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Betrayal Quotes

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Betrayal Quotes

“Trust of others is in short supply for many adult survivors, as complex trauma generally involves major relational betrayal. It is, therefore, expectable (although paradoxical) that clients with these histories are predisposed to be mistrustful at the outset of therapy, precisely because of (and in proportion to) the actual trustworthiness of the therapist. When past experiences have thought hard lessons, namely, that one can least afford to trust the people who should be most trustworthy, it stands to reason that confusion about trust results. The therapist must understand and not take offense either personally or professionally and not react judgmentally or defensively. Practically speaking, this involves the therapist being prepared to patiently and empathically respond to active or passive tests or challenges to trustworthiness as legitimate and meaningful communication that deserves a respectful reply in action as well as in words.”

“Love should not cause suffocation and death if it is truly love. Don't bundle someone into an uncomfortable cage just because you want to ensure their safety in your life. The bird knows where it belongs, and will never fly to a wrong nest.”

“ನಿಮ್ಮ ನಾಲಿಗೆಯಿಂದ ನೀವು ನನ್ನ ಬೆವರುವಿಕೆಯನ್ನು ಮುಟ್ಟಿದ್ದೀರಿ ಅಬೋಂಟಿಕಾ, ಮತ್ತು ಹೇಳಿದ್ದು, ‘ಆಹ್ ಉಪ್ಪು ಸೌಂದರ್ಯ ಹೃದಯದ ಹೃದಯ… ಪುರುಷತ್ವದ ಪರಿಮಳ… ’ ಆ ದಿನ, ಪೊಲೀಸ್ ಕಸ್ಟಡಿಯಿಂದ ನ್ಯಾಯಾಲಯದವರೆಗೆ ಹಗ್ಗವನ್ನು ನನ್ನ ಸೊಂಟಕ್ಕೆ ಕಟ್ಟಿ ಕೈಕವಚ ನಾನು ಕೊಲೆಗಾರರ ಹುಡ್ಲಮ್ಗಳೊಂದಿಗೆ ನಡೆದಿದ್ದೇನೆ; ರಸ್ತೆಯ ಎರಡೂ ಬದಿಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಸರ್ಕಸ್ ಪ್ರೀತಿಯ ಗುಂಪು. ದ್ರೋಹಿಗಳು, ಯಾರು ಸ್ವಯಂಪ್ರೇರಿತರಾಗಿದ್ದಾರೆ ನನ್ನ ವಿರುದ್ಧ ಸಾಕ್ಷಿ ಹೇಳಲು ನ್ಯಾಯಾಲಯ, ಯಾವಾಗ ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದರು ಅವರು ಸಾಕ್ಷಿ ಪೆಟ್ಟಿಗೆಯಿಂದ ಕೆಳಗಿಳಿದು, ‘ಇಲ್ಲ, ಬೆವರು ಸಿಹಿಯಾಗಿತ್ತು ಮತ್ತು ಉಪ್ಪಾಗಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ; ಹೀಗೆ ವಿಶ್ವಾಸಘಾತುಕತನದ ಯಾವುದೇ ಪ್ರಶ್ನೆ ಉದ್ಭವಿಸುವುದಿಲ್ಲ- ಮತ್ತು ದ್ರೋಹಿಗಳು ಎಂದು ಗುರುತಿಸಬಾರದು.”

“হত্যাকাণ্ড আমাকে বারবার জীবন থেকে হড়কে জীবনের ফঁদাই পড়তে হচ্ছে মৃত্যু কেবলই কেবলই প্রতারণা করছে আমার সঙ্গে চারটে বাঘ আর তিনটে বুনো শুয়োরের ধ্বস্তাধস্তি চলছে আবছা জ্যোৎস্নায় আমার মিথ্যে জিভ থেকেই সত্যের চ্যালেঞ্জ ফঁড়ে ঝলসা দিচ্ছে মানু-বাচ্চাদের তাদের কান্না শুনে বধির হয়ে যাচ্ছে আমার কান আনন্দে সাততলা অব্দি লাফিয়ে উঠছে আমার জিভ প্রেমিকার কষ্ট দেখে আনন্দে কঁদে উঠেছিলাম আমি চুমু খেতে গিয়ে আলজিভ শুকিয়ে আসছে আমার চারিদিকের ভিজে স্যাঁতসেতে অন্ধকার থেকে আমি দানব না যিশুকৃষ্ট বুঝতে না পেরে রেস্তঁরায় ভিড় করছে মেয়েমানুষেরা আজ আর কোনো রাস্তা খঁজে পাচ্ছে না কেউ সরলভাবে হাঁটবার সব রাস্তাই লুটিয়ে থাকে সব পাপোষের তলায় গড়িয়ে যায় ধুলোর ঝড় সব জীবনের মথ্যেই ভয়ংকর কাঁপানো অর্থহীনতা শূন্যতা আঃ মৃত্যু বাঞ্চোৎ মৃত্যু অপমৃত্যুও ফেরার হয়ে পালাচ্ছে আমার ভয়া কেননা আমি বুঝে গেছি মৃত্যুর দমবন্ধ ভান কেননা আমি মৃত্যুর কাছে গিয়েছিলাম সরল চোখে”

“When someone steals your original ideas? Feel sorry for them. When someone steals your thunder or applause? Feel sorry for them. When someone doesn't support your dreams or work ? Feel sorry for them. But when someone steals your truth, your voice, your heart or your words? Feel truly sorry for them And then kick their ass. It's yours. Because you've been way too fucking polite.”

“Taken from the dedication in my debut novel Exactly 23 days. To honour all women on International Women's day. For women everywhere: When you know you are finally mended, spread the word, hold out your hand, share some love from your heart and some laughter from your soul and be there for a new member of the sisterhood who needs your help. Let's all help our sisters worldwide to stand tall and know, they can and they will recover, survive and thrive, to live the life they deserve. To all the sisters who reached out and held my hand in whatever way you could, who cried my tears with me, and laughter my laughter too, I thank every one of you. I survived.”

“Leaches Ten Tall by Stewart Stafford Don't play this game with me, Predatory whelk of tide pools, Taint me as Rigoletto to a bawd, Floundering florist to my bee. Devotion twisted to a changeling, Now a jealous twin in the shadows, From dancing partner to judge; Delicate consensus to harshest critic. Slice of cold shoulder sandwich, Sup the chalice of icy comfort, Not snowfall on Christmas morn, Oaken boards trodden in a manger. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“The soft glow of the fairy lights in her room, the way her arm warmers covered the bandages on her wrists. She had made them herself, tiny stitches woven into the fabric like a secret, a small act of care for a body she was learning to hate.”

“Her breath caught in her throat. She knew what he was doing. She had seen it in books, in movies, in the hushed conversations of girls who had learned their lessons too late.”

“Crazy thoughts without logic took turns slashing at me. “Why do they get you to learn to love them, if this is how they’re going to treat you after you do? Why do they come around you when you’re seventeen and aren’t doing anything to them, are just minding your own business, getting along all right without them, if this is how they’re going to act when you’re twenty-two? Why don’t they leave you alone?” I sobbed deep inside where it couldn’t be heard. “Why don’t they leave you alone if they don’t mean it?”

“Knowing him was sweatpants and suntans and riding in his Jeep until the sky turned pink and purple. Growing up with him involved the best days, fishing off his dock as crickets chirped in the background, watching outdoor movies until we fell asleep on his old bedspread. It was love. It was young. And I feel it all still, burning in the places it shouldn’t be. Even though he betrayed me.”