforgiving, and a manipulative bastard. But I don’t play games with sex.

I clench my fists and try not to scream and I tuck my friends in my heart and revenge I think has never looked so sweet.

I certainly don’t have any interest in being on a dark veranda with any man except my husband, unlike some women do.” - Esther Norman

I can't get his bones to go down the fucking drain. I try to stuff the tiny holes, too tiny for this pain. I can't get his bones to break any way for my gain. Break them back a little too far, never too far for the sake of sane.

I chose not to fight it. Eating them...is my revenge.

I could not make it right, but I could make someone pay for how wrong it had been.

I could hardly get to sleep for dreaming of revenge.

I dead each day when her call was busy elsewhere.

I don't seek revenge because the karma bus always arrives on time.

I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe the results with complacency.

I don't get jealous, I get even.

I don't mind having to die now, for I see that he is the cause of my death is about to share the same fate.

...I'd given him my virginity because he told me I was special, but apparently I was simply a new link in a very long chain." "So what did you do?" ... "Put red pepper sauce in his rubbers.

I dont celebrate any friendship that was build on hate, because we share the common enemy.

I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.

I feel something hot and violent writhing in my stomach. I want to hurt them. I stare at my eyes in the mirror. I want so, so I will.

I felt a lunatic’s laugh welling up inside me.

If I had it my way I'd slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back.

If I ask God to punish my enemy with vengeful prayers, then He is fair to allow the enemy to do the same for me.

If I had allowed myself to dwell on revenge, it would turn to bitterness, and bitterness is the worst poison a man can give himself.

If, one day, you find yourself involved in a dirty game, keep in mind that you end up screwed unless you screw your opponent over.

If Mark really had managed to acquire some information about the Mogodorians, and if doing so had gotten him into some kind of trouble, then we needed to help him

If only, revenge had the power to bring peace.

If the secret core of potlatch is the reciprocity of exchange, why is this reciprocity not asserted directly, why does it assume the “mystified” form of two consecutive acts each of which is staged as a free voluntary display of generosity? Here we encounter the paradoxes of forced choice, of freedom to do what is necessary, at its most elementary: I have to do freely what I am expected to do. (If, upon receiving a gift, I immediately return it to the giver, this direct circulation would amount to an extremely aggressive gesture of humiliation, it would signal that I refused the other’s gifts — recall those embarrassing moments when elderly people forget and give us last year’s present once again … ) …the reciprocity of exchange is in itself thoroughly ambiguous; at its most fundamental, it is destructive of the social bond, it is the logic of revenge, tit for tat. To cover this aspect of exchange, to make it benevolent and pacific, one has to pretend that each person’s gift is free and stands on its own. This brings us to potlatch as the “pre-economy of the economy,” its zero-level, that is, exchange as the reciprocal relation of two non-productive expenditures. If the gift belongs to Master and exchange to the Servant, potlatch is the paradoxical exchange between Masters. Potlach is simultaneously the zero-level of civility, the paradoxical point at which restrained civility and obscene consumption overlap, the point at which it is polite to behave impolitely.

If Recsk had taught him anything, it was that for those intent on killing, life was the ultimate revenge.