Approach With Caution Quotes

Love seems to be something to approach with caution, as if you'd come across a wrapped box in the middle of the street and have no idea what it contains.

Sebastian, who had begun to laugh, seemed struck by that last comment. “Ahhh,” he said softly. “That explains it.” He was silent for a moment, lost in some distant, pleasurable memory. “Dangerous creatures, wallflowers. Approach them with the utmost caution. They sit quietly in corners, appearing abandoned and forlorn, when in truth they’re sirens who lure men to their downfall. You won’t even notice the moment she steals the heart right out of your body—and then it’s hers for good. A wallflower never gives your heart back.” “Are you finished amusing yourself?” Gabriel asked, impatient with his father’s flight of fancy.

If Jack Dylan was Captain Ahab, Bart Breitner was Moby Dick. Jack felt exhilarated, as Ahab must have felt when he finally encountered the great white. He would approach with caution and test the waters. He was alone, and he sensed extreme danger, but this was a tremendous opportunity that he could not pass up.

But it was kind of a major clue when a lady ran away from a bloke. That said something, it did. That was a signpost that read: approach with caution. Falling rock up ahead. Handle with care. You’ve come so far with her, much further than you ever thought you’d get. Don’t fucking blow it now, son. That signpost was one of the busiest he had ever laid eyes on. It had a hell of a lot of text. He figured pausing to read all of that was a good thing.

I know I’m dangerously close, and just like a bomb, one false move and she could go off. I need to approach carefully and with caution until I know she can handle the heat.

When a monster grows quiet and crumbles to the ground weeping, you feel sorry for him. You may approach with caution and hope, whispering words of peace. But in the morning he will rise to his full height, roaring and stomping and baring his sharp teeth because he is, after all, a monster.

In the eighties, when she chiefly flourished, husbands were taken seriously, as the only real obstacles to sin. Beds too, if they had to be mentioned, were approached with caution; and a decent reserve prevented them and husbands ever being spoken of in the same breath.

Dangerous creatures, wallflowers. Approach them with the utmost caution. They sit quietly in corners, appearing abandoned and forlorn, when in truth they’re sirens who lure men to their downfall. You won’t even notice the moment she steals the heart right out of your body—and then it’s hers for good. A wallflower never gives your heart back.

There were two big differences between me and my brother: first, that he was extremely handsome, and second, that he didn’t walk around wearing a metaphorical neon sign nailed to his forehead flashing CAUTION, TERRORIST APPROACHING.

To those of you who are sticklers for safety and approach life with all the caution of amateur beekeepers, I can offer no excuse for what I did then. I’ll admit that a more mature human being would never have let her curiosity take control. Thankfully, I was twelve years old and fully prepared to meet the challenge at hand.

Any attempt to hold ideologies accountable for the crimes committed by their followers must be approached with a great deal of caution. It's too easy to assert that those with whom we disagree are not just wrong but tyrannical, fascist, genocidal.

She'd found the creature she'd seen tonight: Adam Black. The earliest accounts of it were sketchy, descriptions of its various glamours, warnings about its deviltry, cautions about its insatiable sexuality and penchant for mortal women ("so sates a lass, that she is oft incapable of speech, her wits muddled for a fortnight or more." Oh, please. Gabby thought, was that the medieval equivalent of screwing her brains out?), but by the approach of the first millennium, the accounts became more detailed.

Approach making changes to a complex system with extreme caution: what you get may be the opposite of what you expect.

While knowledge is powerful it should be approached with the utmost respect and caution.

The shop floor was vast, and I decided to request assistance. The first woman I saw was matronly, and did not seem well placed to dispense fashion advice. The second was in her late teens or early twenties, and therefore too callow to advise me. The third, in the manner of Goldilocks, was just right—around my age, well groomed, sensible-looking. I approached with caution.

The proper use of language, for me personally, is one that enables us to approach things (present or absent) with discretion, attention, and caution, with respect for what things (present or absent) communicate without words.

Alliances are useful in some situations. In others, they are absolutely vital. But they must always be approached with caution. Unity of that sort is based on mutual advantage. While that advantage exists the alliance may stand firm. But needs change, and advantages fade, and a day may come when one ally sees new benefits to be gained in betraying another. The warrior must be alert to such changes if he is to anticipate and survive an anannounced blow. Fortunately, the signs are usually evident in time for defense to be planned and executed. There is also always the possibility that changes will serve to meld the allies even more closely together. It is rare, but it can happen.

An emphasis on reading individual texts with a view to understanding the ideological visions of the world that underlie them has also had a dramatic impact. This type of interpretation requires historians to treat ancient authors, not as sources of fact, but rather like second-hand-car salesmen whom they would do well to approach with a healthy caution.

Is she pleasing to the eye?" Gabriel went to an inset sideboard to pour himself a brandy. "She's bloody ravishing," he muttered. Looking more and more interested, his father asked, "What is the problem with her, then?" "She's a perfect little savage. Constitutionally incapable of guarding her tongue. Not to mention peculiar: She goes to balls but never dances, only sits in the corner. Two of the fellows I went drinking with last night said they'd asked her to waltz on previous occasions. She told one of them that a carriage horse had recently stepped on her foot, and she told the other that the butler had accidentally slammed her leg in the door." Gabriel took a swallow of brandy before finishing grimly, "No wonder she's a wallflower." Sebastian, who had begun to laugh, seemed struck by that last comment. "Ahhh," he said softly. "That explains it." He was silent for a moment, lost in some distant, pleasurable memory. "Dangerous creatures, wallflowers. Approach them with the utmost caution. They sit quietly in corners, appearing abandoned and forlorn, when in truth they're sirens who lure men to their downfall. You won't even notice the moment she steals the heart right out of your body- and then it's hers for good. A wallflower never gives your heart back." "Are you finished amusing yourself?" Gabriel asked, impatient with his father's flight of fancy. "Because I have actual problems to deal with." Still smiling, Sebastian reached for some chalk and applied it to the tip of his cue stick. "Forgive me. The word makes me a bit sentimental.

Anyone who builds satellites we can’t shoot down needs to be taken seriously and, if they ever come back for their hardware, be approached with caution. That’s not religion, it’s common sense. Quellcrist Falconer Metaphysics for Revolutionaries

He reacts slowly to every kind of stimulus, with that slowness which a protracted caution and a willed pride have bred in him – he tests an approaching stimulus, he is far from going out to meet it. He believes in neither ‘misfortune’ nor in ‘guilt’: he knows how to forget – he is strong enough for everything to have to turn out for the best for him. Very well, I am the opposite of a décadent: for I have just described myself.

Caution is often a virtue, but in your case you carry it too far. It’s a little flaw in your character and it shows in a multitude of ways. In your wary approach to problems in your work, for instance—you are always too apprehensive, proceeding fearfully step by step when you should be plunging boldly ahead. You keep seeing dangers when there aren’t any—you’ve got to learn to take a chance, to lash out a bit. As it is, you are confined to a narrow range of activity by your own doubts.

Caution is often a virtue, but in your case you carry it too far. It's a little flaw in your character and it shows in a multitude of ways. In your wary approach to problems in your work for instance, you are always too apprehensive, proceeding fearfully step by step when you should be plunging boldly ahead. You keep seeing dangers when there aren't any, you've got to learn to take a chance, to lash out a bit. As it is, you are confined to a narrow range of activity by your own doubts.

Do whatever it takes to avoid fooling yourself into believing that something is true when it is false, or that something is false when it is true. This approach to knowing enjoys taproots in the eleventh century, as expressed by the Arabic scholar Ibn al-Haytham (AD 965–1040), also known as Alhazen. In particular, he cautioned the scientist against bias: “He should also suspect himself as he performs his critical examination of it, so that he may avoid falling into either prejudice or leniency.”2 Centuries later, during the European Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci would be in full agreement: “The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinion.

It was like approaching a rabid dog. All the caution in the world wouldn’t protect you if you stuck your hand in its mouth.

A woman who’d lost her last fuck was to be approached with caution.

purchased my laptop. It was 5:20 p.m., and the store would close in less than an hour. Womenswear was on the first floor (when did Ladieswear become Womenswear? I wondered) and I took the escalator, being unable to find the stairs. The shop floor was vast, and I decided to request assistance. The first woman I saw was matronly, and did not seem well placed to dispense fashion advice. The second was in her late teens or early twenties, and therefore too callow to advise me. The third, in the manner of Goldilocks, was just right—around my age, well groomed, sensible-looking. I approached with caution.

Life was never quite the same for me after that winter walk to town. The charts that I brought home with me were potent and ensnaring and I feel it my duty to warn any others who may show signs of star susceptibility that they approach the observing of variable stars with the utmost caution. It is easy to become and addict and, as usual, the longer the indulgence is continued the more difficult it becomes to go back to a normal life.

Relying on physical remedies alone was often seen as downright ungodly: in England, Puritan minister John Sym advised “caution” that people “dote not upon, nor trust, or ascribe too much to physical means; but that we carefully look and pray to God for a blessing by the warrantable use of them.” To do otherwise—to rely on a physic or powder alone—would be to put the material above the spiritual. That was why a strictly mechanical approach to medicine was considered dangerously atheistic.

In the night as he slept Boyd came to him and squatted by the deep embers of the fire as he'd done times by the hundreds and smiled his soft smile that was not quite cynical and he took off his hate and held it before him and looked down into it. In the dream he knew that Boyd was dead and that the subject of his being so must be approached with a certain caution for that which was circumspect in life must be doubly so in death and he'd no way to know what word or gesture might subtract him back again into that nothingness out of which he'd come. When finally he did ask him what it was like to be dead Boyd only smiled and looked away and would not answer. They spoke of other things and he tried not to wake from the dream but the ghost dimmed and faded and he woke and lay looking up at the stars through the bramblework of the treelimbs and he tried to think of what that place could be where Boyd was but Boyd was dead and wasted in his bones wrapped in the soogan upriver in the trees and he turned his face to the ground and wept.

What is it, fundamentally, that allows us to recognize who has turned out well? That a well-turned out person pleases our senses, that he is carved from wood that is hard, delicate, and at the same time smells good. He has a taste only for what is good for him; his pleasure, his delight cease where the measure of what is good for him is transgressed. He guesses what remedies avail against what is harmful; he exploits bad accidents to his advantage; what does not kill him makes him stronger. Instinctively, he collects from everything he sees, hears, lives through, his sum: he is a principle of selection, he discards much. He is always in his own company, whether he associates with books, human beings, or landscapes: he honors by choosing, by admitting, by trusting. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with that slowness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in him: he examines the stimulus that approaches him, he is far from meeting it halfway. He believes neither in 'misfortune' nor in 'guilt': he comes to terms with himself, with others: he knows how to forget — he is strong enough; hence everything must turn out for his best.

Justin's small form was very still with excitement, his attention riveted on the black feline. "Look, Mama!" Phoebe glanced at Mr. Ravenel. "Is she feral?" "No, but she's undomesticated. We keep a few barn cats to reduce the rodent and insect population." "Can I pet her?" Justin asked. "You could try," Mr. Ravenel said, "but she won't come close enough. Barn cats prefer to keep their distance from people." His brows lifted as the small black cat made her way to Sebastian and curled around his leg, arching and purring. "With the apparent exception of dukes. My God, she's a snob." Sebastian lowered to his haunches. "Come here, Justin," he murmured, gently kneading the cat along its spine to the base of its tail. The child approached with his small hand outstretched. "Softly," Sebastian cautioned. "Smooth her fur the same way it grows." Justin stroked the cat carefully, his eyes growing round as her purring grew even louder. "How does she make that sound?" "No one has yet found a satisfactory explanation," Sebastian replied. "Personally, I hope they never do." "Why, Gramps?" Sebastian smiled into the small face so close to his. "Sometimes the mystery is more delightful than the answer.

While there is a real urgency for caution, there is also an overwhelming urgency for calm. My greatest concern is that the driving force of this pandemic may cause those who have no signs or symptomology to develop other chronic fears, anxieties and medical conditions. Heightened fears and anxieties will not make you feel safer. Compulsive and impulsive purchases will not protect you from the virus. It is important that you take care of your physical and mental health. Follow what your state and county are advising you to do. The sky is not falling and life will return to normal. The most prudent thing that people can do at this time, is to take commonsense approaches to reduce your risk of exposure.

Songs are like women or cats — fascinating, elusive, seductive, irresistible, infuriating, moody, demanding and contradictory creatures. The writer pursues them like some phantom fantasy — fascinated, intrigued and desperate to find out what they’re really like. They should be approached with caution and respect — especially at night. The more promising and beautiful they appear, the harder they may be to catch.

I know the solution isn't to allow myself to trust everyone in the hope that my trust will be rewarded, just as the approach of treating all situations and people with caution isn't an effective one. There is no right answer. All I can do is listen to my gut, trust in my instincts, rely on my fear, wear comfortable shows and believe in women when they tell me what they know or have seen. That's all the hope we can have.

It was raining and I had to walk on the grass. I’ve got mud all over my shoes. They’re brand-new, too.” “I’ll carry you across the grass on the return trip, if you like,” Colby offered with twinkling eyes. “It would have to be over one shoulder, of course,” he added with a wry glance at his artificial arm. She frowned at the bitterness in his tone. He was a little fuzzy because she needed glasses to see at distances. “Listen, nobody in her right mind would ever take you for a cripple,” she said gently and with a warm smile. She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Anyway,” she added with a wicked grin, “I’ve already given the news media enough to gossip about just recently. I don’t need any more complications in my life. I’ve only just gotten rid of one big one.” Colby studied her with an amused smile. She was the only woman he’d ever known that he genuinely liked. He was about to speak when he happened to glance over her shoulder at a man approaching them. “About that big complication, Cecily?” “What about it?” she asked. “I’d say it’s just reappeared with a vengeance. No, don’t turn around,” he said, suddenly jerking her close to him with the artificial arm that looked so real, a souvenir of one of his foreign assignments. “Just keep looking at me and pretend to be fascinated with my nose, and we’ll give him something to think about.” She laughed in spite of the racing pulse that always accompanied Tate’s appearances in her life. She studied Colby’s lean, scarred face. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a pinup, but he had style and guts and if it hadn’t been for Tate, she would have found him very attractive. “Your nose has been broken twice, I see,” she told Colby. “Three times, but who’s counting?” He lifted his eyes and his eyebrows at someone behind her. “Well, hi, Tate! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” “Obviously,” came a deep, gruff voice that cut like a knife. Colby loosened his grip on Cecily and moved back a little. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said. Tate moved into Cecily’s line of view, half a head taller than Colby Lane. He was wearing evening clothes, like the other men present, but he had an elegance that made him stand apart. She never tired of gazing into his large black eyes which were deep-set in a dark, handsome face with a straight nose, and a wide, narrow, sexy mouth and faintly cleft chin. He was the most beautiful man. He looked as if all he needed was a breastplate and feathers in his hair to bring back the heyday of the Lakota warrior in the nineteenth century. Cecily remembered him that way from the ceremonial gatherings at Wapiti Ridge, and the image stuck stubbornly in her mind. “Audrey likes to rub elbows with the rich and famous,” Tate returned. His dark eyes met Cecily’s fierce green ones. “I see you’re still in Holden’s good graces. Has he bought you a ring yet?” “What’s the matter with you, Tate?” Cecily asked with a cold smile. “Feeling…crabby?” His eyes smoldered as he glared at her. “What did you give Holden to get that job at the museum?” he asked with pure malice. Anger at the vicious insinuation caused her to draw back her hand holding the half-full coffee cup, and Colby caught her wrist smoothly before she could sling the contents at the man towering over her. Tate ignored Colby. “Don’t make that mistake again,” he said in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. He looked as if all his latent hostilities were waiting for an excuse to turn on her. “If you throw that cup at me, so help me, I’ll carry you over and put you down in the punch bowl!” “You and the CIA, maybe!” Cecily hissed. “Go ahead and try…!” Tate actually took a step toward her just as Colby managed to get between them. “Now, now,” he cautioned. Cecily wasn’t backing down an inch. Neither was Tate.

There is an alternative approach to being wrong as fast as you can. It is the notion that if you carefully think everything through, if you are meticulous and plan well and consider all possible outcomes, you are more likely to create a lasting product. But I should caution that if you seek to plot out all your moves before you make them—if you put your faith in slow, deliberative planning in the hopes it will spare you failure down the line—well, you’re deluding yourself. For one thing, it’s easier to plan derivative work—things that copy or repeat something already out there. So if your primary goal is to have a fully worked out, set-in-stone plan, you are only upping your chances of being unoriginal. Moreover, you cannot plan your way out of problems. While planning is very important, and we do a lot of it, there is only so much you can control in a creative environment. In general, I have found that people who pour their energy into thinking about an approach and insisting that it is too early to act are wrong just as often as people who dive in and work quickly. The overplanners just take longer to be wrong (and, when things inevitably go awry, are more crushed by the feeling that they have failed). There’s a corollary to this, as well: The more time you spend mapping out an approach, the more likely you are to get attached to it. The nonworking idea gets worn into your brain, like a rut in the mud. It can be difficult to get free of it and head in a different direction. Which, more often than not, is exactly what you must do.

From the perspective of nearly half a century, the Battle of Hue and the entire Vietnam War seem a tragic and meaningless waste. So much heroism and slaughter for a cause that now seems dated and nearly irrelevant. The whole painful experience ought to have (but has not) taught Americans to cultivate deep regional knowledge in the practice of foreign policy, and to avoid being led by ideology instead of understanding. The United States should interact with other nations realistically, first, not on the basis of domestic political priorities. Very often the problems in distant lands have little or nothing to do with America’s ideological preoccupations. Beware of men with theories that explain everything. Trust those who approach the world with humility and cautious insight. The United States went to war in Vietnam in the name of freedom, to stop the supposed monolithic threat of Communism from spreading across the globe like a dark stain—I remember seeing these cartoons as a child. There were experts, people who knew better, who knew the languages and history of Southeast Asia, who had lived and worked there, who tried to tell Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon that the conflict in Vietnam was peculiar to that place. They were systematically ignored and pushed aside. David Halberstam’s classic The Best and the Brightest documents this process convincingly. America had every right to choose sides in the struggle between Hanoi and Saigon, even to try to influence the outcome, but lacking a legitimate or even marginally capable ally its military effort was misguided and doomed. At the very least, Vietnam should stand as a permanent caution against going to war for any but the most immediate, direct, and vital national interest, or to prevent genocide or wider conflict, and then only in concert with other countries. After

I think we’ve nailed how to say what we don’t want, but we find it much harder to articulate what we do want—let alone how to achieve it. The protests and the organizing in the wake of the killing of George Floyd have shown us in no uncertain terms that a great thirst for change exists. But it’s not so much that there is too much to do, it’s more that we require a new, far more expansive, approach to understanding what we want to achieve and the steps necessary to take us there. As the scholar George Lipsitz cautions, “Good intentions and spontaneity are not adequate in the face of relentlessly oppressive and powerful well-financed military and economic political systems.”3

Lily…” “I thought we were friends.” He rose in one movement. “I thought we were more than friends.” Her eyes widened and she backed up a step, seemingly without conscious thought, as he advanced on her, until her bottom hit the door. He should be gentler, should approach her with caution. Even now she might be afraid of what had been said about him. But he was weary—so very, very weary—of things being taken from him. He wasn’t going to lose her as well. Not if he could help it. He halted inches from her. “Weren’t we, Lily? More than friends?” Her lips parted as her breath quickened, but she showed no fear of him. “You know we were.” “Then that hasn’t changed.” She laughed, incredulous. “Are you insane?

Approaching the trail, he broke through the thicket a short distance ahead of the Empath. Causing the Empaths horse to startle as the surprised rider jerked on the reins. Cap was equally surprised to find a young girl before him instead of an older, experienced male Empath. Cap brought his horse to a quick halt. The young girl pulled a small knife from her boot and cautioned him. "I don't know where you came from, but I'm not easy prey.” Her voice shook slightly with fear as she raised the knife. Not sure how to proceed, they stared silently at each other. Cap had always believed that Empaths didn't carry weapons. This pretty, chestnut haired girl couldn't be more than 18 years old. Her long straight tresses covered the spot on her jacket where the Empathic Emblem was usually worn, causing Cap to doubt she was the one he sought. Not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had, Cap tried to explain. "I'm Commander Caplin Taylor. I’m looking for an Empath that is headed for the Western Hunting Lodge.” "My name is Kendra; I am the Empath you seek.” She answered cautiously, still holding the blade. A noise from the brush drew her attention as a small rodent pounced out, trying to evade an unseen predator. Cap was just close enough to lurch forward and snatch the dirk from her hand. Her head jerked back in alarm. "Bosen May has been mauled by a Sraeb, his shoulder is a mass of pulp." Cap spoke quickly not wanting to hesitate any longer. That was all Kendra needed to hear. She pushed her horse past him and headed quickly down the trail. "Wait!" Cap called after her, turning his horse around. Reining in the horse, she turned back to face him annoyed by the delay. "Are you a good horseman?" Cap asked, as he stuffed her dirk in his jacket. "I've been in the saddle since I was a child." She answered, abruptly. "Okay so just a few years then?" Cap's rebuke angered her. Jerking the horse back toward the trail, she ignored him. "Wait, I'm sorry!" Cap called after her. "It's just that I know a quicker way, if you can handle some rough terrain." "Let’s go then." Kendra replied, gruffly, turning back to face him. Without another word, Cap dove back into the brush and the girl followed.

At a talk I gave at a church months later, I spoke about Charlie and the plight of incarcerated children. Afterward, an older married couple approached me and insisted that they had to help Charlie. I tried to dissuade these kind people from thinking they could do anything, but I gave them my card and told them they could call me. I didn't expect to hear from them, but within days they called, and they were persistent. We eventually agreed that they would write a letter to Charlie and send it to me to pass on to him. When I received the letter weeks later, I read it. It was remarkable. Mr. and Mrs. Jennings were a white couple in their mid-seventies from a small community northeast of Birmingham. They were kind and generous people who were active in their local United Methodist church. They never missed a Sunday service and were especially drawn to children in crisis. They spoke softly and always seemed to be smiling but never appeared to be anything less than completely genuine and compassionate. They were affectionate with each other in a way that was endearing, frequently holding hands and leaning into each other. They dressed like farmers and owned ten acres of land, where they grew vegetables and lived simply. Their one and only grandchild, whom they had helped raise, had committed suicide when he was a teenager, and they had never stopped grieving for him. Their grandson struggled with mental health problems during his short life, but he was a smart kid and they had been putting money away to send him to college. They explained in their letter that they wanted to use the money they'd saved for their grandson to help Charlie. Eventually, Charlie and this couple began corresponding with one another, building up to the day when the Jenningses met Charlie at the juvenile detention facility. They later told me that they "loved him instantly." Charlie's grandmother had died a few months after she first called me, and his mother was still struggling after the tragedy of the shooting and Charlie's incarceration. Charlie had been apprehensive about meeting with the Jenningses because he thought they wouldn't like him, but he told me after they left how much they seemed to care about him and how comforting that was. The Jenningses became his family. At one point early on, I tried to caution them against expecting too much from Charlie after his release. 'You know, he's been through a lot. I'm not sure he can just carry on as if nothing has ever happened. I want you to understand he may not be able to do everything you'd like him to do.' They never accepted my warnings. Mrs. Jennings was rarely disagreeable or argumentative, but I had learned that she would grunt when someone said something she didn't completely accept. She told me, 'We've all been through a lot, Bryan, all of us. I know that some have been through more than others. But if we don't expect more from each other, hope better for one another, and recover from the hurt we experience, we are surely doomed.' The Jenningses helped Charlie get his general equivalency degree in detention and insisted on financing his college education. They were there, along with his mother, to take him home when he was released.

Let’s take a look at one couple. Carol and Jim have a long-running quarrel over his being late to engagements. In a session in my office, Carol carps at Jim over his latest transgression: he didn’t show up on time for their scheduled movie night. “How come you are always late?” she challenges. “Doesn’t it matter to you that we have a date, that I am waiting, that you always let me down?” Jim reacts coolly: “I got held up. But if you are going to start off nagging again, maybe we should just go home and forget the date.” Carol retaliates by listing all the other times Jim has been late. Jim starts to dispute her “list,” then breaks off and retreats into stony silence. In this never-ending dispute, Jim and Carol are caught up in the content of their fights. When was the last time Jim was late? Was it only last week or was it months ago? They careen down the two dead ends of “what really happened”—whose story is more “accurate” and who is most “at fault.” They are convinced that the problem has to be either his irresponsibility or her nagging. In truth, though, it doesn’t matter what they’re fighting about. In another session in my office, Carol and Jim begin to bicker about Jim’s reluctance to talk about their relationship. “Talking about this stuff just gets us into fights,” Jim declares. “What’s the point of that? We go round and round. It just gets frustrating. And anyway, it’s all about my ‘flaws’ in the end. I feel closer when we make love.” Carol shakes her head. “I don’t want sex when we are not even talking!” What’s happened here? Carol and Jim’s attack-withdraw way of dealing with the “lateness” issue has spilled over into two more issues: “we don’t talk” and “we don’t have sex.” They’re caught in a terrible loop, their responses generating more negative responses and emotions in each other. The more Carol blames Jim, the more he withdraws. And the more he withdraws, the more frantic and cutting become her attacks. Eventually, the what of any fight won’t matter at all. When couples reach this point, their entire relationship becomes marked by resentment, caution, and distance. They will see every difference, every disagreement, through a negative filter. They will listen to idle words and hear a threat. They will see an ambiguous action and assume the worst. They will be consumed by catastrophic fears and doubts, be constantly on guard and defensive. Even if they want to come close, they can’t. Jim’s experience is defined perfectly by the title of a Notorious Cherry Bombs song, “It’s Hard to Kiss the Lips at Night that Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long.

For doctors to determine that someone lacks capacity, or courts to find someone legally incompetent, is an extremely serious act and should be undertaken with hesitation and caution. A person who is suicidal is already in doubt about his or her value in the world, already feels powerless to transform or transcend life’s burdens. To declare this person incompetent is to confirm these feelings, to officially endorse the individual’s hopeless state. A finding of lack of capacity or incompetence completely erases the individual as a legally and medically respected decision-maker. It is exactly the opposite policy from what we should pursue: engaging a suicidal person in an earnest and respectful conversation about why he or she wants to die. Expanding the definition of incompetence as a utilitarian means of preventing suicide or controlling the actions of a suicidal person is dangerous and unnecessary social policy.

The second was in her late teens or early twenties, and therefore too callow to advise me. The third, in the manner of Goldilocks, was just right—around my age, well groomed, sensible-looking. I approached with caution. “Excuse me, I wonder if I could possibly ask for your assistance?” I said. She stopped folding sweaters and turned to me, smiling insincerely. “I’m attending a concert at a fashionable venue, and I wondered if you might assist me with the selection of an appropriate ensemble?” Her smile broadened and looked more genuine. “Well, we do offer a personal shopper service,” she said. “I could make you an appointment, if you like?” “Oh no,” I said, “it’s for this evening. I really do need something right now, I’m afraid.” She looked me up and down. “Where is it that you’re going?” “The Cuttings,” I said proudly. She stuck out her bottom lip, nodded once, slowly. “What are you, a twelve?” I nodded, impressed that she had been able to size me up so accurately by sight alone. She checked her watch.

Epicurus notes that it is essential to eliminate all pointless fears, starting with the two biggest: fear of the gods, and fear of death. He does not deny the existence of the former (probably out of political caution, since his materialist conception of the world makes the existence of any divinities implausible), but he keeps the gods at a distance, explaining that experience shows that they have no influence on human life. So there is no point in praying to them and being afraid of them, presenting them with all sorts of offerings and sacrifices. Likewise we need to rid ourselves of the idea of the soul’s immortality, as it introduces the fear of a possible punishment after death. Epicurus borrows from Democritus his idea of a reality composed entirely of indivisible atoms, an approach that underpins his own ethical vision. For him the human being, body and soul, is an agglomeration of atoms that dissolve at death. Epicurus explains that the fear of dying stems purely from our imagination, since so long as we are alive, we have no experience of death, and when we die there will be no individual consciousness left to feel the dissolution of the atoms that make up our bodies and our souls. Once

Bourdieu posits the notion of a “feel for the game”, one that is never perfect and that takes prolonged immersion to develop. This is a particularly practical understanding of practice – highlighted by Bourdieu’s use of terms such as “practical mastery”, “sense of practice” and “practical knowledge” – that he claims is missing from structuralist accounts and the objectivism of Lévi Strauss. Bourdieu contrasts the abstract logic of such approaches, with their notion of practice as “rule-following”, with the practical logic of social agents. Even this notion of a game, he warns, must be handled with caution: You can use the analogy of the game in order to say that a set of people take part in a rule-bound activity, an activity which, without necessarily being the product of obedience to rules, obeys certain regularities . . . Should one talk of a rule? Yes and no. You can do so on condition that you distinguish clearly between rule and regularity. The social game is regulated, it is the locus of certain regularities. To understand practice, then, one must relate these regularities of social fields to the practical logic of social agents; their “feel for the game” is a feel for these regularities. The source of this practical logic is the habitus.

Look,” Cam said irritably, “I’m here on behalf of Lord Ramsay’s family. They want him back. God knows why. Give him to me, and I’ll leave you in peace.” “If they want him,” the butler said frostily, “let them send a proper servant. Not a filthy Gypsy.” Cam rubbed the corners of his eyes with his free hand and sighed. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Frankly, I’d rather not go through unnecessary exertion. All I ask is that you allow me five minutes to find the bastard and take him off your hands.” “Begone with you!” After another foiled attempt to close the door, the butler reached for a silver bell on the hall table. A few seconds later, two burly footmen appeared. “Show this vermin out at once,” the butler commanded. Cam removed his coat and tossed it onto one of the built-in benches lining the entrance hall. The first footman charged him. In a few practiced movements, Cam landed a right cross on his jaw, flipped him, and sent him to a groaning heap on the floor. The second footman approached Cam with considerably more caution than the first. “Which is your dominant arm?” Cam asked. The footman looked startled. “Why do you want to know?” “I’d prefer to break the one you don’t use as often.” The footman’s eyes bulged, and he retreated, giving the butler a pleading glance. The butler glared at Cam. “You have five minutes. Retrieve your master and go.” “Ramsay isn’t my master,” Cam muttered. “He’s a pain in my arse.

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine, Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine! Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain, For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain. All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair! The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one, Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun; The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be, Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small, None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball; The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves; The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won, And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son. The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune, The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon, Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows, No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide; Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue. Now to the application, to the reading of the roll, To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul: Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone, Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap'st what thou hast sown. Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long, And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? There's Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair! Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree; Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb, And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time! Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower, And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower — And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum — And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

the most colourful characters of the historical advocates of vegetarianism was George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950). When Shaw decided to eliminate meat from his diet, it was so contrary to his culture that his physician was alarmed. He cautioned the young Shaw that if he continued to insist on this meat-free diet, he would surely die of malnutrition in short order. Shaw replied that he would sooner die than consume a “corpse.” One can appreciate the irony of the situation when, as he approached his eighty-fifth year, Shaw proclaimed: The average age (life expectancy) of a meat eater is 63. I am on the verge of 85 and still work as hard as ever. I have lived quite long enough and I am trying to die; but I simply cannot do it. A single beef steak would finish me; but I cannot bring myself to swallow it. I am oppressed with a dread of living forever. That is the only disadvantage of vegetarianism.

Professional historians approach such stories with great caution, knowing there will certainly be many fake baubles in the pile. Some accounts will be almost entirely untrue. All will be somewhat distorted according to the prejudices of the author and the political requirements of the moment. Different accounts must be weighed against each other, as well as the documentary evidence and the archaeological record. Sometimes the surviving records are scant and confusing.

Zazen-gi cautions us to come out of samadhi calmly and to move the body naturally. It further teaches us how to get to our feet with dignity and what to do after doing so. It writes, “Even after getting out of samadhi, you should always be on the alert to act responsively and protect your power of concentration as you protect a baby. Then, it will be easy for you to cultivate your power of concentration until it comes to maturity.

There is an alternative approach to being wrong as fast as you can. It is the notion that if you carefully think everything through, if you are meticulous and plan well and consider all possible outcomes, you are more likely to create a lasting product. But I should caution that if you seek to plot out all your moves before you make them—if you put your faith in slow, deliberative planning in the hopes it will spare you failure down the line—well, you’re deluding yourself. For one thing, it’s easier to plan derivative work—things that copy or repeat something already out there. So if your primary goal is to have a fully worked out, set-in-stone plan, you are only upping your chances of being unoriginal. Moreover, you cannot plan your way out of problems. While planning is very important, and we do a lot of it, there is only so much you can control in a creative environment. In general, I have found that people who pour their energy into thinking about an approach and insisting that it is too early to act are wrong just as often as people who dive in and work quickly.

Another human tendency is to approach things incrementally, from an abundance of caution. It feels safer to inch forward rather than take bold leaps. Incrementalism is about avoiding risk by building on whatever has already been achieved as a stable foundation. But merely trying for marginal improvements on the status quo carries its own risks.

For Churchill residents, particularly those who, like Lance, grew up in the community, bear awareness is. both ingrained and a matter of pride; appropriately safe behaviors are second-nature. The approach is one of neither blustering bravado nor crippling caution; common sense prevails

Suspect appears to be a Caucasian female trapped inside a Hispanic male. Approach with caution.

She takes a cautious approach to toasting bread. She does it by degrees, nervous of burning it. But the trouble is, by popping it up and down five times to check on its progress, she provides herself with plenty of opportunities to forget about the toast entirely and burn it to a crisp. Her cautious approach to toasting, I fancy, actually has the unintended consequence of making it more likely she'll burn her breakfast. Is there a life lesson in this, I wonder?

There is an alternative approach to being wrong as fast as you can. It is the notion that if you carefully think everything through, if you are meticulous and plan well and consider all possible outcomes, you are more likely to create a lasting product. But I should caution that if you seek to plot out all your moves before you make them—if you put your faith in slow, deliberative planning in the hopes it will spare you failure down the line—well, you’re deluding yourself.

I approach with caution, considering my track record with guys. One dead, two denied.

The man between the Yew siblings was older, his tunic plain and his beard untrimmed. I stared at him, unable to place him. Then I noticed the small willow tree, woven in white thread, on the breast of his tunic. I leapt from my chair. “You brought a Physician?” I cried. “Why not just run me through with your dagger?” “Easy,” Ravyn said, his voice smooth. “We just want to ask you questions. He’s not going to report you. Isn’t that right, Filick?” “I am bound to obey the Captain,” the older man said. He gave Ravyn a faint wink, then approached the table with caution, as if I were a wild, fretful horse. Taking the chair to my right, he lowered himself to a seat. “My name is Filick Willow. What is yours?” I cast Ravyn a hateful glance. My whole life, I’d managed to avoid Physicians. This time, there was nowhere to hide.

For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and to be doctored—all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them—out of my Will to Health and to Life I made my philosophy.... For this should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in him—he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can digest himself and others; he knows how to forget—he is strong enough to make everything turn to his own advantage. Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just described is none other than myself.

Males approach with caution, first assessing whether the female has had anything to eat lately. If she looks well fed, the male has some hope of getting through the ordeal alive.

The science of lubrication, friction and wear is called tribology and is a branch of mechanical engineering. Tribologists are employed by lubricant companies, bearing manufacturers, vehicle brake manufacturers and just about anywhere you can expect to solve a problem of friction and wear. Tribologists agree that the best lubricant for roller chains is viscous oil, not wax, graphite, or silicone. Yet, you’ll often find a new chain lubricant on the market that promises an improvement (they never say over what) and that chains will not suffer the same side effects as when lubricated with oil. Approach these products with sceptical caution. If the manufacturer uses words like “dry”, “wax”, and/or ”clean”, it is probably not a quality chain lubricant. Its sole redeeming feature may be that it doesn’t turn black with use, itself a sign of poor lubrication. We’ll discuss discolouration of the oil in due course.

Be on the lookout for a 1949 black Ford.  Nebraska license number 2-15628.  Radiator grille missing.  No hubcaps.  Believed to be driven by Charles Starkweather, a white male, nineteen years old, 5 feet 5 inches tall, 140 pounds, dark red hair, green eyes.  Believed to be wearing blue jeans and black leather jacket.  Wanted by Lincoln police for questioning in homicide.  Officers were warned to approach with caution.  Starkweather was believed to be armed and presumed dangerous.

Jeannette Mirsky, his biographer, explains: ‘Dandan-uilik was the classroom where Stein learned the grammar of the ancient sand-buried shrines and houses: their typical ground plans, construction, and ornamentation, their art, and something of their cultic practices. He also used it as a laboratory in which to find the techniques best suited to excavating ruins covered by sands as fluid as water, which, like water trickled in almost as fast as the diggers bailed it out. He had no precedents to guide him, no labour force already trained in the cautions, objectives and methods of archaeology.… He felt his way from what was easy to what was difficult, from what he knew he would find to discoveries he had not dared to anticipate. His approach was both cautious and experimental.

Cam … would you do something for me?” “Anything.” “Could you find some of that plant Merripen gave to Win and Leo for the scarlet fever?” He drew back and looked at her. “Deadly nightshade? That wouldn’t work for this, sweetheart.” “But it’s a fever.” “Caused by a septic wound. You have to treat the source of the fever.” His hand went to the back of her neck, soothing the tautly strung muscles. He stared at a distant point on the floor, appearing to think something over. His tangled lashes made shadows over his hazel eyes. “Let’s go have a look at him.” “Do you think you could help him?” Poppy asked, springing to her feet. “Either that, or my efforts will finish him off quickly. Which, at this point, he may not mind.” Lifting Amelia from his lap, Cam set her carefully on her feet, and they proceeded up the stairs. His hand remained at the small of her back, a light but steady support she desperately needed. As they approached Merripen’s room, it occurred to Amelia that Win might still be inside. “Wait,” she said, hastening forward. “Let me go first.” Cam stayed beside the door. Entering the room with caution, Amelia saw that Merripen was alone in the bed. She opened the door wider and gestured for Cam and Poppy to enter. Becoming aware of intruders in the room, Merripen lurched to his side and squinted at them. As soon as he caught sight of Cam, his face contracted in a surly grimace. “Bugger off,” he croaked. Cam smiled pleasantly. “Were you this charming with the doctor? I’ll bet he was falling all over himself to help you.” “Get away from me.” “This may surprise you,” Cam said, “but there’s a long list of things I’d prefer to look at rather than your rotting carcass. For your family’s sake, however, I’m willing. Turn over.” Merripen eased his front to the mattress and said something in Romany that sounded extremely foul. “You, too,” Cam said equably.

Mid May 2012 Andy wrote in his Email reply: Dear Young, You are still the boy I grew to love and cherish forty-four years ago. The lyrics you sent, to “The Things You Are To Me” brought back many fond memories of our time together. You, young man, do have a way with words. In more ways than one, you always touched the core of my heart with your innocence and childlike approach to life. Walter is a lucky man to have you in his life. I wish I were in his shoes, you little ‘faerie’ boy, stirring up an emotional storm within me which I had kept hidden for so long. Now that our parents are deceased, we can be free from the emotional baggage imposed upon us. You had mentioned briefly that you are writing your memoirs. I hope you are not revealing anything that we pledged to never reveal. My advice to you is to stay clear of those subjects. It is not advisable to tamper with the school or the Society, especially when you swore an oath, a gentlemanly honor of confidentiality to never reveal any of our membership secrets. If the word gets out, the paparazzi will have a field day digging for whatever dirt they can find. I hate to see you being sued by any parties involved. I’m speaking to you as a trusted friend, confidant, and ex- lover. Tread with caution, Young! You are old enough to decide for yourself. I’m sure you don’t need your ex-Valet to tell you what to do. Please send my regards to Walter and maybe we’ll have a chance to meet one day, soon. Let’s continue our regular correspondence. My love always! Andy.

The dependent origination, or structure of conditions, appears as a flexible formula with the intention of describing the ordinary human situation of a man in his world (or indeed any conscious event where ignorance and craving have not entirely ceased). That situation is always complex, since it is implicit that consciousness with no object, or being ( bhava— becoming, or however rendered) without consciousness (of it), is impossible except as an artificial abstraction. The dependent origination, being designed to portray the essentials of that situation in the limited dimensions of words and using only elements recognizable in experience, is not a logical proposition (Descartes’ cogito is not a logical proposition). Nor is it a temporal cause-and-effect chain: each member has to be examined as to its nature in order to determine what its relations to the others are (e.g. whether successive in time or conascent, positive or negative, etc., etc.). A purely cause-and-effect chain would not represent the pattern of a situation that is always complex, always subjective-objective, static-dynamic, positive-negative, and so on. Again, there is no evidence of any historical development in the various forms given within the limit of the Sutta Piþaka (leaving aside the Paþisambhidámagga), and historical treatment within that particular limit is likely to mislead, if it is hypothesis with no foundation. Parallels with European thought have been avoided in this translation. But perhaps an exception can be made here, with due caution, in the case of Descartes. The revolution in European thought started by his formula cogito ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”) is not yet ended. Now, it will perhaps not escape notice that the two elements, “I think” and “I am,” in what is not a logical proposition parallel to some extent the two members of the dependent origination, consciousness and being (becoming). In other words, consciousness activated by craving and clinging as the dynamic factory, guided and blinkered by ignorance (“I think” or “consciousness with the conceit ‘I am’”), conditions being (“therefore I am”) in a complex relationship with other factors relating subject and object (not accounted for by Descartes). The parallel should not be pushed too far. In fact it is only introduced because in Europe the dependent origination seems to be very largely misunderstood with many strange interpretations placed upon it, and because the cogito does seem to offer some sort of reasonable approach.

Introduction THE TRUTH of the Second Coming of Jesus at the end of time has proved to be difficult for many Catholics to relate to. It is an area of theology that many find irrelevant to their everyday lives; something perhaps best left to the placard-wielding doom merchants. However, the clarity of this teaching is to be found throughout the pages of Sacred Scripture, through the Tradition of the Church Fathers, notably St. Augustine and St. Irenaeus, and in the Magisterium of the popes. A possible reason for this attitude of incredulity is the obvious horror at the prospect of the end of the world. In envisioning this end, the focus of many consists of an image of universal conflagration where the only peace is the peace of death, not only for man but the physical world also. But is that scenario one that is true to the plans of Divine Providence as revealed by Jesus? In truth it is not. It is a partial account of the wondrous work that the Lord will complete on the last day. The destiny of humanity and all creation at the end of time will consist of the complete renewal of the world and the universe, in which the Kingdom of God will come. Earth will become Heaven and the Holy Trinity will dwell with the community of the redeemed in an endless day illuminated by the light that is God—the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. I suspect that the ignorance of many stems from the lack of clear teaching coming from the clergy. There is no real reason for confusion in this area as the Second Vatican Council document, Lumen Gentium, and the Catholic Catechism make the authentic teaching very clear. With the knowledge that the end will give way to a new beginning, the Christian should be filled with hope, not fear, expectation, not apprehension. It is important to stress at this point that it is not my intention to speculate as to specific times and dates, as that knowledge belongs to God the Father himself; rather the intention is to offer the teachings and guidance of the recent popes in this matter, and to show that they are warning of the approaching Second Coming of the Lord. Pope Pius XII stated in his Easter Message of 1957: “Come, Lord Jesus. There are numerous signs that Thy return is not far off.” St. Peter warns us that “everything will soon come to an end” (1 Pet. 4:7), while at the same time exercising caution: “But there is one thing, my friends, that you must never forget: that with the Lord, a “day” can mean a thousand years, and a thousand years is like a day” (2 Pet. 3:8). So let us leave the time scale open, that way controversy can be avoided and the words of the popes will speak for themselves.

Readiness is everything. Resolution is indissolubly bound up with caution. If an individual is careful and keeps his wits about him, he need not become excited or alarmed. If he is watchful at all times, even before danger is present, he is armed when danger approaches and need not be afraid. The superior man is on his guard against what is not yet in sight and on the alert for what is not yet within hearing; therefore he dwells in the midst of difficulties as though they did not exist…. If reason triumphs, the passions withdraw of themselves. THE I CHING, CHINA, CIRCA EIGHTH CENTURY B.C.

If we find ourselves tempted to celebrate one approach over the other, we should remember the caution of the Chinese sage Confucius, who told his followers, “Study without thinking and you are blind; think without studying and you are in danger.”       Formal

The constant needle and edge in their working relationship is matched by a cloak of secrecy the warring offices throw around their rival operations. Diana had to use all her guile to tease out information from her husband’s office before she flew to Pakistan on her first major solo overseas tour last year. She was due to stopover in Oman where Prince Charles was trying to woo the Sultan to win funding for an architectural college. Curious by nature, Diana wanted to know more but realized that a direct approach to Prince Charles or his senior advisers would receive a dusty response. Instead she penned a short memo to the Prince’s private secretary, Commander Richard Aylard and asking innocently if there was anything in the way of briefing notes she needed for the short stopover in Oman. The result was that, as she was travelling on official Foreign Office business, the Prince was forced to reveal his hand. In this milieu of sullen suspicion, secrecy is a necessary and constant companion. Caution is her watchword. There are plenty of eyes and ears as well as police video cameras to catch the sound of a voice raised in anger or the sight of an unfamiliar visitor. Tongues wag and stories circulate with electrifying efficiency. It is why, when she was learning about her bulimic condition, she hid books on the subject from prying eyes. She dare not bring home tapes from her astrology readings nor read the satirical magazine Private Eye with its wickedly accurate portrayal of her husband in case it attracts unfavourable comment. The telephone is her lifeline, spending hours chatting to friends: “Sorry about the noise, I was trying to get my tiara on,” she told one disconcerted friend.

Caution should always be the prime form of interaction or approach with any unknown quantity.

Caution: Danger ahead. Do not refer to Adriana as little in regards to either her age or stature. If you happen to disregard this most basic of laws, approach with caution. Much, much caution.

...downside of the team approach is that there may be a conflict between the schedules of your senior attorneys and you. If the senior attorneys on the team prefer to stay late and work late, you’ll have to match your schedule to theirs. If they like to work early and leave early, you’ll be expected to do the same – because if work schedule differences arise, they’ll be resolved in favor of the more senior attorneys, not you.

I also quickly came to appreciate the importance of watching what’s said around clients. When clients make unexpected requests for legal advice – as they often do – I learned that it was better to tell them I’d get back to them with an answer, and go away, research the question, and consult with a supervising attorney, rather than firing back an answer off-the-cuff. A friend of mine at another firm told me a story that illustrates the risks of saying too much. It seems an insurance company had engaged my friend’s California-based firm to help in defending against an environmental claim. This claim entailed reviewing huge volumes of documents in Arizona. So my friend’s firm sent teams of associates to Arizona, all expenses paid, on a weekly basis. Because the insurance company also sent its own lawyers and paralegals, as did other insurance companies who were also defendants in the lawsuit, the document review facility was often staffed with numerous attorneys and paralegals from different firms. Associates were instructed not to discuss the case with anyone unless they knew with whom they were speaking. After several months of document review, one associate from my friend’s firm abandoned his professionalism and discretion when he began describing to a young woman who had recently arrived at the facility what boondoggles the weekly trips were. He talked at length about the free airfare, expensive meals, the easy work, and the evening partying the trips involved. As fate would have it, the young woman was a paralegal working for the insurance company – the client who was paying for all of his “perks” – and she promptly informed her superiors about his comments. Not surprisingly, the associate was fired before the end of the month. My life as an associate would have been a lot easier if I had delegated work more freely. I’ve mentioned the stress associated with delegating work, but the flip side of that was appreciating the importance of asking others for help rather than doing everything myself. I found that by delegating to paralegals and other staff members some of my more tedious assignments, I was free to do more interesting work. I also wish I’d given myself greater latitude to make mistakes. As high achievers, law students often put enormous stress on themselves to be perfect, and I was no different. But as a new lawyer, I, of course, made mistakes; that’s the inevitable result of inexperience. Rather than expect perfection and be inevitably disappointed, I’d have been better off to let myself be tripped up by inexperience – and focus, instead, on reducing mistakes caused by carelessness. Finally, I tried to rely more on other associates within the firm for advice on assignments and office politics. When I learned to do this, I found that these insights gave me either the assurance that I was using the right approach, or guidance as to what the right approach might be. It didn’t take me long to realize that getting the “inside scoop” on firm politics was crucial to my own political survival. Once I figured this out, I made sure I not only exchanged information with other junior associates, but I also went out of my way to gather key insights from mid-level and senior associates, who typically knew more about the latest political maneuverings and happenings. Such information enabled me to better understand the various personal agendas directing work flow and office decisions and, in turn, to better position myself with respect to issues and cases circulating in the office.

Females can have just as much eagerness and carelessness in mating as their male counterparts, with the same attendant results. It’s easy to sense an over-eager female. She can push, insist, manipulate, coerce, emotionally threaten, and promote guilt in such diverse ways that a man will often comply, rather than face relentless pursuit. Approach with caution, or you may be her next meal. All this can be put into perspective with one simple question: Are you looking for Mr./Ms. “Right” or eager to settle for Mr./Ms. “Right NOW!

The word connects the visible trace with the invisible thing, the absent thing, the thing that is desired or feared, like a frail emergency bridge flung over an abyss. For this reason, the proper use of language, for me personally, is one that enables us to approach things (present or absent) with discretion, attention, and caution, with respect for what things (present or absent) communicate without words.

We must approach our ancient accounts with a healthy balance of respect and caution.

The Lord is not a divine vending machine," says a friend, who cautions against taking a procedural approach to listening. I just try to pay attention to God, especially when I am praying. I have always struggled to quiet myself and listen for his word. I have learned to reserve moments of silence during my prayer times to let God have an opportunity to say something. Better pray-ers than I recommend that at the very least we take five minutes

We have no quarrel with the proper use of knowledge, nor the search for wisdom,” the King went on in measured tones. “There is much that can be learned from the writings of the ancient philosophers, if they are approached with proper caution and humility of spirit. But it is true that while much good may be found in such writings, so, too, may evil be discovered, and the pure search for wisdom be perverted into the desire for power and wealth—the things of this world.

drenched in sweat as I made my way into the cave. The hum had disappeared, hopefully for good. There was no other noise inside the cave, but there was a gentle breeze. The cave seemed to stretch on forever, and I walked for what seemed like hours until I noticed a faint blue light. I approached it with caution but at a reasonable pace. The light signaled the end of

Risk aversion is an essential element in investing. People’s aversion to loss causes them to police the markets. Because most people are averse to risk: they approach investing with caution, they perform careful analysis when considering investments, and especially risky ones, they incorporate conservative assumptions and appropriate skepticism into their analysis, they demand greater margins of safety on risky investments to protect against analytical errors and unpleasant surprises, they insist on healthy risk premiums—the expectation of incremental returns—if they’re going to undertake risky investments, and they refuse to invest in deals that make no sense.

Fort is amongst the most rare category of writers who are "political" because they make us aware of what is happening to us in the deepest sense. He points to a rediscovery of the waY THat fantasy -processes dtermine the perception of time, change, and indeed the creation and growth of fact and product in themselves. Thus he demonstrates the workings of that operational cargo cult which is modern techno-capitalism, and whose fuel is engineered mystique. The belief that the new experiments in the new laboratories will be an improvement on the old experiments in the old laboratories is a millenial promise worthy of any island cult of New Guinea, worshipping, as many there do, the skeletal rusting parts of the corpse of the American military machine of over fifty years ago. In this sense, Fort cautions us about scientific promises and expectations. No matter how hard the islanders try visualising the world that manufactured their "magical" bits of B-29 wings, they cannot visualise technological time and it's cost/resources spectrum. For them, any day scores of B-29s will land on the long-overgrown strip with tins of hamburgers for free. But the apple pie America that made the B-29 is gone with Glen Miller's orchestra , the Marshall Plan, and General McArthur's return to Bataan, while the far fewer (and much more expensive) B-52s of our own day are only seen as sky-trails in the high Pacific blue. In any case, landing on a grass strip in a B-52 would be suicide for the crew, and certain death also for many fundamentalist believers. If such a thing did happen, it would seem to be a wounded bird in great trouble, and if the watchers below were saying their prayers as it approached, so too would be the captain and his crew. As for the hamburgers, well, there might be some scorched USAF lunch-tins available after the crash, and when they were found, whole cycles of belief could be rejuvenated: McDonald's USAF compo-packs might become a techno-industrial packaged sacrament, indicating that whilst times might be hard, at least the gods were trying. Little do the natives know that some members of the crews of the godlike silver vehicles wonder what transformation mysteries the natives are guarding in their turn. The crews have some knowledge that is thousands of years ahead of the natives, yet the primitives probably have some knowledge that the crews have lost thousands of years ago, and they might wonder why these gods need any radio apparatus to communicate over great distances. Both animals, in their dreaming, are searching for one another

TIMOTHY AND THE PAROUSIA. 1 TIM. 6:14: - [I give thee charge] ‘that thou keep this commandment without spot, unrebukable, until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ: which in his times he shall show,’ etc. This implies that Timothy might expect to live until that event took place. The apostle does not say, ‘Keep this commandment as long as you live;’ nor, ‘Keep it until death;’ but ‘until the appearing of Jesus Christ.’ These expressions are by no means equivalent. The ‘appearing’ [έπιφάνωια] is identical with the Parousia, an event which St. Paul and Timothy alike believed to be at hand. Alford’s note on this verse is eminently unsatisfactory. After quoting Bengel’s remark ‘that the faithful in the apostolic age were accustomed to look forward to the day of Christ as approaching; whereas we are accustomed to look forward to the day of death in like manner,’ he goes on to observe: - ‘We may fairly say that whatever impression is betrayed by the words that the coming of the Lord would be in Timotheus’s life-time, is chastened and corrected by the καιρόις ίδίοις [his own times] of the next verse.’ dldl In other words, the erroneous opinion of one sentence is corrected by the cautious vagueness of the next! Is it possible to accept such a statement? Is there anything in καιρόις ίδίοις to justify such a comment? or is such an estimate of the apostle’s language compatible with a belief in his inspiration? It was no ‘impression’ that the apostle ‘betrayed,’ but a conviction and an assurance founded on the express promises of Christ and the revelations of His Spirit. No less exceptionable is the concluding reflection: - ‘From such passages as this we see that the apostolic age maintained that which ought to be the attitude of all ages, - constant expectation of the Lord’s return.’ But if this expectation was nothing more than a false impression, is not their attitude rather a caution than an example? We now see (assuming that the Parousia never took place) that they cherished a vain hope, and lived in the belief of a delusion. And if they were mistaken in this, the most confident and cherished of their convictions, how can we have any reliance on their other opinions? To regard the apostles and primitive Christians as all involved in an egregious delusion on a subject which had a foremost place in their faith and hope, is to strike a fatal blow at the inspiration and authority of the New Testament. When St. Paul declared, again and again, ‘The Lord is at hand,’ he did not give utterance to his private opinion, but spoke with authority as an organ of the Holy Ghost. Dean Alford’s observations may be best answered in the words of his own rejoinder to Professor Jowett: - ‘Was the apostle or was he not writing in the power of a spirit higher than his own? Have we, in any sense, God speaking in the Bible, or have we not? If we have, then of all passages it is in these which treat so confidently of futurity that we must recognise His voice: if we have it not in these passages, then where are we to listen for it at all?

Bering Strait and the Pacific Ocean, leading the twenty-four Atlantic Fleet submarines making the inter-fleet transit across the top of the world. Standing on the Conn of his Los Angeles class fast attack submarine, Commander Ramsey Hootman leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on the display of his Sail High-Frequency under-ice sonar. His eyelids were getting heavier, but this was no time to leave Control for an hour or two down. Annapolis was approaching the most hazardous portion of her passage under the ice cap and there was no way he could tear himself away now. Had he managed the transit better, he might have been able to nab a few hours of sleep before reaching this point. But the ice pack seemed to be conspiring against him. Two days earlier, Annapolis had slipped under the polar ice pack, proceeding at ahead flank through the deep water portion of the Arctic Ocean. The Commanding Officer’s Eyes Only message had instructed him to abandon all caution; time was paramount. As Annapolis began the most dangerous leg of its underwater journey—transiting the Alaskan continental shelf toward the Bering Strait passage—Ramsey had maintained a high speed, slowing only to ahead full. But the high speed increased their peril. The last portion of their voyage beneath the ice cap required transit in water depth less than six hundred feet. Although the bottom was mapped, not every feature was known and water

Mountainside, cloaked in falling straight into water as smooth and reflective as glass. You knew, looking at it, that it was a mile deep. Lush spring flowers, laughing sky. But changeable, and everywhere bones of rock. Good country in summer, but dangerous if approached without caution and, in winter, utterly isolated from the next valley by the mountains suddenly cloaked in ice and mist. Troll country.

Throughout the I Ching there is mention of following, being led, and clinging. There are also warnings against the misuse of power, and of acting on our own. The impression we get from this advice is that the I Ching presents a passive approach to life. This is not true. When we are faced with a situation in which the I Ching calls for retreat, holding fast, and not acting, it refers to all these things in a moving time frame. We are meant to stop at the moment, retreat momentarily, hold fast and not act, until the right moment arrives to move ahead. It is not a static, permanent counsel to quit. When does the right moment arrive to move ahead? When we have perceived the inner truth of the situation with clarity, when we have become emotionally detached, and when we have become independent in our inner attitude, yet firm in recognizing what is correct. Then we are able to seize the opportunities presented by the moment, and move ahead appropriately. If we are able to keep our attitude modest and sincere when we act, we will achieve maximum progress. We need, however, to be able to retreat the moment the opening begins to close. If we fail to disengage in time, our good effect will be diminished. Acting from inner independence is different from acting from egotistical enthusiasm. The ego would dazzle us with its “comprehensive” solutions. It is good at insinuating itself into the role of savior with clever, airtight remedies, and it is good at acting detached. That is why the I Ching counsels “hesitating caution.” Caution keeps the ego at a distance. If we move ahead without having put ourselves into a correct relationship to the situation, we fall victim to arrogance. In order to be led, we need to be open and alert. Even though we develop a firm knowledge of I Ching principles, we should avoid taking inflexible positions. A situation may be full of ambiguity until we see how to relate to the matter without compromising ourselves. When we do not yet understand a new lesson, it is important to allow ourselves to be led without resistance through the developing situation. We keep asking, inwardly, what we need to do to relate correctly to the moment. Often, we need only wait in a neutral but alert frame of mind, like an actor in the wings awaiting his cue. He listens within, he feels the action going on, and when he moment arrives, he fulfills his role.

However, the real knockout blow is that the commando entrepreneur continues to ‘what if’ planning when executing, which further reduces risk of failure. Thus a risk-averse approach, ironically, might be at greater risk of failing because excessive caution leads to inaction.

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