Advising And Shaming Quotes

Can we get on with this?" Father Laggan cried out. "In the name of the Father…" "I'm inviting my aunt Millicent and uncle Herbert to come for a visit, Iain, and I'm not going through the council to get permission first." "… and of the Son," the priest continued in a much louder voice. "She'll be wanting King John next," Duncan predicted. "We can't allow that, lass," Owen muttered. "Please join hands now and concentrate on this ceremony," Father Laggan shouted, trying to gain everyone's attention. "I don't want King John to come here," Judith argued. She turned to frown at Owen for making such a shameful suggestion. "I want my aunt and uncle. I'm getting them, too." She turned and had to peek around Graham in order to look up at Iain. "Yes or no, Iain." "We'll see. Graham, I'm marrying Judith, not you. Let go of her hand. Judith, move over here." Father Laggan gave up trying to maintain order. He continued on with the ceremony. Iain was paying some attention. He immediately agreed to take Judith for his wife.She wasn't as cooperative. He felt a little sorry for the sweet woman. She looked thoroughly confused. "Judith, do you take Iain for your husband?" She looked up at Iain before giving her answer. "We'll see." "That won't do, lass. You've got to say I do," he advised. "Do I?" Iain smiled. "Your aunt and uncle will be welcomed here." She smiled back. .... Judith tried not to laugh. She turned her attention back to Father Laggan. "I will say I do," she told him. "Shouldn't we begin now?" "The lass has trouble following along," Vincent remarked. Father Laggan gave the final blessing while Judith argued with the elder about his rude comment. Her concentration was just fine, she told him quite vehemently. She nagged an apology out of Vincent before giving the priest her attention again. "Patrick, would you go and get Frances Catherine? I would like her to stand by my side during the ceremony." "You may kiss the bride," Father Laggan announced.

Crying it out now is a good thing - as much as you can. So cry. There’s no shame in it, despite what some ignorant people might advise.

Old-fashioned reticence was wrong, suggesting shame, even disgust at what comes naturally, but in the last half of the twentieth century, when the Pill is being advised for little girls of fourteen, the age of consent lowered, sex instruction given in schools, with diagrams on the blackboard, and what has been called ‘sex play’ between children openly encouraged, it would seem that the proverbial pendulum has swung in a curious direction.

What did you give her?” Holly asked Zachary, and his black eyes glinted with mischief. “Buttons.” “Buttons,” she whispered in surprise. “From where?” “One from my wedding coat and one from the back of your gown. Rose wanted them to commemorate the occasion.” “You took a button from the back of my gown?” Holly whispered, casting him a shaming glance as she wondered how he had managed to accomplish the small feat without her notice. “Be thankful I stopped at just one, my lady,” he advised.

As Rumi says, “Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” As Muslims we are called to guide one another, advise one another and to celebrate one another. The Qur’an’s command toward “enjoining what is right and forbidding what is wrong” (Qur’an 3:104) is not an excuse for judging and shaming each other. As my teacher once said, “If you can’t counsel someone from love, then don’t counsel them because if you advise others from a place of judgment then you are fostering the quality of arrogance within you.

All I ask of you (this is something you can and should do very easily) is that you advise me where I can spend my life without being overwhelmed by the fear and terror I have of being discovered by those who are searching for me; although I know the great love my parents have for me guarantees that I shall be welcomed by them, I am filled with so much shame when I think that I must appear before them in a state different from the one they had counted upon that it seems better to exile myself forever from their sight rather than see their faces and think that they are looking at mine when it is far removed from the chastity they had a right to expect of me.

Ḥayā’, in Arabic, conveys the meaning of “shame,” though the root word of ḥayā’ is closely associated with “life” and “living.” The Prophet stated, “Every religion has a quality that is characteristic of that religion, and the characteristic of my religion is ḥayā’,” an internal sense of shame that includes bashfulness and modesty. As children, many of us had someone say to us at times, “Shame on you!” Unfortunately, shame has now come to be viewed as a negative word, as if it were a pejorative. Parents are now often advised to never cause a child to feel shame. The current wisdom largely suggests that adults should always make the child feel good, regardless of his or her behavior. However, doing so eventually disables naturally occurring deterrents to misbehavior.

My friends, I have been asked to show you my heart. I am glad to have a chance to do so. I want the white people to understand my people. Some of you think an Indian is like a wild animal. This is a great mistake. I will tell you all about our people, and then you can judge whether an Indian is a man or not. I believe much trouble would be saved if we opened our hearts more. I will tell you in my way how the Indian sees things. The white man has more words to tell you how they look to him, but it does not require many words to speak the truth. What I have to say will come straight from my heart, and I will speak with a straight tongue. The Great Spirit is looking at me, and will hear me. My name is In-mut-too-yah-lat-lat [Thunder Traveling over Mountains]. I am chief of the Wal-lamwat- kin band of the Chute-pa-lu, or Nez Perce. I was born in eastern Oregon, thirty-eight winters ago. My father was chief before me. When a young man, he was called Joseph by Mr. Spaulding, a missionary. He died a few years ago. He left a good name on earth. He advised me well for my people. Our fathers gave us many laws, which they had learned from their fathers. These laws were good. They told us to treat all men as they treated us, that we should never be the first to break a bargain, that it was a disgrace to tell a lie, that we should speak only the truth, that it was a shame for one man to take from another his wife or his property without paying for it. We were taught to believe that the Great Spirit sees and hears everything, and that He never forgets; that hereafter

Cue thousands of Instagram posts encouraging the no-contact rule and implicitly shaming anyone who continues a relationship with their ex. But the story of relationships and their endings is far too complex for us to apply solution-focused changes aimed at reducing pain. Still, every one of my friends and every therapist on Instagram advises against talking to an ex. No contact, cold turkey, zero—a crazy idea to me. In my work, I’ve noticed that more than half of my clients will continue to communicate with their former partner, maintaining some form of connection. Even a friendship. This happens despite the discouraging advice recommending a complete cutoff. But we, as a society, might be better off trying to understand our need to continue a connection with an ex than condemning or strongly advising against it. Maybe it’s time we reconsidered our attitude toward post-breakup connections. Instead of dismissing them as unhealthy, we could try to understand the motives behind our choice to stay in touch. After all, each relationship and breakup is unique, and the two (or more) people involved in a ruptured relationship are in the best position to judge what serves their emotional needs and personal growth. The idea of cutting an ex out of your life completely is also extremely heteronormative. Many queer people (like me) don’t have their family of origin to fall back on. Our “families” are therefore sometimes our friends, partners, and ex-partners, the people we form deep connections with. Alex was my family for ten years. So, for me, cutting him out of my life entirely wasn’t so simple.

Okay, judged on raw brain power, humans do no better than our hairier cousins. So, then, what are we using our great big brains for? Maybe we’re more cunning. That’s the crux of the ‘Machiavellian intelligence’ hypothesis, named after the Italian Renaissance philosopher Niccolò Machiavelli, author of The Prince (1513). In this handbook for rulers, Machiavelli counsels weaving a web of lies and deception to stay in power. According to adherents of this hypothesis, that’s precisely what we’ve been doing for millions of years: devising ever more inventive ways to swindle one another. And because telling lies takes more cognitive energy than being truthful, our brains grew like the nuclear arsenals of Russia and the US during the Cold War. The result of this mental arms race is the sapien superbrain. If this hypothesis were true, you’d expect humans to beat other primates handily in games that hinge on conning your opponent. But no such luck. Numerous studies show that chimps outscore us on these tests and that humans are lousy liars.9 Not only that, we’re predisposed to trust others, which explains how con artists can fool their marks.10 This brings me to another odd quirk of Homo sapiens. Machiavelli, in his classic book, advises never revealing your emotions. Work on your poker face, he urges; shame serves no purpose. The object is to win, by fair means or foul. But if only the shameless win, why are humans one of the only species in the whole animal kingdom to blush?

When I advise, "Don't do anything that isn't play!" some take me to be radical, even insane, I earnestly believe, however, that an important form of self-compassion is to make choices motivated purely by our desire to contribute to life rather than out of fear, guilt, shame, duty, or obligation

Apart from Kallenbach, Gandhi had also written about his new friend to his Tamil protégé C. Rajagopalachari (popularly known as Rajaji). Gandhi’s letter has been lost, but we do have fragments of Rajaji’s reply. Where Mahadev was approving of, or at least acquiescent in, the development of the relationship, Rajaji was dismayed. In his letter, Gandhi seems to have suggested that Sarala and he were thinking of taking the friendship a step further. What this was is not clear—perhaps a public proclamation of their ‘spiritual marriage’? Rajaji wrote back that this would bring ‘unutterable shame and ruin’ to Gandhi, and destroy ‘all saintliness, all purity, all asceticism, all India’s hope’. That Gandhi had even contemplated such a step filled his protégé with horror. ‘How could you venture out,’ wrote Rajaji agitatedly, ‘when in your boat was the faith and fate of millions of simple souls who if the boat had capsized would have seen neither beauty nor love nor grandeur, but unspeakable shame and death.’ Rajaji had met Saraladevi briefly, and been unimpressed. ‘I fail to see any “greatness” in the lady,’ he wrote to Gandhi. ‘She is like a hundred other women, whom a little education makes very attractive. I have seen scores of bigger-minded [and] better-souled women.’ Rajaji thought Saraladevi was ‘not worthy to unloose the latchet of Miss Faring [a Danish missionary who admired Gandhi and joined the ashram] and as to Mrs Gandhi, it would be like comparing a kerosene oil Ditmar lamp to the morning sun...' Rajaji chastised Gandhi, but blamed Saraladevi too. ‘It is difficult to forgive her reckless indifference to consequences,’ he remarked. He advised Gandhi to ‘pray disengage yourself at once completely: No delay is allowable when you hold such great trusts’ (namely, the fate of the nation itself). This was a brave and necessary letter: brave because few of Gandhi’s Indian admirers ever criticized him directly; necessary because Gandhi does not seem to have recognized the enormous risks of the step he was contemplating. Gandhi’s asceticism was a vital part of his mass appeal. Although polygamy was allowed under Hindu law, Hindu myths and Hindu social custom were both strongly in favour of monogamous marriages. Had Gandhi publicly taken another wife, albeit even a ‘spiritual’ one, it might have massively eroded his standing among his fellow Hindus, endangering the wider movement for political and social change that he was leading. Gandhi was taken aback by Rajaji’s forthrightness, and he did heed his advice—in part. He would not publicly take Saraladevi as his spiritual wife, but he would not—or not yet—disengage from her completely.

The common perception is that anxiety is a problem that needs to be conquered. Yet seldom is the problem contained in the anxiety itself. Beyond the experience of anxiety and the problems that drive it is so often the potential fallout: The self-loathing that results from believing that you can’t seem to manage your experience better. The guilt and shame that you are somehow broken. The public condemning that ‘you should just snap out of it.’ The fear that you’ll never be okay. Repeatedly, well-meaning friends, health reports, doctors, and self-help experts advise anxiety sufferers to calm down, fight it, release the tension. Avoid it, ignore it, let it go. We have gotten the message loud and clear. We must make it go away.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him, for he is able to act according to a force that is greater than him and his processes and decisions are unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was doing is shameful. Guides whose meddling only serves to create static interference opposed to the clarity of his natural radar are advised to communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. The great work of true guides, the Naked Ones, there lie in the ability to confront those who are most difficult to confront and who live on illusions. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him, for he acts according to a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was doing is shameful. Guides whose meddling only serves to create static interference in opposition to the clarity of his natural radar are advised to communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. The great work of true guides, the Naked Ones, therefore lie in the ability to confront those who are most difficult to confront and who live on illusions. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him. He communicates with a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are commonly unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. It is shameful for those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was or is doing. Their meddling only creates static which is in opposition to the clarity of his natural radar. For these 'guides', it is advised that they instead communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. The great work of true guides therefore lie in the ability to confront those who are most difficult to confront and feed off of or have fallen to illusions. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him. He communicates with a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are commonly unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was or is doing is shameful. Their meddling only creates static which is in opposition to the existing clarity of his natural radar. It is advised that these 'guides' instead communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. The great work of true guides therefore lie in the ability to confront those who are most difficult to confront and the test of the true guide is to discern who is in need and who isn't. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him. He communicates with a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was or is doing is shameful. Their meddling only creates static in opposition to the pre-existing clarity of his natural radar. It is advised that these 'guides' instead communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. Because the Magi-Poet-Warrior is not it. The great ability of a true guide therefore lies in the ability to discern who is truly in need and who isn't – the great test being to confront those who are most difficult to confront. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him. He communicates with a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was or is doing is shameful. Their meddling only creates static in opposition to the pre-existing clarity of his natural radar. It is advised that these 'guides' instead communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. Because the Magi-Poet-Warrior is not it. The great ability of a true guide therefore lies in the ability to discern who is truly in need and who isn't – the great test being to confront those who are most difficult to confront. Those who have lost their ability to feel. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him. He communicates with a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was or is doing is shameful. Their meddling only creates static in opposition to the pre-existing clarity of his natural radar. It is advised that these 'guides' instead communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. Because the Naked One is not it. The great ability of a true guide therefore lies in the ability to discern who is truly in need and who isn't – the great test being to confront those who are most difficult to confront. Those who have lost their ability to feel. Otherwise, it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

It is counter-productive and even detrimental to the world to attempt to question or guide one whose intuition is in-tune with his heart and those around him. He communicates with a force that is greater than him, and so his processes and decisions are unknowable and confusing to that of lower men. For those who can lower themselves to think that one such as he does not know what he was or is doing is shameful. Their meddling only creates static in opposition to the pre-existing clarity of his natural radar. It is advised that these 'guides' instead communicate with those whose influencers come mainly from lack of experience, the mind, and externals. Because the Naked One is not it. The great ability of a true guide therefore lies in the ability to discern who is truly in need and who isn't – the great test being to confront those who are most difficult to confront – those who have lost their ability to feel. Otherwise it is just a tangled ball of string trying to lead a string that has long ago already untangled itself.

I know very few women who are able to discuss Far East politics.” She felt color rise in her cheeks. “My family has rather unusual conversations around the supper table. At least, they’re unusual in that my sisters and I always take part. My companion says it’s perfectly all right to do that at home, but she has advised me not to appear too learned when I’m out in society. It tends to drive away suitors.” “You’ll have to be careful, then,” he said softly, smiling. “It would be a shame for some intelligent comment to slip out at the wrong moment.

Hush, madam,” he said, his words coming out much more loudly than he’d intended. “You dare to tell me how to care for a child when that child has run riot in your own backyard for the past two years? You’ve not lent her a pair of shoes, not spared her a sip of water, not permitted her to even learn the names of your sons and daughters, and then you think to tell me how that child should go on?” He paced over to glare down at Lady Tosten. “Emmaline Farnum has shown Winnie the only thing approaching Christian charity since the day the child’s mother died more than two years ago. Not you, not your pretty vicar, not the servants in this household, no one but Emmaline Farnum has given a thought to the child’s health or safety in all that time. Winnie is an orphan, Lady Tosten, a bloody, damned orphan, and you begrudge her simple human kindness, yet you consider it your Christian duty to advise me to take from the child the one person she might still trust. For shame. You will excuse me if I do not heed this kind advice. Steen will see you out. Good day.” Having

What do we suppose the damned find harder to bear—the justice of God, or the sheer childlike innocence of his mercy? Old and hardened sinners can talk about debts and payment and vengeance. But before the clear brow of the child they must retreat in shame. Be advised, fellow sinners. Our God is younger than we.

Hoover’s John Cochrane wrote what most at Stanford were afraid to even say: “What is the point of all this? There can only be one: Don’t work for Republicans, don’t advise them, don’t deviate from the campus orthodoxy on policy issues, censor yourself from speaking unpopular opinions. And expect to be isolated, publicly shamed with vague and undocumented charges, and drummed out of the university if you do.

When I advise, “Don’t do anything that isn’t play!” some take me to be radical, even insane. I earnestly believe, however, that an important form of self-compassion is to make choices motivated purely by our desire to contribute to life rather than out of fear, guilt, shame, duty, or obligation. When we are conscious of the life-enriching purpose behind an action we take, when the sole energy that motivates us is simply to make life wonderful for others and ourselves, then even hard work has an element of play in it. Correspondingly, an otherwise joyful activity performed out of obligation, duty, fear, guilt, or shame will lose its joy and eventually engender resistance.

When I became a Christian, I had to change everything—my life, my friends, my writing, my teaching, my advising, my clothes, my speech, my thoughts. I was tenured to a field that I could no longer work in. I was the faculty advisor to all of the gay and lesbian and feminist groups on campus. I was writing a book that I no longer believed in. And, I was scheduled in a few months to give the incoming address to all of Syracuse University’s graduate students. What in the world would I say to them? The lecture that I had written and planned to deliver—on Queer Theory—I threw in the trash. Thousands of new students would hear my first, fledgling attempts to speak about Christian hermeneutics at a postmodern university. I was flooded with doubt about my new life in Christ. Was I willing to suffer like Christ? Was I willing to be considered stupid by those who didn’t know Jesus? The world’s eyes register what a life in Christ takes away, but how do I communicate all that it gives? Do I really believe, in Charles Bridges’s words, “The very chains of Christ are glorious” (p. 33)?1 Peter, after being beaten for preaching the gospel, rejoiced that he was “counted worthy to suffer shame for [Christ’s] name” (Acts 5:41). I pondered this. To the world, this is masochism. To the Christian, this is freedom. Did I really believe this? Do I really believe this today?

Haya', in Arabic, conveys the meaning of shame, though the root word of haya ’ is closely associated with life and living. The Prophet stated, “Every religion has a quality that is characteristic of that religion. And the characteristic of my religion is haya, an internal sense of shame, which includes bashfulness and modesty. Most adults alive today have heard it said when they were children, “Shame on you!” Unfortunately, shame has come to be viewed as a negative word, as if it were a pejorative. Parents are now advised never to “shame a child,” never correct a child’s behavior by causing an emotional response. Instead, the current wisdom suggests that people always make the child feel good regardless of his or her behavior. Eventually, what this does is disable naturally occurring deterrents to misbehavior. Some anthropologists divide cultures into shame and guilt cultures. They say that guilt is an inward mechanism and shame an outward one. With regard to this discussion, guilt alludes to a human mechanism that produces strong feelings of remorse when someone has done something wrong, to the point that he or she needs to rectify the matter. Most primitive cultures are not guilt-based, but shame-based, which is rooted in the fear of bringing shame upon oneself and the larger family. What Islam does is honor the concept of shame and take it to another level altogether—to a rank in which one feels a sense of shame before God. When a person acknowledges and realizes that God is fully aware of all that one does, says, or thinks, shame is elevated to a higher plane, to the unseen world from which there is no cover. In fact, one feels a sense of shame even before the angels. So while Muslims comprise a shame-based culture, this notion transcends shame before one’s family—whether one’s elders or parents— and admits a mechanism that is not subject to the changing norms of human cultures. It is associated with the knowledge and active awareness that God is all-seeing of what one does—a reality that is permanent. The nurturing of this realization deters one from engaging in acts that are displeasing and vulgar. This is the essence of the noble prophetic teachings.

About the twelfth year of my age, my father being abroad, my mother reproved me for some misconduct, to which I made an undutiful reply. The next first-day, as I was with my father returning from meeting, he told me that he understood I had behaved amiss to my mother, and advised me to be more careful in future. I knew myself blamable, and in shame and confusion remained silent. Being thus awakened to a sense of my wickedness, I felt remorse in my mind, and on getting home I retired and prayed to the Lord to forgive me, and I do not remember that I ever afterwards spoke unhandsomely to either of my parents, however foolish in some other things.

The patient was cured of this shameful disease in a month, and I advised him to abstain from this horrid vice, and to think of the Eternal's threat, who excludes all such from the Kingdom of Heaven.42

What a noble thing life is, anyway! Here I am, well on the way to fifty, after twenty-five years of hard work, looking forward to the potential poor-house as confidently as I did in youth. We might have saved a little more than we have saved; but the little more wouldn't avail if I were turned out of my place now; and we should have lived sordidly to no purpose. Some one always has you by the throat, unless you have some one else in your grip. I wonder if that's the attitude the Almighty intended His respectable creatures to take toward one another! I wonder if He meant our civilization, the battle we fight in, the game we trick in! I wonder if He considers it final, and if the kingdom of heaven on earth, which we pray for—" "Have you seen Lindau to-day?" Mrs. March asked. "You inferred it from the quality of my piety?" March laughed, and then suddenly sobered. "Yes, I saw him. It's going rather hard with him, I'm afraid. The amputation doesn't heal very well; the shock was very great, and he's old. It'll take time. There's so much pain that they have to keep him under opiates, and I don't think he fully knew me. At any rate, I didn't get my piety from him to-day." "It's horrible! Horrible!" said Mrs. March. "I can't get over it! After losing his hand in the war, to lose his whole arm now in this way! It does seem too cruel! Of course he oughtn't to have been there; we can say that. But you oughtn't to have been there, either, Basil." "Well, I wasn't exactly advising the police to go and club the railroad presidents." "Neither was poor Conrad Dryfoos." "I don't deny it. All that was distinctly the chance of life and death. That belonged to God; and no doubt it was law, though it seems chance. But what I object to is this economic chance-world in which we live, and which we men seem to have created. It ought to be law as inflexible in human affairs as the order of day and night in the physical world that if a man will work he shall both rest and eat, and shall not be harassed with any question as to how his repose and his provision shall come. Nothing less ideal than this satisfies the reason. But in our state of things no one is secure of this. No one is sure of finding work; no one is sure of not losing it. I may have my work taken away from me at any moment by the caprice, the mood, the indigestion of a man who has not the qualification for knowing whether I do it well, or ill. At my time of life—at every time of life—a man ought to feel that if he will keep on doing his duty he shall not suffer in himself or in those who are dear to him, except through natural causes. But no man can feel this as things are now; and so we go on, pushing and pulling, climbing and crawling, thrusting aside and trampling underfoot; lying, cheating, stealing; and then we get to the end, covered with blood and dirt and sin and shame, and look back over the way we've come to a palace of our own, or the poor-house, which is about the only possession we can claim in common with our brother-men, I don't think the retrospect can be pleasing.

Browsing among the shelves, Poppy paused to examine a jeweled silver figurine of a horse, its hooves extended in mid-gallop. "How lovely." "A gift from the Crown Prince Yizhu of China," the man behind her said. "A Celestial horse." Fascinated, Poppy ran a fingertip along the figure's back. "Now the prince has been crowned as the Emperor Xianfeng," she said. "A rather ironic ruling name, isn't it?" Coming to stand beside her, the stranger glanced at her alertly. "Why do you say that?" "Because it means 'universal prosperity.' And that is certainly not the case, considering the internal rebellions he is facing." "I'd say the challenges from Europe are an even greater danger to him, at present." "Yes," Poppy said ruefully, nudging the figurine back into place. "One wonders how long Chinese sovereignty can last against such an onslaught." Her companion was standing close enough that she could detect the scents of pressed linen and shaving soap. He stared at her intently. "I know very few women who are able to discuss Far East politics." She felt color rise in her cheeks. "My family has rather unusual conversations around the supper table. At least, they're unusual in that my sisters and I always take part. My companion says it's perfectly all right to do that at home, but she has advised me not to appear too learned when I'm out in society. It tends to drive away suitors." "You'll have to be careful, then" he said softly, smiling. "It would be a shame for some intelligent comment to slip out at the wrong moment.

Myron said that he knew nothing of ‘Hurlothrumbo’, or any other game. “I have noticed that when these games are played, money changes hands. If I played and won, it would give me no pleasure; but if I lost, I would be haunted by remorse. I would also feel foolish.” Schwatzendale showed his crooked grin. “You do not understand the joy of the hunt. To gamble is to play at prehistoric savagery.” “The metaphor is apt,” said Wingo. “The victor is a cannibal, feeding upon the substance of the victim.” “That is the thrust of our instincts!” Schwatzendale explained. “It is the contrast which generates so much triumph — or such tragic despair.” Wingo shook his head. “When Fay gambles, he often forgets what I shall call ‘amour propre’.” He addressed Myron. “I advise against gambling in general and with Fay in particular. He will deprive you of assets so neatly that you will never notice until you grope in your pocket and find not so much as a soiled handkerchief.” “Wingo is correct!” said Schwatzendale. “Given the chance, I will win the trousers from your arse, so that you have not even a pocket for the groping!” “Fay does not exaggerate,” said Wingo somberly. “Only Moncrief the Mouse-rider has beaten him, and Fay still smarts at the recollection.” Schwatzendale clutched his head. “Why must you utter that name? I shall never rest until —” “Until you have played him again, and lost more money, and known more shame?” “Never, never, never!” “Let us hope not,” said Wingo virtuously.

Mindfulness helps by waking us up in the middle of an emotional storm. It helps us see what is going on (bodily sensations and urges) and what choices we have (to act on urges or not) by bringing our attention into the moment. First we notice the sensations we are feeling. Even if the sensations are intensely unpleasant, we recognize they are only sensations and they will pass in a short while. When we can tolerate the sensations of emotions and not feel compelled either to act on or to avoid them, we begin to notice something important: urges are only urges, not imperatives. We can simply notice the emotion and ride it like a wave, knowing that eventually it will pass, even if only to come again. The more we can stay present and accept the moment, the less we feel the need to either act on how we feel, like Colleen, or escape from how we feel, like Christina. When the intensity and urgency pass, the way forward becomes easier to see. Over time, we begin to hear the quiet voice of our true selves gently advising us. When we stay in the present we find that the moment is, in fact, tolerable. We are not ruminating about our intractable problems or agonizing over the loneliness and shame we feel. We give up trying to fix everything and stop blaming ourselves for what we imagine to be the gigantic mess we have made of our lives. Instead, our own inner voice might say, Okay, maybe I am not happy with what is going on, but I can accept this moment.

Kassondra R Lewis brings a no-holds-barred approach to Bankruptcy Didn't Break Me, laying out her personal history as both a bankruptcy survivor and an experienced underwriter and loan processor in the mortgage industry. I was particularly impressed by the comfortable narrative, which feels akin to a friend advising you over coffee. There's no shame, just support and guidance for when a reader might feel at their absolute lowest. The tone is consistently proactive, encouraging strict adherence to a plan, and staying the course even when it seems you have just had a weight removed from your shoulders. The detailed insight into the world of mortgage lending goes above and beyond the standard fare in similar books, making Lewis's a standout. This is a tightly written and concise self-help book that will be of great use to many. Very highly recommended.” Readers’ Favorite ★★★★★

In a culture like our own that is addicted to the relentless quest to feel happy — perhaps as an unconscious attempt to bypass our disavowed misery — grief is taboo, pathologized, and aggressively avoided. Grievers are advised to “look on the bright side,” “think positive,” and “count your blessings.” When such empty platitudes don’t work — basically always — people who experience anguish may often be numbed with drugs. And this leaves victims of loss and grief guilty or shame-ridden about their sadness and without the resources to handle their pain.

I suddenly realized I was in the humiliating predicament of being a smaller boy who was having money taken from him by a bully. This was wholly unexpected. Reading about such situations, I would smile superciliously and think that nothing of that kind could ever happen to me, because I would immediately fight back. It is, after all, better to take a beating once than to be humiliated repeatedly. Unfortunately, I had never read that such a relationship might begin with a con, a seemingly amicable request. For the next six months this boy (Crane was his nickname) poisoned my existence. I had to avoid him, otherwise every meeting turned into an excruciating dialogue with poking and threats. I was desperate and didn't know what to do. In my class I was the biggest and strongest, but Crane was taller and older and brazen and self-assured, which is, of course, the most important asset in the art of street confrontation. I had no older brother I could turn to, not even an older pupil I was friendly with. Complaining to my parents would shame me; besides, I already knew the advice they would give. "Well, just give him a good punch and he'll back off." It is all very well for adults to advise you to throw a punch. All bullying seems to them mere childish nonsense, although its emotional and psychological intensity is a hundred times greater than any problems they might be facing.... "What's that there, is your lip swollen? Let me see," he said, pretending to be in a conciliatory mood. At that I did the most daring thing in my life. Nowadays I get asked in nearly every interview where I get my courage. I genuinely believe my work in the past twenty years has not called for bravery; it is more a matter of having made a conscious choice. It certainly does not require even 1 percent of the courage I needed at that moment. I am sure it is a feeling familiar to many people: from sheer rage, desperation, and, paradoxically, above all, fear, you gain the courage to take the most resolute and reckless action. Yelling at him every swear word I knew, I punched him in the face several times as hard as I could, landing about half the blows. Completely taken by surprise, he fell over and looked up at me in bewilderment, lying on his back and half covering himself with his hands, evidently expecting me to start kicking him. I looked down no less bewildered. The fit of rage had passed, the adrenaline was draining away, and with every millisecond I came closer to the famous predicament of Schrodinger's cat: Crane might now get up and I would be dead or not. At that moment I leaned a rule in life: it is easier to perform a bold action than to live with its consequences. I ran away as fast as I could and looked back: Crane was running after me. After a couple of minutes I had a stitch in my side, but I ignored it, aware that if I stopped, everything would be much worse. I got away, but the next three days or so were scary, I feared getting beaten up at school in front of my friends or, even worse, in front of girls. To my great surprise, though, when I came face-to-face several times with my nemesis at school, he just glared at me menacingly. This gradually mutated into his very deliberately seeming not to notice me, while I, similarly, did not seem to notice him. I am still not sure why he didn't try to take revenge. Perhaps the answer is to be found in economic theory: A free agent wanders through the market taking money from younger pupils, each of whom is intimidated. By my outburst of insanity, I raised the price of harassment in my torturer's eyes and he made the rational decision to move on to others who were less psychotic. So I was, you might say, saved by the invisible hand of the market...The second possible explanation is that I wisely did not blab about the incident, sharing it only with a couple of close friends. Crane realized I was not trying to sabotage his reputation as bully in chief...