Betrayal and Disappointment

The treacherous are ever distrustful. J. R. R.

 

Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. J. R. R.

 

His honour rooted in dishonor stood, and faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.

The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool.

Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.

We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst.

 

To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life and this is a softness that ends in bitterness.

To be misunderstood even by those whom one loves is the cross and bitterness of life.

One should stick by one’s own soul, and by nothing else. In one’s soul, one knows the truth from the untruth, and life from death. And if one betrays one’s own soul-knowledge, one is the worst of traitors.

And trust me not at all or all in all.

 

His honour rooted in dishonour stood,

 

It is the little rift within the lute,

 

The King found her so different from her picture … that … he swore they had brought him a Flanders mare.

 

But, friend, to me He is all fault who hath no fault at all. For who loves me must have a touch of earth.

 

You saw his weakness, and he will never forgive you.

 

Every American bride is taken there [Niagara Falls], and the sight of the stupendous waterfall must be one of the earliest, if not the keenest, disappointments in American married life.

Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes .

On this tenth day of June 1940 the hand that held the dagger has struck it into the back of its neighbor.

A few months ago I told the American people I did not trade arms for hostages. My heart and my best intentions still tell me that is true, but the facts and the evidence tell me it is not.

Marcela loved me during fifteen months and three thousand dollars; nothing more.

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what world calls a romance.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

A woman's flattery may inflate a man's head a little; but her criticism goes straight to his heart, and contracts it so that it can never again hold quite as much love for her.

Our faith in others betrays that we would rather have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer. And often with our love we want merely to overcome envy. And often we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.