Best 163 quotes in «wicked quotes» category

Cyber bullying occurs online daily. Most don't consider their actions or words to be bullying. Here's a few clues that you're a cyber bully. (1) You post information about someone in order to ruin their character. (2) You post threats to someone. (3) You tag someone in vulgar degrading posts. (4) You post any information intended to harm or shame another individual seeking to gain attention. Then, you are a cyber bully and need to get some help.

Dictating condolences to the mother of a murdered husband whom you’ve been busily cuckolding for the last three years would take more than his limited social vocabulary.

- E tu? - Perguntou o Espantalho ao Lenhador de Lata, - O que farei se ganhar um coração? - Zombou este. - Despedaçá-lo-ei constantemente, suponho.

Envy: Instead of focusing on your own goals, your goal becomes throwing off the rails other people’s goals and at the end of the day you gain nothing but a mischievous satisfaction that you have destroyed someone’s dream

For everything that's wonderful, there's something wicked, too. That's the price you pay for magic. It's worth it, I thought.

Every word she wrote dripped with honey and on entering the depths of her desire oozing from the page... He had no doubt of her intentions...

Good at the wrong place and time becomes evil; evil in the right place and time becomes good.

For the righteous, the revelation is a joyous event, the realization of a divine truth. But for the wicked, revelations can be far more terrifying, when dark secrets are exposed and sinners are punished for their trespasses.

Galinda didn't see the verdant world through the glass of the carriage; she saw her own reflection instead. She had the nearsightedness of youth. She reasoned that because she was beautiful she was significant, though what she signified, and to whom, was not clear yet...She was, after all, on her way to Shiz because she was smart. But there was more than one way to be smart.

God never do wrong nor any wicked thing.

Great, we're all bloody inspired. -Newt

He set out once more, with a sense that his life would be rich in setting outs, and perhaps poorer in homecomings.

I cannot here withhold the statement that optimism, where it is not merely the thoughtless talk of those who harbor nothing but words under their shallow foreheads, seems to me to be not merely an absurd, but also a really wicked, way of thinking, a bitter mockery of the most unspeakable sufferings of mankind.

He touched himself and smiled wickedly. The filthy thoughts that went through his mind are not worth mentioning.

He would argue with her about killing themselves; and explain how wicked people were; how he could see them making up lies as they passed in the street. He knew all their thoughts, he said; he knew everything. He knew the meaning of the world, he said.

If a wicked rake doesn’t kiss a young lady when they’re alone in a moonlit rose garden, might it mean he doesn’t intend to? There were rules about such things. Weren’t they written down somewhere? If not, then they should be. A Treatise on Rakes, written for Susceptible Young Ladies, by a Lady of Distinction.

If blood can produce money through rituals or the so-called human sacrifice, then it is the basis on which we live, so it is very essential to save and protect it from the fiendish eyes of blood sucking predators.

If we believe that god is the creator of evil, maybe there is evil also in heaven, if that is the case, we are not out of the woods yet

If you run a business, please don’t sell to family members or friends on credit. Friends and family members are number on the list of people that can ruin your business. Set very clear boundaries. Do you want to be nice and poor, or do you want to be rich and wicked?

If you do not understand the Golden Rule, which is the most important law in the universe, then you are in trouble. All other rules in your holy books combined — are not as valuable as the ONE Golden Rule. Take two minutes to learn the most crucial law in life. Killing another human comes with the highest penalty, regardless of how you justify it. All life is sacred.

I tasted injustice and the special horror of seeing its perpetrators flourish. How frequent and how bitter is this aspect of human wretchedness. The wicked prosper in front of our eyes and go on and on and on prospering. What a blessing it must have been once to be able to believe in hell. A great and deep human consolation was lost to us when that ancient and respectable belief faded from our minds.

In her time Nor Tigelaar had faced insurrectionists and collaborationists and war profiteers. She'd endured abduction and prison and self-mutilation. She'd sold herself in sex not for cash but for military information that might come in handy to the resistance, and in so doing she'd come across a rum variety of human types.

I only have two fingers left. I wrote the lies of my farewell with two fingers. That is the truth. We are evil. They are kids. We are evil.

I think I finally understand the saying like a moth to a flame. I’m the moth. My heart flutters like the paper thin wings. And he is the flame, incendiary, scorching my soul. He inhales so heavily, like he’s been holding his breath under water. He presses his lips against mine and tugs at my hair gently. My head falls back and my mouth falls open. His tongue, slick as silver, dances with mine. I’m wrong. I’m not a moth. I’m Icarus and I’ve flown too close to the sun.

I like the sound of words, but I don't ever really expect my slow, slanted impression of the world to change by what I read.

I plan to write three words on my arm before entering the Box, hoping that its simple message will plant seed in the Gladers who see it. To remind them, even subconsciously, what it is we fight for. It's a phrase I saw on a cold, dark night long ago, the Crank pits seething behind me. It's a phrase that I believe with all my heart, despite the horrors. I think you know what it is.

Isn't that funny, that deity is passe but the attributes and implications of deity linger--

It is professional snobbery that refrains training rookies.

I’ve heard it said, that people, come into our lives for a reason. Bringing something we must learn and we aren’t, to help us most to grow, if we let them, and we help them in return. Well I don’t know if I believe that’s true, but I know I’m who I am today because I knew you

It’s not you. It’s my heart. It’s too soft for the hard wicked ways of the world.

It's true what they say, Love is a wicked game, A game so wickedly played, I am at your command in your wicked games.

Most priests wish they were as righteous as they seem to most members of their congregations.

I want to move my hands, but they’re fused to his rib cage. I feel his lung span, his heartbeat, his very life force wrapped in these flimsy bars of bone. So fragile yet so solid. Like a brick wall with wet mortar. A juxtaposition of hard and soft. He inhales again. “Jayme,” he says my name with a mix of sigh and inquiry. I open my eyes and peer into his flushed face. Roses have bloomed on his ruddy cheeks and he looks as though he’s raced the wind. “Mm?” I reply. My mind is full of babble, I’m so high. “Jayme,” he’s insistent, almost pleading. “What are you?” Instantaneous is the cold alarm that douses the flames still dancing in my heart. I feel the nervousness that whispers through me like a cool breeze in the leaves. “What do you mean?” I ask, the disquiet wringing the strength from my voice. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he explains, inhaling deeply. I feel the line of a frown between my brows. Gingerly, I lift the hem of his shirt. And as sure as I am that the world is round and that the sky is, indeed, blue the bruises and welts on his torso have faded to nothingness, the golden tan of his skin is sun-kissed perfection. Panic has me frozen as I stare. “I don’t understand,” I whisper. He looks down at his exposed abdomen. “I think you healed me.” He says it so simply, but my mind takes his words and scatters them like ashes. I feel like I’m waking from a coma and I have amnesia and everyone speaks Chinese. I can’t speak. If I had the strength to, I wouldn’t have the words. I feel the panic flood into me and fear spiked adrenaline courses through me, I shove him. Hard. Eyes wide with shock, he stumbles back a few steps. A few steps is all I need. Fight or flight instinct taking root, I fight to flee. The space between us gives me enough room to slide out from between him and the car. He shouts my name. It’s too late. I’m running a fast as my lithe legs will carry me. My Converse pound the sidewalk and I hear the roar of his engine. It’s still too late. I grew up here and I’m ten blocks from home. No newbie could track me in my own neighborhood. In my town. Not with my determination to put as much distance as I can between me and the boy who scares the shit out of me. Not when I’ve scared the shit out of myself. I run. I run and I don’t stop.

My hate is general, I detest all men; Some because they are wicked and do evil, Others because they tolerate the wicked, Refusing them the active vigorous scorn Which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds.

Not old enough to feel like an adult , really, but old enough to look like one, and to know the distinction between being carefree and careless.

Neither every rich person is noble nor miser. Neither every poor person is humble nor wicked.

Of course. You get everything from books.

One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her- is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?

One never knows how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her — is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil? It is the very least question of definitions.

One never learns how the witch becomes wicked or if it was the right choice for he — is it ever the right choice?

Roots cannot grow into trees if there are no supernatural elements in the soil. Man cannot grow wealthy and famous if he doesn't contribute to either, the good or evil.

People who claim that they’re evil are usually no worse than the rest of us. It’s the people who claim that they’re good, or anyway better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of. - Boq (WICKED)

Perhaps, thought Nanny, little green Elphaba chose her own sex, and her own color, and to hell with her parents.

She may be evil. But I'm wicked, and wicked always wins

She had that look a child has only a few times in its life, when the child has bettered her betters. The expression isn't smug, though adults often take it for smugness. It's something else. Maybe relief at having confirmed through personal experience the long-held suspicion of our species, that the enchanted world of childhood is merely a mask for something else, a more subtle and paradoxical magic. - p. 157

Sorry for being stuck in the traffic of my mind's stressful road The world seems very pornographic I can’t carry the load

The dust was antique spice, burnt maple leaves, a prickling blue that teemed and sifted to earth. Swarming its own shadows, the dust filtered over the tents.

Stories are the thing which shapes our kinky and wicked minds.

The aftermath of bearing shackles is an exquisite devastation, fraught with the ravages of survival. Even though one is no longer held captive—be that from a person, a government, or one’s inner self—the scars are deeply engraved into one’s psyche, and there’s no remedy for the soul. Many have the misconception that freedom equals happiness forever and ever. That’s a wicked delusion.

The devil would be powerless if he couldn't entice people to do his work. So as long as money continues to seduce the hungry, the hopeless, the broken, the greedy, and the needy, there will always be war between brothers.