You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master’s ass,
For nought but provender; and when he’s old, cashier’d:
Whip me such honest knaves.

…I bet I’ll haunt your dreams tonight. I just wan’ed to paint a picture in your head. I wan’ed you to see me as the monster I can often be. You see, you are what you allow people to know ’bout you. Truth or lies or some combination of the two, is what makes you who you are. So, you don’t know me yet. But what I need you to know about me for now, is that I can’t be trusted.

The number of your antagonists are far more greater than that of your companions, so you have to keep a stone of awareness to mark the boundary line.

Heroic ambition seemed to have been the cause of much of the world’s pain then – quite like it is now. No villain ever saw himself a villain: he only saw himself a hero; and this goes just as no hero ever saw himself a hero: he simply did what he had to do. No true hero initially sets out with intentions of being deemed a hero.

Someone who smiles too much with you can sometime frown too much with you at your back.

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