Hypocrisy Quotes

When I was fifteen, I lent my rabbit’s foot luck to Shawn Crawford. Half a year later, his wealthy parents found him and came to the orphanage to take him home. When I was eighteen, I stopped him from getting involved with the school belle who bullied me. Later, the girl died on the spot in a car accident. Shawn blamed her death entirely on me. He prevented me from taking the college entrance examination and ruined my life. Forced into wandering homelessly, Shawn still refused to spare me. He sealed me inside a coffin and buried me alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn to when I was eighteen years old. This time, I would reclaim what was mine, my rabbit’s foot luck.

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

After three years of renting, the landlord kept raising the rent, so I decided not to renew the lease. I hired cleaners to thoroughly clean the entire place, inside and out. There was not a single scratch on the furniture or appliances. I figured the landlord would not return the deposit easily, but I never imagined she would come out swinging with such outrageous demands. “This dining table cost me 25,000 dollars! You got it dirty, and we can’t clean it. You owe me 25,000! “How did this living room lamp get so dusty? Don’t you know how to clean as a girl? We’ll have to deduct 1,500 from your deposit! “There are hooks on the wall. You damaged my walls! 2,000 for that! “This mattress... Hmph. You live-streamers probably brought home who knows how many men. This one’s ruined anyway. There goes 15,000! “Why are there strands of hair in the bathroom? How am I supposed to rent this out to the next tenant? Five hundred for cleaning fees!” She tapped away at her calculator, then thrust it in my face. “You’ve lived here for three years. I’ll give you a friend’s discount. I won’t charge extra for the other damages. Pay me 50,000 dollars, and we’ll call it even! “Otherwise, I’ll expose you online and make you lose followers!” I glanced at the live stream that had 50,000 viewers at the time. When I looked up again, my face was only a mask of smiles. “Ms. Lane, let me think about it. I’ll give you an answer in two days.”

My roommate bought an antique bronze censer online. She burned incense day and night, praying to be with a wealthy boyfriend. I thought it was silly, until her face began to look like mine. Soon, she became the admired heiress, while I was left drowning in debts she had deliberately racked up. I begged her for my identity back, and she pretended to agree. However, she tricked me into giving her my bank account password and pushed me off a rooftop. I learned at that moment that the censer was a cursed relic that grants wishes by draining the life and luck of another. She could take everything from me once my life was ruined, but death was not the end for me. I woke up on the day she first got the cursed censer. The truth was every wish comes with a price, and I was going to make sure she pays.

The day my mom was beaten up for being a mistress, I slammed the family crest into my dad’s face. I had been studying abroad, and on my return flight, I came across a video. The title read, [Richest Family’s Heirs Defend Their Mom and Beat Up Mistress.] In the video, my mother was wearing coarse linen clothes while my brothers surrounded her. They were punching and kicking her. They even tore her clothes and cussed her out as a shameless mistress. Her eyes were teary as she desperately tried to explain. However, she was only met with mocking laughter. A stranger in haute couture stood shielded behind them, and she sweetly said, “Alright, I know you’re doing this for me, but we don’t need to waste our time on ungrateful people.” The surrounding guests showered her with birthday wishes and praised her for her graciousness. “This is the grace befitting Mrs. Roth! Do some people really not own a mirror at home?” “A mistress dares to call herself Mrs. Roth? Doesn’t she know the entire Roth family was built on her assets? Which part of her looks like a lady?” Hearing them call her “Mrs. Roth,” I clenched my phone, and the screen reflected my icy expression. I had only been away from home for three years. How did I not know that I had acquired such a despicable “mother”?

I used to be so happy with my husband, Ian Shaw, until his first love got too drunk one day and was taken away by five strange men for an entire night. To protect her reputation, he told everyone that I was the one who was kidnapped that night. Everyone criticized me, calling the baby in my belly a child of shame. I questioned Ian hysterically, but he said nonchalantly, "Ruby isn’t married yet. People will laugh at her if the news spreads." I looked icily at the man I had loved for six years, shock taking over as I realized he had probably never loved me back.

To get me to agree to a divorce, my husband lied and told me he had stomach cancer. I glanced at the medical report in my bag and said nothing. Instead, I broke down right then and there, sobbing like my heart was being ripped apart, absolutely refusing to divorce him. Because what he didn't know… was that he actually had cancer. Just not stomach cancer—liver cancer. And with his funeral coming up soon, if we divorced now, who would inherit all his assets? No way. I couldn't let this divorce happen!

The entire world froze. Overnight, the city plunged to –40 °F. Yet, in the middle of this frozen apocalypse, my mother, my sister and her son moved into the home I bought for my marriage. Even my own husband took my sister’s side. They threw me out into the freezing cold to scavenge for supplies. I came back frozen half to death, and they had not even saved me a bowl of warm soup. Then, my sister shoved me straight off the fifth-floor landing. In that bitter cold, my body hit the ground and shattered like glass. When I woke again, I found myself back in the week before the apocalypse struck. This time, I resolved to cut them all off. I would make every last one of them pay.

When I saw my best friend tending to the elderly man upstairs with such diligence in washing his clothes, cooking his meals, feeding him medicine, and giving him massages, I immediately knew that she had been reborn, too. In my previous life, my best friend and I shared an apartment. We were often awakened in the middle of the night by the old man’s cough from upstairs. When I went up to check on him, I learned that his legs were paralyzed, and he had no children or family. Out of sympathy, I decided to care for him. I brought him his daily meals and gave him massages. A month later, out of the blue, the old man mysteriously handed me a bank card and said, “There’s eight million here. It’s my reward to you.” With that money, I immediately went and paid off my father’s medical bills. Later, the old man went even further and transferred the ownership of the apartment that we were renting to me. He told me, “When your father is discharged, move in together. That way, I’ll have someone to keep me company, too!” When my best friend learned of this, however, she went ballistic. During the few days I was having trouble sleeping, she had secretly spiked my water with a lethal dose of sleeping pills. She watched as I died in agony. After my death, my boyfriend, posing as my fiancé, cut off my father’s medical bills and took away the old man’s bank card. Meanwhile, my best friend spread slanderous rumors among the neighbors, claiming the old man gave me money because I had sold myself to him. Half a year later, the two got married and paid in full for a luxury apartment in the city centre. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day when the old man upstairs was coughing uncontrollably.

On my husband's birthday, I poured my heart into preparing a feast and selecting the perfect gift. Yet, he didn't come home. Instead, I received a picture message—a snapshot of him at the hospital, standing outside the OB-GYN ward, his hand resting tenderly on his childhood crush's belly. Beneath the photo, a message read: [The best birthday gift and a symbol of our decade-long bond.] Furious, I called her. "Don't you know he's married?" Before I could say more, my husband snatched the phone and lashed out at me. "Yvonne just wanted to share the joy of becoming a mother. Why are you overreacting? "Yvonne and I have been best friends for over a decade. Your petty jealousy is disgusting!" I once believed his busyness was for our future, but now I knew—he had been busy supporting the girl of his dreams through her pregnancy. Clutching my own stomach, I bit my lip to stop the tears from falling. Ten years of love had drained away. It was time to let go.