Carrying A Grudge Quotes

I do not forget any good deed done to me & I do not carry a grudge for a bad one.

I think joy and sweetness and affection are a spiritual path. We're here to know God, to love and serve God, and to be blown away by the beauty and miracle of nature. You just have to get rid of so much baggage to be light enough to dance, to sing, to play. You don't have time to carry grudges; you don't have time to cling to the need to be right.

She looked so cute wen she was apologizing that Helen couldn't even pick up a grudge, let alone carry one.

Unfortunately complaining is one thing Eeyores are not afraid to do. They grudgingly carry their thimbles to the Fountain of Life, then mumble and grumble that they weren't given enough.

Don't carry a grudge; while you're carrying a grudge, the other guy's out dancing.

I don't carry a grudge but I have a functioning memory.

At Garvin High we were dealt a hard dose of reality this year. People hate. That's our reality. People hate and are hated and carry grudges and want punishments ... I don't know if it's possible to take hate away from people. Not even people like us, who've seen firsthand what hate can do. We're all hurting. We're all going to be hurting for a long time. And we, probably more than anyone else out there, will be searching for a new reality every day. A better one ... But in order to change reality you have to be willing to listen and to learn. And to hear. To actually hear.

Clara didn't carry a grudge. They were too heavy and she had too far to go.

Gulls wheel through spokes of sunlight over gracious roofs and dowdy thatch, snatching entrails at the marketplace and escaping over cloistered gardens, spike topped walls and treble-bolted doors. Gulls alight on whitewashed gables, creaking pagodas and dung-ripe stables; circle over towers and cavernous bells and over hidden squares where urns of urine sit by covered wells, watched by mule-drivers, mules and wolf-snouted dogs, ignored by hunch-backed makers of clogs; gather speed up the stoned-in Nakashima River and fly beneath the arches of its bridges, glimpsed form kitchen doors, watched by farmers walking high, stony ridges. Gulls fly through clouds of steam from laundries' vats; over kites unthreading corpses of cats; over scholars glimpsing truth in fragile patterns; over bath-house adulterers, heartbroken slatterns; fishwives dismembering lobsters and crabs; their husbands gutting mackerel on slabs; woodcutters' sons sharpening axes; candle-makers, rolling waxes; flint-eyed officials milking taxes; etiolated lacquerers; mottle-skinned dyers; imprecise soothsayers; unblinking liars; weavers of mats; cutters of rushes; ink-lipped calligraphers dipping brushes; booksellers ruined by unsold books; ladies-in-waiting; tasters; dressers; filching page-boys; runny-nosed cooks; sunless attic nooks where seamstresses prick calloused fingers; limping malingerers; swineherds; swindlers; lip-chewed debtors rich in excuses; heard-it-all creditors tightening nooses; prisoners haunted by happier lives and ageing rakes by other men's wives; skeletal tutors goaded to fits; firemen-turned-looters when occasion permits; tongue-tied witnesses; purchased judges; mothers-in-law nurturing briars and grudges; apothecaries grinding powders with mortars; palanquins carrying not-yet-wed daughters; silent nuns; nine-year-old whores; the once-were-beautiful gnawed by sores; statues of Jizo anointed with posies; syphilitics sneezing through rotted-off noses; potters; barbers; hawkers of oil; tanners; cutlers; carters of night-soil; gate-keepers; bee-keepers; blacksmiths and drapers; torturers; wet-nurses; perjurers; cut-purses; the newborn; the growing; the strong-willed and pliant; the ailing; the dying; the weak and defiant; over the roof of a painter withdrawn first from the world, then his family, and down into a masterpiece that has, in the end, withdrawn from its creator; and around again, where their flight began, over the balcony of the Room of Last Chrysanthemum, where a puddle from last night's rain is evaporating; a puddle in which Magistrate Shiroyama observes the blurred reflections of gulls wheeling through spokes of sunlight. This world, he thinks, contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself.

What would the world come to if people kept carrying grudges against all reason? That has been the cross of Sicily, where men are so busy with vendettas they have no time to earn bread for their families.

She doesn’t burn bridges, she covers them in gypsy flowers and feather kisses, then strolls along her merry way. Too heavy to carry grudges, she leaves love and hope droplets wherever she goes.

I do not forget any good deed done to me, and I do not carry a grudge for a bad one.

Don't carry a grudge.

What, are you like Buffy or something? A vampire slayer?” I wish. “No, but my sister is. And my boyfriend’s a vampire so I know a lot about their kind.” Jayden shrinks back from me, wide-eyed. “No, no. He’s one of the good ones. Not all vampires are evil,” I assure him. “So…you’re dating…Edward Cullen.” “Sure, if you have to relate it all to a Stephenie Meyer book,” I grudgingly agree. “But don’t say that to Magnus’s face. He’s a card-carrying member of Team Jacob. Even has the T-shirt.

It is said that crows can remember the faces of men who hurt them and do not forgive. They will carry a grudge against their tormentor until their deaths and pass on their resentment to their children. It is how they survive.

A GRUDGE IS A HEAVY THING TO CARRY.

IF ANYONE DESERVES TO CARRY A GRUDGE, IT’S CHRIST. BUT INSTEAD, HE CARRIED A CROSS.

Carrying grudges is like carrying pebbles, they will always weigh you down.

A person carrying a grudge who can't forgive is only hurting themself.

Ain't I been trying to tell you that you can't be holding grudges against people? Didn't you hear me say that? What do you think Jesus is gonna say if we come walking up to those pearly gates carrying a whole sackful of grievances and grudges on our backs? Jesus is gonna ask, What's that you toting on your back? Do you want to be opening that sack and showing Him all those ugly thing? He's dressed all in white and shining like the sun, and you're coming in with a load a hate in your your arms? Umm hmm. I can't imagine doing that.

Carrying a grudge is a heavy burden. As you forgive, you will feel the joy of being forgiven. At this Christmastime you can give and receive the gift of forgiveness. The feeling of happiness that will come will be a glimpse of what we can feel at home together in the eternal home for which we yearn.

Milla was always aware, on the dimmest edge of her consciousness that Diaz constantly watched her. She also knew that he was a man who never gave up, who never lost sight of his goal. Exactly what his goal was wasn’t always clear to her, but she had no doubt he was perfectly clear in his own mind what he wanted. He wanted her. She knew it, and yet she couldn’t imagine how they could ever be together again. The rift between them, to her, was final and absolute. He’d betrayed her in the most wounding way possible, and forgiveness evidently wasn’t her strong suit. She had found that grudges weren’t heavy at all; she could carry them for a very long time. Diaz wasn’t taking care of her out of the goodness of his heart. He was taking care of her the way a wolf cared for its wounded mate.

They say a grudge is a heavy thing to carry. Good thing we’re extra strong.

He also believed strongly in reconciliation rather than revenge; he once remarked, “I do not forget any good deed done to me, and I do not carry a grudge for a bad one.

Child, you do not forgive because the person who wronged deserves it.You misunderstand the point of forgiveness entirely. The only cage that a grudge creates is around the holder of that grudge. Forgiveness is not saying that the person who hurt you was right, or has earned it, or is allowed to hurt you again. All forgiveness means is that you will carry on without the burdens of rage and hatred.

Before my last exhale, Before the curtain falls, Before the last flower wilts, I intend to live fully, I intend to love without inhibition, I intend to be. In this cruel world, In this era steeped in hatred and grudge, In this age filled with disasters, I want to be in the presence of those who need me, Whom I need, Who are worthy of reverence? So that I can discover, Be mesmerized, And understand anew, All that I am, All that I can be, All that I want to be. So that the days don’t pass me by in meaningless void, The hours become alive, And the moments gain significance. When I laugh, When I cry, When I am silent, I am journeying towards you, Towards myself, Towards the divine. For it is an unknown path, Full of thorns, And ebbs and flows. A path that upon taking, Upon which I have already stepped foot, There is no return, Until I have seen the blossoming of the flowers, Until I have heard the rivers roar, Until I have been awed by the beauty of life. Now death can find me, Now I can carry on with the journey, Now I can say that I have lived.

Holding onto a grudge gives you an extra load to carry in life.

Like Atlas, I have broad shoulders. I can carry a grudge to the crack of doom.

When you ran that roof race with me you started with one stocking marked, a loose row of bullion on your hoqueton, and your hair needing a cut. Your manners, social and personal, derive directly from the bakehouse; your living quarters, any time I have seen them, have been untidy and ill-cleaned. In the swordplay just now you cut consistently to the left, a habit so remarkable that you must have been warned time and again; and you cannot parry a coup de Jarnac. I tried you with the same feint for it three times tonight.... These are professional matters, Robin. To succeed as you want, you have to be precise; you have to have polish; you have to carry polish and precision in everything you do. You have no time to sigh over seigneuries and begrudge other people their gifts. Lack of genius never held anyone back,' said Lymond. 'Only time wasted on resentment and daydreaming can do that. You never did work with your whole brain and your whole body at being an Archer; and you ended neither soldier nor seigneur, but a dried-out huddle of grudges strung cheek to cheek on a withy.

Most people font like holding on to anger. They feel it crushing and consuming them, so they let it go. They try to forget the ways they’ve been wronged. But some of us cannot forget and will never forgive. We keep our axes sharp, ready to grind. We hold pleas for mercy between our teeth like jawbreakers. They say a grudge is a heavy thing to carry. Good thing we’re extra strong.

I teach in my life-coaching programs, when you bear a grudge against someone, it is almost as if you carry that person around on your back with you. He drains you of your energy, enthusiasm and peace of mind. But the moment you forgive him, you get him off your back and you can move on with the rest of your life.

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. He’d gone from lazy affection and indulgent amusement to bristling antagonism in the space of weeks. Lately he flew into a rage if Cecily’s name was mentioned, but Colby hadn’t told her that. “You have no right to make that kind of insinuation about me,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t get jobs lying on my back, and you know it!” Tate’s black eyes narrowed. He looked formidable, but Cecily wasn’t intimidated by him. She never had been. He glanced at her hands, which were clenched on her cup, and then back to her rigid features. It had infuriated him to be the object of televised ridicule at the political dinner, and Audrey’s comments had only made things worse. He was carrying a grudge. But as he looked at Cecily, he felt an emptiness in his very soul. This woman had been a thorn in his side for years, ever since an impulsive act of compassion had made her his responsibility. In those days, she’d been demure and sweet and dependent on him, and her shy hero worship had been vaguely flattering. Now, she was a fiery, independent woman who didn’t give a damn about his disapproval or, apparently, his company, and she had done everything expect leave town to keep out of his way.

Be careful. Sometimes you don’t carry a grudge. It carries you.

life is short and we can’t waste precious time feeling hateful or carrying grudges.

No more generational feuds, no more ancient grudges, no more pointless revenge carried out against people who inherited some old guilt from their great-grandparents.

does no good to be angry or carry grudges.” He made a fist. “It churns you up inside. It does you more harm than the object of your anger.

Child, you do not forgive because the person who wronged deserves it. You misunderstood the point of forgiveness entirely. The only cage that a grudge creates is around the holder of the grudge. Forgiveness is not saying that the person who hurt you was right, or has earned it, or is allowed to hurt you again. All forgiveness means is that you will carry on without the burdens of rage or hatred.

What else is there to say? You carry grudges and regrets for decades, tend them like gravesite vigils, then even after you lay them down they linger on the periphery, waiting to ambush you all over again.

lip-chewed debtors rich in excuses; heard-it-all creditors tightening nooses; prisoners haunted by happier lives and ageing rakes by other men’s wives; skeletal tutors goaded to fits; firemen-turned-looters when occasion permits; tongue-tied witnesses; purchased judges; mothers-in-law nurturing briars and grudges; apothecaries grinding powders with mortars; palanquins carrying not-yet-wed daughters; silent nuns; nine-year-old whores; the once-were-beautiful gnawed by sores;

people who do not forgive are hurting themselves much more than they’re hurting others. A person who possesses this characteristic and keeps score in relationships is a person who is emotionally wired to carry all the stress that goes with carrying grudges.

Ain't I been trying to tell you that you can't be holding grudges against people? Didn't you hear me say that? What do you think Jesus is gonna say if we come walking up to those pearly gates carrying a whole sackful of grievances and grudges on our backs? Jesus is gonna ask, What's that you toting on your back? Do you want to be opening that sack and showing Him all those ugly thing? He's dressed all in white and shining like the sun, and you're coming in with a load a hate in your your arms? Umm hmm. I can't imagine doing that.

The reason why some people can’t go far in life. It is because of the weight on their shoulder. They have a heavy burden on them. This burden consist of screenshots, messages , conversation and secrets. That can destroy families or someone's life. It consists of grudges, hate, anger, revenge, jealousy, gossip, lies and envy. Their hearts is overloaded. They are holding on to others past and mistakes. Well Jesus says is you want to be far in life. Cast your burden unto him. Come to him, all of you who are tired from carrying heavy loads, and he will give you rest. Matthew 11:28-30

firemen-turned-looters when occasion permits; tongue-tied witnesses; purchased judges; mothers-in-law nurturing briars and grudges; apothecaries grinding powders with mortars; palanquins carrying not-yet-wed daughters; silent nuns; nine-year-old whores; the once-were-beautiful gnawed by sores;

An old story is told about Rabia of Basra, an eighth-century Sufi mystic who was seen running through the streets of her city one day carrying a torch in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. When someone asked her what she was doing, she said she wanted to burn down the rewards of paradise with the torch and put out the fires of hell with the water, because both blocked the way to God. "O, Allah," Rabia prayed, "if I worship You for fear of Hell, burn me in Hell, and if I worship You in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise. But if I worship You for Your Own sake, grudge me not Your everlasting Beauty.

I learn from my own mistakes, but you dwell in my mistakes. You carry my mistakes around , so that when I am happy or when I have made it. You can remind me of my mistakes or how unperfect or not good I am and that is your biggest mistake. The biggest mistake that is hindering you from being successful, happy and making it in life. My mistakes are your heavy burden not mine.

What do you think Jesus is gonna say if we come walking up to those pearly gates carrying a whole sackful of grievances and grudges on our backs? Jesus is gonna ask, What’s that you toting there on your back? Do you want to be opening that sack and showing Him all those ugly things? He’s dressed all in white and shining like the sun, and you’re coming in with a load of hate in your arms? Umm hmm. I can’t imagine doing that.

Got a brother served up at the Dhashara pass, he always did say you lot let your women run riot. Mouthing off like they were men, riding horses, carrying weapons, shit like that.” “Been known to happen,” Egar agreed. “Yeah, well, that shit won’t wash down here. This is Yhelteth, this is the Empire. We’re civilized. Women know their place. And truth is, I’m about fucking sick of the trouble we get from your kind coming in here.” Grudging, bitten off. “No offense.

When people say things that we find offensive, civic charity asks that we resist the urge to attribute to immorality or prejudice views that can be equally well explained by other motives. It asks us to give the benefit of doubts, the assumption of goodwill, and the gift of attention. When people say things that agree with or respond thoughtfully to our arguments, we acknowledge that they have done so. We compliment where we can do so honestly, and we praise whatever we can legitimately find praiseworthy in their beliefs and their actions. When we argue with a forgiving affection, we recognize that people are often carried away by passions when discussing things of great importance to them. We overlook slights and insults and decline to respond in kind. We apologize when we get something wrong or when we hurt someone's feelings, and we allow others to apologize to us when they do the same. When people don't apologize, we still don't hold grudges or hurt them intentionally, even if we feel that they have intentionally hurt us. If somebody is abusive or obnoxious, we may decline to participate in further conversation, but we don't retaliate or attempt to make them suffer. And we try really hard not to give in to the overwhelming feeling that arguments must be won - and opponents destroyed - if we want to protect our own status or sense of worth. We never forget that our opponents are human beings who possess innate dignity and fellow citizens who deserve respect.

A human mind is like a sponge, yet isnt it amazing that we continue to retain the unnecessary while we filter out the essential. We hold on to a grudge, we hoard bad habits, we carry forward old baggage into our relationships, we forgive but we dont forget .It is good to remember, that we must not question the messenger who sets us upon our path to truth…Realize that sometimes that messenger might be someone who created what we are now experiencing in order for us to reach that place of enlightenment

Conceive a world-society developed materially far beyond the wildest dreams of America. Unlimited power, derived partly from the artificial disintegration of atoms, partly from the actual annihilation of matter through the union of electrons and protons to form radiation, completely abolished the whole grotesque burden of drudgery which hitherto had seemed the inescapable price of civilization, nay of life itself. The vast economic routine of the world-community was carried on by the mere touching of appropriate buttons. Transport, mining, manufacture, and even agriculture were performed in this manner. And indeed in most cases the systematic co-ordination of these activities was itself the work of self-regulating machinery. Thus, not only was there no longer need for any human beings to spend their lives in unskilled monotonous labour, but further, much that earlier races would have regarded as highly skilled though stereotyped work, was now carried on by machinery. Only the pioneering of industry, the endless exhilarating research, invention, design and reorganization, which is incurred by an ever-changing society, still engaged the minds of men and women. And though this work was of course immense, it could not occupy the whole attention of a great world-community. Thus very much of the energy of the race was free to occupy itself with other no less difficult and exacting matters, or to seek recreation in its many admirable sports and arts. Materially every individual was a multi-millionaire, in that he had at his beck and call a great diversity of powerful mechanisms; but also he was a penniless friar, for he had no vestige of economic control over any other human being. He could fly through the upper air to the ends of the earth in an hour, or hang idle among the clouds all day long. His flying machine was no cumbersome aeroplane, but either a wingless aerial boat, or a mere suit of overalls in which he could disport himself with the freedom of a bird. Not only in the air, but in the sea also, he was free. He could stroll about the ocean bed, or gambol with the deep-sea fishes. And for habitation he could make his home, as he willed, either in a shack in the wilderness or in one of the great pylons which dwarfed the architecture even of the American age. He could possess this huge palace in loneliness and fill it with his possessions, to be automatically cared for without human service; or he could join with others and create a hive of social life. All these amenities he took for granted as the savage takes for granted the air which he breathes. And because they were as universally available as air, no one craved them in excess, and no one grudged another the use of them.

Love Minus Zero / No Limit" My love she speaks like silence Without ideals or violence She doesn't have to say she's faithful Yet she's true, like ice, like fire People carry roses And make promises by the hours My love she laughs like the flowers Valentines can't buy her In the dime stores and bus stations People talk of situations Read books, repeat quotations Draw conclusions on the wall Some speak of the future My love she speaks softly She knows there's no success like failure And that failure's no success at all The cloak and dagger dangles Madams light the candles In ceremonies of the horsemen Even a pawn must hold a grudge Statues made of match-sticks Crumble into one another My love winks, she does not bother She knows too much to argue or to judge The bridge at midnight trembles The country doctor rambles Bankers' nieces seek perfection Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring The wind howls like a hammer The night blows rainy My love she's like some raven At my window with a broken wing Bringing It All Back Home (1965)

An old story is told about Rabia of Basra, an eighth-century Sufi mystic who was seen running through the streets of her city one day carrying a torch in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. When someone asked her what she was doing, she said she wanted to burn down the rewards of paradise with the torch and put out the fires of hell with the water, because both blocked the way to God, 'O, Allah,' Rabia prayed, 'if I worship You for fear of Hell, burn me in Hell, and if I worship You in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise. But if I worship You for Your Own sake, grudge me not Your everlasting Beauty.' In Christian tradition this comes under the heading of unconditional love, though it is usually understood as the kind of love God exercises toward humans instead of the other way around. Now, thanks to a Muslim mystic from Iraq, I have a new way of understanding what it means to love God unconditionally. Whenever I am tempted to act from fear of divine punishment or hope of divine reward, Rabia leans over from here religion into mine and empties a bucket of water on my head.

Haven’t I tired you out yet, darling?” Ian whispered several hours later. “Yes,” she said with an exhausted laugh, her cheek nestled against his shoulder, her hand drifting over his chest in a sleepy caress. “But I’m too happy to sleep for a while yet.” So was Ian, but he felt compelled to at least suggest that she try. “You’ll regret it in the morning when we have to appear for breakfast,” he said with a grin, cuddling her closer to his side. To his surprise, the remark made her smooth forehead furrow in a frown. She tipped her face up to his, opened her mouth as if to ask him a question, then she changed her mind and hastily looked away. “What is it?” he asked, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifting her face up to his. “Tomorrow morning,” she said with a funny, bemused expression on her face. “When we go downstairs…will everyone know what we have done tonight?” She expected him to try to evade the question. “Yes,” he said. She nodded, accepting that, and turned into his arms. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” she said with a sigh of contentment and gratitude. “I’ll always tell you the truth,” he promised quietly, and she believed him. It occurred to Elizabeth that she could ask him now, when he’d given that promise, if he’d had anything to do with Robert’s disappearance. And as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it angrily away. She would not defame their marriage bed by voicing ugly, unfounded suspicions carried to her by a man who obviously had a grudge against all Scots. This morning, she had made a conscious decision to trust him and marry him; now, she was bound by her vows to honor him, and she had absolutely no intention of going back on her own decision or on the vow she made to him in church. “Elizabeth?” “Mmmm?” “While we’re on the subject of truth, I have a confession to make.” Her heart slammed into her ribs, and she went rigid. “What is it?” she asked tautly. “The chamber next door is meant to be used as your dressing room and withdrawing room. I do not approve of the English custom of husband and wife sleeping in separate beds.” She looked so pleased that Ian grinned. “I’m happy to see,” he chuckled, kissing her forehead, “we agree on that.

Gulls wheel through spokes of sunlight over gracious roofs and dowdy thatch, snatching entrails at the marketplace and escaping over cloistered gardens, spike-topped walls and treble-bolted doors. Gulls alight on whitewashed gables, creaking pagodas and dung-ripe stables; circle over towers and cavernous bells and over hidden squares where urns of urine sit by covered wells, watched by mule-drivers, mules and wolf-snouted dogs, ignored by hunchbacked makers of clogs; gather speed up the stoned-in Nakashima River and fly beneath the arches of its bridges, glimpsed from kitchen doors, watched by farmers walking high, stony ridges. Gulls fly through clouds of steam from laundries’ vats; over kites unthreading corpses of cats; over scholars glimpsing truth in fragile patterns; over bath-house adulterers; heartbroken slatterns; fishwives dismembering lobsters and crabs; their husbands gutting mackerel on slabs; woodcutters’ sons sharpening axes; candle-makers, rolling waxes; flint-eyed officials milking taxes; etoliated lacquerers; mottled-skinned dyers; imprecise soothsayers; unblinking liars; weavers of mats; cutters of rushes; ink-lipped calligraphers dipping brushes; booksellers ruined by unsold books; ladies-in-waiting; tasters; dressers; filching page-boys; runny-nosed cooks; sunless attic nooks where seamstresses prick calloused fingers; limping malingerers; swineherds; swindlers; lip-chewed debtors rich in excuses; heard-it-all creditors tightening nooses; prisoners haunted by happier lives and ageing rakes by other men’s wives; skeletal tutors goaded to fits; firemen-turned-looters when occasion permits; tongue-tied witnesses; purchased judges; mothers-in-law nurturing briars and grudges; apothecaries grinding powders with mortars; palanquins carrying not-yet-wed daughters; silent nuns; nine-year-old whores; the once-were-beautiful gnawed by sores; statues of Jizo anointed with posies; syphilitics sneezing through rotted-off noses; potters; barbers; hawkers of oil; tanners; cutlers; carters of night-soil; gate-keepers; bee-keepers; blacksmiths and drapers; torturers; wet-nurses; perjurers; cut-purses; the newborn; the growing; the strong-willed and pliant; the ailing; the dying; the weak and defiant; over the roof of a painter withdrawn first from the world, then his family, and down into a masterpiece that has, in the end, withdrawn from its creator; and around again, where their flight began, over the balcony of the Room of the Last Chrysanthemum, where a puddle from last night’s rain is evaporating; a puddle in which Magistrate Shiroyama observes the blurred reflections of gulls wheeling through spokes of sunlight. This world, he thinks, contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself.

According to Finnish psychologist Kaj Björkqvist, by the time a girl is eight years old she is unlikely to express frustration and anger toward others physically. Girls are, on the other hand, as verbally aggressive as boys. Instead of hitting or shoving, girls will use verbal, nonverbal, and socially manipulative skills to hurt others—mainly other girls. Girls will insult and denigrate each other; they will also hold grudges for a very long time. Björkqvist and others have shown that girls are “significantly more likely than boys to become friendly with someone else as revenge”; and that girls will gossip and suggest the “shunning” of another girl. According to Björkqvist, indirect aggression is a type of “hostile behavior [that] is carried out in order to harm the opponent, while avoiding being identified as aggressive.” Björkqvist and others developed a scale, known as the Direct and Indirect Aggression Scale, which measures physical aggression (hitting, kicking, tripping, shoving, pushing, pulling), and verbal aggression (yelling, insulting, teasing, threatening to hurt the other, calling the other names), on the one hand, and on the other hand, indirect aggression (shutting the other out of the group, becoming friends with another as revenge, ignoring, gossiping, telling bad stories, planning secretly to bother the other, saying bad things behind the back, saying to others: “let’s not be with him/her,” telling the other’s secrets to a third person, writing notes in which the other is criticized, criticizing the other’s hair or clothing, trying to get others to dislike the person).

... It strikes me that if I'm in such a febrile and imaginative mood I ought to take advantage of it with some serious writing exercises or at least a few ideas for stories, if only to demonstrate that I'm not treating this here commonplace book solely as a journal to record my most recent attacks of jitters! Maybe I should roll my sleeves up and attempt as least an opening practice paragraph or two of this confounded novel I'm pretending to be writing. Let's see how it looks. Marblehead: An American Undertow By Robert D. Black Iron green, the grand machinery of the Atlantic grates foam gears against New England with the rhythmic thunder of industrial percussion. A fine dust of other lands and foreign histories is carried in suspension on its lurching, slopping mechanism: shards of bright green glass from Ireland scoured blunt and opaque by brine, or sodden splinters of armada out of Spain. The debris of an older world, a driftwood of ideas and people often changed beyond all recognition by their passage, clatters on the tideline pebbles to deposit unintelligible grudges, madnesses and visions in a rank high-water mark, a silt of fetid dreams that further decompose amid the stranded kelp or bladder-wrack and pose risk of infection. Puritans escaping England's murderous civil war cast broad-brimmed shadows onto rocks where centuries of moss obscured the primitive horned figures etched by vanished tribes, and after them came the displaced political idealists of many nations, the religious outcasts, cults and criminals, to cling with grim determination to a damp and verdant landscape until crushed by drink or the insufferable weight of their accumulated expectations. Royalist cavaliers that fled from Cromwell's savage interregnum and then, where their puritanical opponents settled the green territories to the east, elected instead to establish themselves deep in a more temperate South, bestowing their equestrian concerns, their courtly mannerisms and their hairstyles upon an adopted homeland. Heretics and conjurors who sought new climes past the long shadow of the stake; transported killers and procurers with their slates wiped clean in pastures where nobody knew them; sour-faced visionaries clutching Bunyan's chapbook to their bosoms as a newer and more speculative bible, come to these shores searching for a literal New Jerusalem and finding only different wilderness in which to lose themselves and different game or adversaries for the killing. All of these and more, bearing concealed agendas and a hundred diverse afterlives, crashed as a human surf of Plymouth Rock to fling their mortal spray across the unsuspecting country, individuals incendiary in the having lost their ancestral homelands they were without further longings to relinquish. Their remains, ancient and sinister, impregnate and inform the factory-whistle furrows of oblivious America.

... It strikes me that if I'm in such a febrile and imaginative mood I ought to take advantage of it with some serious writing exercises or at least a few ideas for stories, if only to demonstrate that I'm not treating this here commonplace book solely as a journal to record my most recent attacks of jitters! Maybe I should roll my sleeves up and attempt as least an opening practice paragraph or two of this confounded novel I'm pretending to be writing. Let's see how it looks. Marblehead: An American Undertow By Robert D. Black Iron green, the grand machinery of the Atlantic grates foam gears against New England with the rhythmic thunder of industrial percussion. A fine dust of other lands and foreign histories is carried in suspension on its lurching, slopping mechanism: shards of bright green glass from Ireland scoured blunt and opaque by brine, or sodden splinters of armada out of Spain. The debris of an older world, a driftwood of ideas and people often changed beyond all recognition by their passage, clatters on the tideline pebbles to deposit unintelligible grudges, madnesses and visions in a rank high-water mark, a silt of fetid dreams that further decompose amid the stranded kelp or bladder-wrack and pose risk of infection. Puritans escaping England's murderous civil war cast broad-brimmed shadows onto rocks where centuries of moss obscured the primitive horned figures etched by vanished tribes, and after them came the displaced political idealists of many nations, the religious outcasts, cults and criminals, to cling with grim determination to a damp and verdant landscape until crushed by drink or the insufferable weight of their accumulated expectations. Royalist cavaliers that fled from Cromwell's savage interregnum and then, where their puritanical opponents settled the green territories to the east, elected instead to establish themselves deep in a more temperate South, bestowing their equestrian concerns, their courtly mannerisms and their hairstyles upon an adopted homeland. Heretics and conjurors who sought new climes past the long shadow of the stake; transported killers and procurers with their slates wiped clean in pastures where nobody knew them; sour-faced visionaries clutching Bunyan's chapbook to their bosoms as a newer and more speculative bible, come to these shores searching for a literal New Jerusalem and finding only different wilderness in which to lose themselves and different game or adversaries for the killing. All of these and more, bearing concealed agendas and a hundred diverse afterlives, crashed as a human surf on Plymouth Rock to fling their mortal spray across the unsuspecting country, individuals incendiary in that having lost their ancestral homelands they were without further longings to relinquish. Their remains, ancient and sinister, impregnate and inform the factory-whistle furrows of oblivious America.

Forgive Someone Today, take the time to let someone know that you forgive her. This isn’t always an easy task, but forgiving someone for hurting you is important for your mind and body. When you hold on to grudges, you carry unwanted stress and anger. If you can’t say, “I forgive you” in person, write a letter or just say it out loud to the universe. Find your own way to let it go. You will feel it in your heart when you do.

In addition to the peerless Levering Smith, Raborn held another trump card in dealing with the Pentagon—a “magic piece of paper”: a memo from the CNO, Admiral Burke, affirming that Raborn “was to have absolute top priority on anything he wants to do” and that everyone in the Navy was to be responsive to his requests. If they found that they could not be, they were to report to Burke, and he would take it upon himself to say no if he felt the denial was proper. This unprecedented talisman got Raborn whatever he needed from the Navy’s frequently rivalrous bureaus, though Burke preferred to build willing support within the Pentagon rather than compulsory (and thus potentially grudging) support. In this, his and Raborn’s personal credibility and persuasive gifts carried the day. The economics of the SLBM program were useful too.

There was no reasoning with someone who had no reason. The best thing to do was to avoid such individuals and, if that couldn’t be done, shut them down in a way that didn’t hurt their pride. If men like that felt publicly shamed, they’d carry that grudge to the grave and spend every waking minute in the meantime seeking vengeance. An ugly way to live and hard to understand, but that’s what he’d witnessed.

that life is short and we can’t waste precious time feeling hateful or carrying grudges.

Whoever carries a grudge has extra weight on his soul.

Forgiving those who assail you is the key to not being permanently victimized by them. Whatever the initial impact of any offense done to us by others, our refusal to react, to carry a grudge or to retaliate in-kind secures the high ground. But that must be as real on our part as the Savior’s forgiveness, not merely a humanistic, self-willed exercise in self-control. The latter may appear noble, but it only breeds an internalized pride. True forgiveness springs from gratitude to God for His forgiving me. True forgiveness is born of my remembrance that I have been forgiven so great a debt through God’s love that there is no justification for my being less than fully forgiving to others. Because I have “freely received,” my Lord calls me to “freely give.” To forgive those seeking to injure you or me is to remove ourselves from their control and to be unfettered by the anger, pain or disappointment that would seek to attach itself to us.

respect nature, the man who taught Ben to help others before helping himself, the person who taught him that learning to forgive made you more of a man than someone who carried a grudge, and even worse, someone who acted on that grudge.

When someone does something that hurts us, it’s easy for us to think that if we forgive that person, we’re doing so for his or her sake.  The truth is, though, that we ourselves benefit the most from our forgiveness.  That forgiveness can rid us of the poisons of anger and resentment, two emotions that hold us prisoner and keep us from moving on with our lives in happy and fulfilling ways.  When we carry a grudge, we’re really carrying around a weapon that we’re using against ourselves.  Our negative feelings rarely affect the other person all that much, but they keep us in a deep dark hole that keeps us from seeing the sunshine and feeling the fresh air.      Do yourself a favor:  forgive.  As Morrie Schwartz said shortly before his death, “Forgive everyone everything” before it’s too late to do so.  Your life will take a turn for the better when you can truly forgive anyone who has done you wrong.

The sweats teach you that you can’t carry grudges, you can’t carry hatred in your heart. It’ll make you sick, so you have to learn to forgive,

The majority of people carry in their minds and in their hearts, grudges, jealousy, envy, antipathies, prejudices, which, although not very pronounced in their expression, are festering within and poisoning the inner life.

Yeah, and from what you said, she doesn’t run a major corporation, or have kids. That makes a difference. I don’t know how you juggle what you do. And I’ll bet you weren’t a ‘terrible wife,’ no matter what your ex says. I have more faith in you than that.” He could already sense that she was a perfectionist about everything she did, and tried her best, or she wouldn’t have had the job she did, and healthy kids. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But he may be right. He’s still pissed off about it, even now that he’s married to ‘Martha Stewart.’ ” She had a feeling the name was going to stick now that he’d come up with it. “That’s pretty pathetic if he’s still carrying a grudge, after how long?” “Six years.” “And what about you? Anyone important in your life since?” He acted like a reporter even when he was out for dinner, and he wanted to know everything about her. She liked finding out about him too, and he was forthcoming about himself. He didn’t seem like a man who had secrets, and he appeared to have good insights into himself. He wasn’t unaware and knew who he was and how he related to other people.

Carrying a grudge in your heart or in your mind is like carrying a bunch of thorns on your body. You are just choosing to prick yourself with it.

Come on a picnic with me,” he said. It wasn’t an invitation, but an order. Color pulsed in Lily’s cheeks, and she blinked, astounded at the man’s arrogance. “I don’t think that would be proper,” she replied when she’d recovered a little. “After all, we hardly know each other.” Caleb sighed and replaced his hat. “And you obviously mean to see that we never do.” He sounded resigned and slightly wounded, and in spite of herself Lily was sorry about that. She did find the major attractive, if entirely too tenacious. “I’ll go if you can get Mrs. McAllister’s permission,” she said, feeling proud of her resourcefulness. The twinkle in Caleb’s eyes said he knew she expected her landlady to refuse the request without mincing words, but he turned and sought out that good woman in the crowd, where she stood chatting with two members of the choir. Lily watched in mingled amazement and ire as Caleb made his way toward Mrs. McAllister, carrying his hat. He spoke politely to the woman, who rested one hand against her breast in delighted surprise and beamed up at him. Presently Caleb returned, looking damnably pleased with himself. “She says I’m to have you back before sundown,” he announced. If Lily had been holding anything other than a Bible, she would have flung it down in pure exasperation. At the same moment, inexplicably, she wanted to kiss Mrs. McAllister for giving the picnic her blessing. “Just how did you manage that?” she demanded as Caleb put his hat back on with a cocky flourish. “I’m a very persuasive man,” he replied, offering his arm. Grudgingly, Lily took it. “And a very arrogant one.” Caleb chuckled. “So I’ve been told.” They

In some quarters, and particularly among those who comment on these matters in in political circles or in the media or the blogosphere or other forms of public discussion, there is, without question, a strain of hostility and resentment likely to be encountered by anyone who attempts to characterize and emphasize the value of the intellectual life carried on in universities. Clearly, a wider anti-intellectualism feeds into this, something well charted in the US from at least Richard Hofstadter onwards and brilliantly diagnosed by Thorstein Veblen and others before that. The narrower version of this response finds it pretty outrageous for academics to criticize or complain about anything to do with universities and their support and regulation by their host society. Along with more understandable and even perhaps justifiable sources of these reactions, we do have to recognize – and here is where I know I am particularly laying myself open to misunderstanding – the force of which Nietzche termed resentiment. There is a bitterness in these reactions, a combination of anger and sneering, together with a levelling intent, that far exceeds what might seem called for by any actual disagreement about the subject matter. And if I may be allowed to risk a little sally of speculative phenomenology, I think this reaction, for all its hostility and dismissiveness, encodes a twisted acknowledgement that there is something desirable, even enviable, about the role of the scholar or the scientist. Part of the reaction, of course, involves a resentment of the supposed security of tenure in a world with very little security of employment; some of it is a sense of how much autonomy, comparatively speaking, academics have in their working lives, how much flexibility in choosing their working hours and so on, in a world where, again, most people enjoy all too little autonomy. But some of it also may be a kind of grudging acknowledgement that the matters that scholars and scientists work on are in themselves more interesting, rewarding and perhaps humanly valuable than the matter most people have to devote their energies too in their working lives. Academics are the object of, simultaneously, envy and resentment because their roles seem to allow them to deal with intrinsically rewarding matters while being financially supported by the labour of others who are not privileged to work on such matters.

To perform one’s duty is not dharma. To not perform one’s duty is a crime. People do carry out their duties anyway, but to do so grudgingly is a crime.

She’s right. And with the galaxy in the state that it’s in right now, there’s no better time to try. You need to live like there’s no tomorrow because there very well might not be. Life is too short to carry grudges. All they do is poison your spirit and destroy relationships. I’m not saying you should condone everything Luke does because breaking the law is wrong, but if you can forgive each other for how you’ve treated each other over the years, you can begin to build a relationship where your guidance would be accepted and not just turned away.

Forgiving someone else is an act of love – maybe not for them, but definitely for you. You don’t have to like them anymore or ever associate with them again. Or, if they’ve died, you can still be upset about their absence. But carrying a grudge or being resentful only robs what time we have left of its pleasure. Forgiveness is self-love. It is caring for your own soul. And it is the kindest gesture you can make to yourself.

If marriage had taught him one thing, it was that carrying a grudge only eroded love.

Grudges are a lot to carry-I try to be discerning in the ones I hold.

What do you think Jesus is gonna say if we come walking up to those pearly gates carrying a whole sackful of grievances and grudges on our backs?

Let this day be a reminder to all of us. We are better people and we are better human beings. We should forgive each other. We should stop holding grudges. We should stop seeking revenge. If you don’t forgive someone. The burden of hate Is on you to carry. We should not be petty or bitter, but we should show love and support to one another. We can only build a nation when we work together not when we are working against each other. If then we celebrate this day and we are not willing to do so. Then we are not more than just selfish hypocrites.

Lizzy is champion at jumping to conclusions and carrying a grudge.

when you bear a grudge against someone, it is almost as if you carry that person around on your back with you. He drains you of your energy, enthusiasm and peace of mind.

I want to disagree with Mom, but part of me concurs that a Lanky invasion of Earth would be a mercy killing of our species. We’ve spent most of our history trying to exterminate each other anyway. This way, we’ll at least have some dispassionate outside referee settling all of humanity’s old scores permanently. No more generational feuds, no more ancient grudges, no more pointless revenge carried out against people who inherited some old guilt from their great-grandparents. We will all just go down the path on which we’ve sent so many species ourselves, and we’ll just be a note in someone else’s xenobiology textbooks, listed under the header “EXTINCT.

Forgiveness opens our hearts to self-love. Many of us carry grudges for years and years. We feel self-righteous because of what they did to us. I call this being stuck in the prison of self-righteous resentment. We get to be right. We never get to be happy.

Another solution is forgiveness, which works better when it comes to long-term (cold) anger. When we forgive, we can finally permit ourselves to let go of the grudges that we’ve been carrying around for so long.

Caroline stared at the checkerboard of fields passing by. She had expected him to be furious, but except for a little yelling through the door at the barber’s, his usual good nature had prevailed. She had forgotten that about him, how fast his temper disappeared, how he never carried grudges.

But some of us cannot forget and will never forgive. We keep our axes sharp, ready to grind. We hold pleas for mercy between our teeth like jawbreakers. They say a grudge is a heavy thing to carry. Good thing we’re extra strong.

Sometimes, people may not be aware that they have caused you pain. So, if you do not forgive them, you will walk around carrying a grudge against those who think they are innocent.

moment.’ She smiled. ‘How old are you, Ned?’ ‘Nineteen.’ ‘You risked your life for me.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips briefly but tenderly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she left the room. * MOST PEOPLE BATHED twice a year, in spring and autumn, but princesses were fastidious, and Elizabeth bathed more often. It was a major operation, with maidservants carrying big two-handled laundry tubs of hot water from the kitchen fire to her bedchamber, hurrying up the stairs before the water cooled. She took a bath the day after Swithin’s visit, as if to wash away her disgust. She had said no more about Swithin, after kissing Ned, but Ned thought he had won her trust. Ned knew he had made an enemy of a powerful earl, but he hoped it would not last: Swithin was quick-tempered and vengeful but, Ned thought, he had a short attention span. With luck he would nurse his grudge against Ned only until a better one came along. Sir William Cecil had arrived shortly after Swithin left, and next morning he got down to work with Ned. Cecil’s office was in the same wing as Elizabeth’s private suite. He sent Ned to Tom Parry’s office to fetch a ledger of expenditure for another house Elizabeth owned. Coming back with the heavy book in his hand, Ned walked along Elizabeth’s corridor, where the floorboards were puddled with water spilled by the maids. As he passed her suite, he saw that the door was open, and – stupidly – he glanced in. Elizabeth had just got out of her bath. The tub itself was screened off, but she had stepped across the room to pick up a large white linen sheet with which to dry herself. There should have been a maid waiting beside the tub holding

The family’s finances were in for uncertain times, and Joel wasn’t sure law school was feasible. Imagine, a Banning worried about money, and all because his father carried a grudge. Whatever the conflict between Pete and Reverend Bell, it wasn’t worth the damage.

to carry such a grudge. He was so cold to her that she wondered if any love for her remained in his heart. Despair surged through her veins as another wave of nausea overtook her. She hoped God would give her the guidance she needed to reach out to her husband and find the love they once had.

We are all children of the Great Spirit, we all belong to Mother Earth. Our planet is in great trouble and if we keep carrying old grudges and do not work together, we will all die. —CHIEF SEATTLE

People of faith have an advantage. They understand that there are consequences for disobedience or unbelief. They also know that holding grudges and resentments, or fighting and killing for outdated belief systems, are not just detrimental to one person, but can carry seeds of darkness forward to sprout in future generations. Similarly, seeds of goodness can be planted and can bloom.

This is so important. It's hard on your soul to carry around so much dark energy that holding a grudge can create.

I think maybe you should focus on your own feelings about your father, and not project your worries over your mother into it. What happens if you allow this grudge to fester? Let me tell you. He dies. And whatever sins he’s committed in his life, whatever bad judgment or bad choices he made, that all dies with him. If you are religious, then you have your own beliefs over what happens after that. If you’re not, his life becomes dust. But Jacob, you get to live. And that hate, those bad feelings you carry? That festers and grows and soon overpowers you. It becomes part of you—and then, well, maybe you aren’t any better than your father. But he’s gone—and you’re walking the earth with blackness inside that threatens the very happiness you could achieve in your life. Just forgive your father, Jacob. You don’t have to profess your love to him. You don’t have to cry by his bedside. But forgive. And let those bad feelings die when he does.” Jacob

When tomorrows rising sun is going to bring hope of existence is uncertain,having ego and carry a grudge to a grave is bigger than one life.

I ask that civil life be carried on according to the spirit in which the army was carried on. Nobody grudged promotion to Grant or Sherman … because they earned it.

Life is too short to be a Grinch or to carry grudges and to be angry all the time.

You just have to forgive certain situations and moments in your life to be able to move on, if you genuinely want to be happy. I am someone who can’t hold on to negativity or hold on to grudges. I can’t do that. I might feel something at a certain point but I get tired after that. I don’t carry it with me. I forgive and forget very easily and that’s the only way to be happy and peaceful.

You just have to forgive certain situations and moments in your life to be able to move on, if you genuinely want to be happy. I am someone who can’t hold on to negativity or hold on to grudges. I can’t do that. I might feel something at a certain point but I get tired after that. I don’t carry it with me. I forgive and forget very easily and that’s the only way to be happy and peaceful.

I don’t know why America forgot to send rural Minnesota girls a memo back in the ’80s telling us to stop dividing our bangs into two equal parts, one a tube that curled upward and the other a claw that grasped down, but some of us still carried a grudge.