Anyone can betray anyone.
The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment when you know beyond any doubt that you’ve been betrayed: that some other human being has wished you that much evil.
The difference between treason and patriotism is only a matter of dates.
I hate a cramp. It is a treachery of one’s own body.
Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn’t matter: only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you — that would be the real betrayal.
Betrayal. It’s one of the worst feelings.
Anyone, anything, can betray anyone. Even your own heart.
Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.
Those that have the underhand in any fighting, I have observed, are ever anxious to persuade themselves they were betrayed.
Some words are wind, ser. Some are treason.
Is it treason to say the truth? A bitter truth, but no less true for that.
Books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.
