Well you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should.

Why does she have to be such a...such a...""Go on," I said. "The truth is never cussing, Son.""Such a bitch!

There will always be someone willing to hurt you, put you down, gossip about you, belittle your accomplishments and judge your soul. It is a fact that we all must face. However, if you realize that God is a best friend that stands beside you when others cast stones you will never be afraid, never feel worthless and never feel alone.

But the coconut is also a symbol of resilience, Samar. Even in the conditions where there's very little nourishment and even less nurturance, it flourishes, growing taller than most of the plants around it.

What I actually want to call you is a hell of a lot more unprintable than your name

They call me, The Sharkalator

He leaned in for a sniff. 'Smells like a horse's arse! I've got Ian!' -'No sniffing allowed! We never discussed sniffing! I cry foul!' Ian was outraged. 'I'm not giving you a shilling!' -'Give him a shilling! It's not his fault you smell like a horse's arse!

And she looked upon the mirror that was given as a gift. She hated everything about it, from the circular size of it, to the color, and the wooden frame that held it in place. But mostly, she hated looking at herself. Especially into this one that had a scratch on its glass surface, which would reflect back to her face. And as she looked, it would cut her as the words her father would often say, in telling her she was ugly.

I don't understand women that call themselves a "bitch". It doesn't empower a woman. Rather, it reveals to everyone that you were deeply hurt at one time. Because of the pain your still carrying, you will continue to hurt anyone that reminds you of those moments when you let your guard down and were fooled. Sadly, it sends a clear message to the observant that you are still hurt. If only women would realize that "we all" have moments of stupidity then they would stop comparing themselves to the masses.

People usually will remember people most, for the stupid things they did, than the impressionable ones. This somehow strangely, makes them feel better.

If you can't see past my name, you can't see me.

Non-professionals can also misrepresent the personal characteristics, religious beliefs, and appearance, of these therapists, can name-call and otherwise mock them, and can attribute false agendas to them, such as assigning religious motives to secular therapists working with ritual abuse or mind control survivors.For example, there is little to prevent someone from claiming on his or her own website that a psychotherapist is a fundamentalist Christian zealot at war with Satan, when that therapist might be an atheist, Jew, Buddhist, etc., who places no stock in the existence of Satan. But such a claim, when spoken as if it is fact, accomplishes its intended purpose of maligning that therapist."- Common Forms of Misinformation and Tactics of Disinformation about Psychotherapy for Trauma Originating in Ritual Abuse and Mind Control (2012)

Now if you gentlemen,” she looked at Briec, “and whateveryou are, will excuse me.

How do you live with yourself, Lord Arrogant?” “Very easily, Lady Difficult. I find myself quitecharming.

Majority of people prefer a good name to a bad name, but to me, anyone can call me anything, as long as it is not written on my face.

This condemnation of technology is ingratitude, that's what it is. Blind alley, though. If someone's ungrateful and you tell him he's ungrateful, okay, you've called him a name. You haven't solved anything.

Strange how mean words can return to ones thoughts, years after they’ve been callously thrown at you. They replay in your mind, spiking a sense of remembered pain. Nasty name calling can be an ugly memory that stabs unexpectedly—not unlike a nightmare where you wake up crying. Sticks and stones, may break your bones—yet, cruel names can hurt you.

Beware of anyone who calls you bad names merely for asking honest questions.

Christina flashed a smile. "I shall ask a million questions of your purply-eyed so that Diana doesn't think about you and Julian or whether you might be at Mr. Rook's."I'm not sure he's a mister," Emma said, stifling a yawn. "I've never heard anyone call him anything but 'hey, Rook' or sometimes 'that bastard.