A Quote by Olusegun Obasanjo

If you deceive me once shame on you because I have trusted you once and you have deceived me, if you deceive me twice shame on me because I have learnt my lessons and you have deceive me and if you deceive me for the third time shame on me because am a compound fool.
As the adage goes, 'fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me'... It's time for patriots everywhere to rally together again and take back America.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you.
But it seems to me that a man cannot and ought not to say that he loves, he said. Why not? I asked. Because it will always be a lie. As though it were a strange sort of discovery that someone is in love! Just as if, as soon as he said that, something went snap-bang - he loves. Just as if, when he utters that word, something extraordinary is bound to happen, with signs and portents, and all the cannons firing at once. It seems to me, he went on, that people who solemnly utter those words, 'I love you,' either deceive themselves, or what's still worse, deceive others.
There's an old saying in Tennessee β€” I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee β€” that says, fool me once, shame on β€” shame on you. Fool me β€” you can't get fooled again.
Fool me once, shame on - shame on you. Fool me - you can't get fooled again.
If a man deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.
Like my old mentor would always say, Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and I'll be dead.'' Okay, she wasn't a good poet, but that lady could handle her whiskey.
even when nothing is happening, nothing stands still. ... I am not a rock, but a river; people deceive themselves by seeing me as a rock. Or is it I who deceive them and pretend that I am a rock when I am a river?
I need a spiritual connection - I can make changes, but I can't make miracles - and I need people around me who'll support me and believe in me and tell me the truth and not let me deceive myself into avoiding the what's scary and hard and necessary.
You know what, rip me off once, shame on me. But twice? I'm coming after you and taking back what's mine.
My husband's personality was filled with serenity and sunlight. Not even the incurable illness which fell upon him soon after our marriage could long cloud his brow. On the very night of his death he took me in his arms, and during the many months when he lay dying in his wheel chair, he often said jokingly to me: 'Well, have you already picked out a lover?' I blushed with shame. 'Don't deceive me,' he added on one occasion, 'that would seem ugly to me, but pick out an attractive lover, or preferably several. You are a splendid woman, but still half a child, and you need toys.
I loathe my name because it is mine and also because it is not mine; it is at once too intimate and seems to have no connection with me. Perhaps because the name is quite common, it never seems to fit me, or fit me alone. Nevertheless, when I see the name, I always feel a peculiar sense of shame.
Sophistry, like poison, is at once detected and nauseated, when presented to us in a concentrated form; but a fallacy which, when stated barely in a few sentences, would not deceive a child, may deceive half the world, if diluted in a quarto volume.
Don't lie to me. Don't deceive me. Give me the truth. Even if it breaks me. A painful truth is better than a pleasant lie.
It's like, if this person is going to betray me or deceive me, they're going to do it regardless whether or not I'm texting him constantly or looking through him phone or being jealous. And once you realize that, then jealousy isn't a factor. You're just you, and you can live in the moment.
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