Tricked Quotes

“Let us reach out to the people and show them an abundance of goodwill. We must, however, learn to identify manipulations as well and uncover maneuvers in the dark if we do not want to be tricked by lying eyes. ("With confidence")”
― Erik Pevernagie

“I did not know I was to be outdone by a little magic boy and his tricks,” he said. “I salute you, magician.” He swept her a bow from horseback.

Vasya did not return the bow. “To small minds,” she told him, spine very straight, “any skill must look like sorcery.”
― Katherine Arden, The Girl in the Tower

“I have, he went on, betrayed myself with
belief, deluded myself with love
tricked myself with sex.

the bottle is damned faithful, he said,
the bottle will not lie”
― Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit

“Heh. I think you made your point, Atticus.
Gods Below, Oberon, that was horrendous! You just violated the Schwarzenegger Pun Reduction Treaty of 2010.
What? No, that didn't qualify!
Yes, it did. Any pun related to a weapon's destructive capabilities or final disposition of a victim's body is a Schwarzenegger pun, by definition. That's negative twenty sausages according to the sanctions outlined in Section Four, Paragraph Two.
My hound whined. No! Not twenty sausages! Twenty succulent sausages I'll never snarf? You can't do that - it's cruelty to animals!
You can't argue with this. Your pawprint is on the treaty, and you agreed that Schwarzenegger puns are heinous abominations of language that deserve food-related punishments for purposes of correction and deterrence.
Auggh! I still say it's your fault for renting Commando in the first place! You started it!”
― Kevin Hearne

“Tricks ripped and you tripped, tricked yourself by falling slowly.
I’m the winner in this game,
unable to stoop to your level of shame.
Unwilling to reply to your words of ache.”
― Jamie Weise

“Wren?' he says. 'Talk to me.'

I don't reply. What would be the point? I know he will twist me around his finger with words. I know that if I give him half the chance, love-starved creature that I am, I will be under his spell again. With him, I am forever a night-blooming flower, attracted and repelled by the heat of the sun.

'Let me explain,' he calls to me. 'Let me atone.'

I bite the tip of my tongue to keep myself from snapping at him. He meant to keep me ignorant. He tricked me. He lied with every smile. With every kiss. With the warmth in his eyes that should have been impossible to fake.

I'd know what he was capable of. Over and over, he'd shown me. And over and over, I believed there would be no more tricks. No more secrets.

Not anymore.

'You have good cause to be furious. But you couldn't have lied, had you known the truth. I was afraid you'd have to lie.' He waits, and when I say nothing, rolls into a sitting position. 'Wren?'

I can see the leather straps running across his cheeks. If he wears the bridle long enough, he'll have scars.

'Talk to me!' he shouts, standing and coming to the bars. I see the gold of his hair, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the glint of his fox eyes. 'Wren! Wren!'

Coward that I am, I flee. My heart thundering, my hands shaking. But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“But how did she make you agree?' I demand. 'She had no power. She could pretend to be me, but she couldn't force you-'

He puts his head in his long-fingered hands. 'She didn't have to command me, Jude. She didn't have to use any magic. I trust you. I trusted you.'

And I trusted Taryn.”
― Holly Black, The Wicked King

“I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life.'

'I gasp. 'But you can't do that!'

He looks at me for a long moment, but his gaze is mild, as though he's expecting me to be fine with exile. As though I am nothing more than one of his petitioners. As though I am nothing at all. 'Of course I can,' he replies.
...
Our eyes meet, and the odd smile on his face is clearly meant for me. I remember what it was to hate him with the whole of my heart, but I've remembered too late.”
― Holly Black, The Wicked King

“Because we refuse to acknowledge something doesn’t mean that it’s not staring us right in the face.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“She touched me once
And life then stopped.
She held my hand,
My frog heart hopped.
She left my mouth
And formed a smile
With lips that promised:
“In a while.”

I look, I hope, I stand, a dunce—
Where is the one who touched me once?”
― Walt Kelly, The Pogo Poop Book

“Cardan looks at me with helpless rage... The fury in his eyes is familiar, the glitter of them like banked fire, like coals burning hotter than flames ever could. This time I deserve it. I promised he was going to be able to walk away from the Court and all its manipulations. I promised he would be free from all this. I lied.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“Because I don't like being the fool who'd been tricked. I like games, but I hate to lose.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“It is in refusing to recognize that we worship something that we move from the worship ‘of’ that thing to slavery ‘to’ that thing.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“In reality, "reality TV shows" are staged and scripted.”
― Robert Black

“The moon did warn me
How shadows love to play
Tricks on eyes too willing to believe
Sending hearts into chaos and disarray”
― Maddy Kobar, Simply Not Meant To Be: Maddy Kobar's 2014-2018 Poems

“When you've lost everything and the only thing holding you up is the ground you're standing on, you trust that and, in its grace, you start the walk again.”
― Kayo K.

“So you hook up with strangers?" Liam asked in a hushed whisper as the cashier rang up their order. "Were you with someone last night?"
"Yes. His name is Max." She pulled out her phone. "I
have a selfie of us together." She held it up for the cashier to see, keeping the screen away from Liam's line of vision.
"Oh, he's gorgeous," the cashier said. "He's got the nicest eyes."
"Let me see." Liam felt his protective instincts rise. "Who is he? Max who?"
"He doesn't have a last name."
"Jesus Christ, Daisy," he spluttered. "Does Sanjay know you do this? What about your dad?"
"They know all about Max," Daisy said. "In fact, my dad took a picture of us cuddled together in bed the night before he left on his trip, and the cutest one of Max on my pillow. I bought some pajamas but he refused to wear them. He likes to sleep au naturel."
Bile rose in Liam's throat. "And your dad took... pictures?"
"Photography is his new hobby. He took some great shots when I was giving Max a bath..."
"Stop." Liam held up a hand. "Just... I can't. I don't know what's happened to you, but it ends now. We're engaged and that means no more random hookups, no pornographic pictures, and no flashing pictures of strangers in the nude."
"Amina doesn't mind. She's my second cousin." Daisy introduced them before turning her phone around. "And this is Max."
Liam was a heartbeat away from shutting his eyes when his brain registered the picture of a fluffy white dog on a pink duvet.
His tension left him in a rush. "Max is a dog."
"He's a Westie. Layla got him for me as an emotional support dog at a bad time in my life."
Liam bit back the urge to ask Daisy about a time so bad she'd needed extra love. It was her business, and he could only hope she would tell him when she was ready so he could offer his support. "That wasn't funny."
"Amina and I were amused."
"I heard you were engaged." Amina's gaze flicked to Liam and she blushed. "He's almost as cute as Max.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“Don’t fool yourself with destructive ideals cloaked in clever justifications or soothingly wrapped in smooth verbiage. For in the end, these are not the things that fool you. Rather, it is the fact that you’ve granted them permission to fool you.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“I had a weapon with me, but--- I lost it."
For the briefest of moments, she looked confused. I cannot say for certain--- my memory of these moments is poor, and also, I have never been skilled at reading others. But I am, of course, an expert in the ways of the Folk. And whatever else she might be, the woman before me was inarguably Folk.
"What was it?" she said.
"A horn," I replied. "The horn of a faun."
She did not move, though something in her face relaxed. "That would have been a fearsome weapon indeed, for one brave enough to wield it. Pity."
I nodded. "Fortunately, I had made a little powder from the tip, which I had in my pocket before you came in."
It was not my imagination--- the queen was visibly tired, exhausted even. It had come on quickly. She seemed to make an effort to focus on me.
And then I saw the moment she understood.
Her hand clenched around the fine tablecloth. "You---"
"Yes," I said. "I put it in the wine. At least, I'm fairly certain I did--- you'll have to excuse me, but Faerie does not agree with my memory. Of course, I did not know you would come here to taunt me--- but I thought it a possibility. I suppose you were right: the capacity for forethought is an advantage we mortals have over the Folk.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“Let's have a bet, then. If I'm right, you kiss me," he says.
"And if I'm right?"
"Name it."
It's like taking candy from a baby. Mr. Macho Guy's ego is about to be taken down a notch, and I'm all too happy to be the one to do it. "If I win you take me and the class project seriously," I tell him. "No teasing me, no making ridiculous comments."
"Deal. I'd feel terrible if I didn't tell you I have a photographic memory."
"Alex, I'd feel terrible if I didn't tell you I copied the info straight from the book." I look at the research I'd done, then flip open to the corresponding page in my chem book. "Without looking, what does it need to be cooled at?" I ask.
Alex is a guy who thrives on challenges. But this time the tough guy is going to lose. He closes his own book and stares at me, his jaw set. "Twenty degrees. And it needs to be dissolved at one hundred degrees, not seventy," he answers confidently.
I scan the page, then my notes. Then back at the page again. I can't be wrong. Which page did I- "Oh, yeah. One hundred degrees." I look up at him in complete shock. "You're right."
"You gonna kiss me now, or later?"
"Right now," I say, which I can tell shocks him because his hands go still. At home, my life is dictated by my mom and dad. At school, it's different. I need to keep it that way, because if I have no control in every aspect of my life I might as well be a mannequin.
"Really?" he asks.
"Yeah." I take one of his hands in mine. I'd never be this bold if we had an audience, and am thankful for the privacy of the nonfiction titles surrounding us. His breathing slows as I sit up on my knees and lean into him. I'm ignoring the fact that his fingers are long and rough and that I've never actually touched him before. I'm nervous. I shouldn't be, though. I'm the one in control this time.
I can feel him restraining himself. He's letting me make the move, which is a good thing. I'm afraid of what this boy would do if he let loose.
I place his hand against my cheek so it cups my face and I hear him groan. I want to smile because his reaction proves I have the power.
He's unmoving as our eyes meet.
Time stops again.
Then I turn my head into his hand and kiss the inside of his palm.
"There, I kissed you," I say, giving him back his hand and ending the game.
Mr. Latino with the big ego got bested by a ditzy, blond bimbo.”
― Simone Elkeles, Perfect Chemistry

“But we are all finally tricked and slapped to death.”
― Charles Bukowski

“Sometimes it seems that giving up is really not about surrender at all. Rather, it’s about the person trying to convince themselves that they were actually fighting in the first place.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“The next time someone tries to make a bet with your ass, tell them to make that bet with their own.”
― Vincent H. O'Neil, A Pause in the Perpetual Rotation

“Adding to or subtracting from the truth is based on the illusion that we’re actually doing either.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“It is genius that greed can create utterly destructive desires that are cleverly fashioned so as to be entirely impermeable to the very truth that is capable of keeping us from being destroyed by those desires. And while that is certainly genius, it is genius abused.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,' Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful.

Prince Dain smiled. 'Let us exchange arrows at least. Then, if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow then went awry.'

Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he'd had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false.

Instead, he notched Dain's arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King's attention for something good, then perhaps he could get if for something really, really bad.

Cardan's hand wobbled.

The mortal's liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him.

Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. 'I simply will not shoot under these conditions,' he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. 'The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It's getting all in my eyes.'

But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing.

It happened so fat that Cardan didn't cry out, didn't react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him.

'Ah,' said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. 'A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.”
― Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing

“Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,' Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful.

Prince Dain smiled. 'Let us exchange arrows at least. Then, if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow then went awry.'

Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he'd had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false.

Instead, he notched Dain's arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King's attention for something good, then perhaps he could get if for something really, really bad.

Cardan's hand wobbled.

The mortal's liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him.

Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. 'I simply will not shoot under these conditions,' he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. 'The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It's getting all in my eyes.'

But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing.

It happened so fast that Cardan didn't cry out, didn't react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him.

'Ah,' said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. 'A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.”
― Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing

“I was a fool,' I say, because I might as well admit it. 'I gave up the bird in my hand for two in the bush.”
― Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing

“Please,' I breathed. 'My father-'

'Your father?' He lifted his stare to the gates behind me, and his growl rumbled through me as he bared his teeth. 'Why don't you look again?' He released me.

I staggered back a step, whirling, sucking in a breath to tell my father to run, but-

But he wasn't there. Only a pale bow and a quiver of pale arrows remained, propped up against the gates. Mountain ash. They hadn't been there moments before, hadn't-

They rippled, as if they were nothing but water- and then the bow and quiver became a large pack, laden with supplies. Another ripple- and there were my sisters, huddled together, weeping.

My knees buckled. 'What is...' I didn't finish the question. My father now stood there, still hunched and beckoning. A flawless rendering.

'Weren't you warned to keep your wits about you?' Tamlin snapped. 'That your human senses would betray you?' He stepped beyond me and let out a snarl so vicious that whatever the thing was by the gates shimmered with light and darted out as fast as lightning streaking through the dark.

'Fool,' he said to me, turning. 'If you're ever going to run away, at least do it in the daytime.' He stared me down, and the fangs slowly retracted. The claws remained. 'There are worse things than the Bogge prowling these woods at night. That thing at the gates isn't one of them- and it would have taken a good while devouring you.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“The faerie servant offered the last dagger, and I was about to reach for it when the guard removed the hood from the male kneeling before me.

My hands slackened at my sides. Amber-flecked green eyes stared up at me.

Everything came crashing down, layer upon layer, shattering and breaking and crumbling, as I gazed at Tamlin.

I whipped my head to the throne beside Amarantha's, still occupied by my High Lord, and she laughed as she snapped her fingers. The Tamlin beside her transformed in to the Attor, smiling wickedly at me.

Tricked- deceived by my own senses again. Slowly, my soul ripping further from me, I turned back to Tamlin. There was only guilt and sorrow in his eyes, and I stumbled away, almost falling as I tripped over my feet.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses