Cushion The Blow Quotes

The best way to prevent a heartache was to cushion the coming blow.

Sometimes kids get a mean teacher or a class they don’t like or an inflexible deadline even though that child was “exhausted the night before.” We should not cushion every blow. This is life. Learning to deal with struggle and to develop responsibility is crucial. A good parent prepares the child for the path, not the path for the child. We can still demonstrate gentle and attached parenting without raising children who melt on a warm day.

Shock is the stepsister of denial. It cushions the blow to your psyche when really fucked up things happen.

You say you want my advice. Here's what I have. Tell the truth. Don't try to cushion the blow. If you're bad enough to do it, you're bad enough to tell it.

Do you feel that? Feel me wrapped around you, holding you tight. That's me, holding on, not letting you go. And I'm going to keep holding on, so when you do fall, I'll be there to cushion the blow. And I promise you, Angel, you won't even feel the landing." - Mason Connor

We should not cushion every blow. This is life. Learning to deal with struggle and to develop responsibility is crucial. A good parent prepares the child for the path, not the path for the child. We can still demonstrate gentle and attached parenting without raising children who melt on a warm day.

You know full well we are exploiters. You know full well we have taken the gold and minerals and then oil from the “new continents,” and shipped them back to the old metropolises. Not without excellent results in the shape of palaces, cathedrals, and centers of industry; and then when crisis loomed, the colonial markets were there to cushion the blow or divert it. Stuffed with wealth, Europe granted humanity de jure to all its inhabitants: for us, a man means an accomplice, for we have all profited from colonial exploitation.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” Even when things are going well, be prepared for the worst-case scenarios; it will cushion the blow if something happens. You don’t need to trust a world you can’t control, just trust yourself to do your best to get through it.

Realistic expectations actually make you stronger. They cushion the blow when the unexpected happens. And they give you extra stamina when things don’t go as you hoped. This makes you less vulnerable to discouragement and defeat and less likely to bail completely on your dream.

To be born again; to become like infants in God’s womb, entirely dependent, utterly quiet, never alone. Wordless communication, unspeakable love, cushioned against the world’s blows. Grace within the belly of our Maker.

A Baby Elephant Right now my love for you is a baby elephant Born in Berlin or in Paris, And treading with its cushioned feet Around the zoo director's house. Do not offer it French pastries, Do not offer it cabbage heads, It can eat only sections of tangerines, Or lumps of sugar and pieces of candy. Don't cry, my sweet, because it will be put Into a narrow cage, become a joke for mobs, When salesman blow cigar smoke into its trunk To the cackles of their girl friends. Don't imagine, my dear, that the day will come When, infuriated, it will snap its chains And rush along the streets, Crushing howling people like a bus. No, may you dream of it at dawn, Clad in bronze and brocade and ostrich feathers, Like that magnificent beast which once Bore Hannibal to trembling Rome.

Ah, I believe Schacht. Only too willingly; that’s to say, I think what he says is absolutely true, for the world is incomprehensibly crass, tyrannical, moody, and cruel to sickly and sensitive people. Well, Schacht will stay here for the time being. We laughed at him a bit, when he arrived, that can’t be helped either, Schacht is young and after all can’t be allowed to think there are special degrees, advantages, methods, and considerations for him. He has now had his first disappointment, and I’m convinced that he’ll have twenty disappointments, one after the other. Life with its savage laws is in any case for certain people a succession of discouragements and terrifying bad impressions. People like Schacht are born to feel and suffer a continuous sense of aversion. He would like to admit and welcome things, but he just can’t. Hardness and lack of compassion strike him with tenfold force, he just feels them more acutely. Poor Schacht. He’s a child and he should be able to revel in melodies and bed himself in kind, soft, carefree things. For him there should be secret splashings and birdsong. Pale and delicate evening clouds should waft him away in the kingdom of Ah, What’s Happening to Me? His hands are made for light gestures, not for work. Before him breezes should blow, and behind him sweet, friendly voices should be whispering. His eyes should be allowed to remain blissfully closed, and Schacht should be allowed to go quietly to sleep again, after being wakened in the morning in the warm, sensuous cushions. For him there is, at root, no proper activity, for every activity is for him, the way he is, improper, unnatural, and unsuitable. Compared with Schacht I’m the trueblue rawboned laborer. Ah, he’ll be crushed, and one day he’ll die in a hospital. or he’ll perish, ruined in body and soul, inside one of our modern prisons.

Some people said their mothers were the glue that held the family together; others called them the backbone. But Mama was the tendons. The nerves. The supple, giving fat--- Mama would not have liked the comparison. Dalton kept it to himself. And still, rather saw it as a compliment. Mama had softened the blows. Cushioned sharp bones from grinding into one another. Encompassed every strange and contrary part of their family like a warm blanket. Filled in the gaps.

. This theory, based on Latin-American constructs, classify delusional beliefs in terms of “self-deceptions of feats” (grandiosity, erotomania, possession) and “self-deceptions of shield feats” (persecution, jealousy, somatoform). The shield feats would be ego-defensive behaviors that are created to make precedent a cushion on the impact on pride and social prestige that make a possible future that causes much fear for their shameful character. One of the most important shield feats is the shield feat of “awareness” where the anticipation of a future defeat or shameful fact operate as a credit to support the blow.

Similarly, when the dreadful depths of sickness and death open up inside us and we have nothing left to defy the havoc into which the world and our own bodies hurl us, then to sustain even the weight of our muscles, even the shudder that strikes us to the very marrow, and even to keep still, in what we would normally regard as no more than a strained posture, all this demands, if we want our head to remain erect and our expression to keep its composure, a good deal of vital energy, and so turns into an exhausting struggle. And if Legrandin had looked at us with astonishment on his face, it was because to him, as to others who passed us at the time, in the cab in which my grandmother was apparently sitting back, she had seemed to be sinking down, slithering into the abyss, desperately clinging to the cushions which could scarcely hold back the impetus of her falling body, her hair dishevelled, a distraught look in her eyes, which were no longer capable of focusing on the onrush of images their pupils could bear no more. She had seemed, even with me sitting beside her, to be plunged into that unknown world in which she had already received the blows whose marks I had noticed earlier in the Champs-Élysées when I saw her hat, her face, her coat thrown into disarray by the hand of the invisible angel with whom she had wrestled.

Bringing Up Bebe: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting (Druckerman, Pamela) - Your Highlight on page 255 | Location 3886-3889 | Added on Wednesday, January 28, 2015 11:12:50 PM This research also refutes the conventional American wisdom that when kids fail at something, parents should cushion the blow with positive feedback. A better tack is to gently delve into what went wrong, giving kids the confidence and the tools to improve. French schools may be a bit harsh, especially in the later years. But this is exactly what Bean’s French teachers were doing, and it certainly reflects what French parents believe. ==========

Family could be like a cushion, Kayla thought. Something soft to protect you from the blows of life. You couldn’t stop the blows happening, but if you had people who cared around you then the blows hurt less.

I'm 190 pounds of rock hard muscle, underneath 40 pounds of sturdy protective fat. It's important to have that layer of fat. You can't have guys hitting you in your muscles all the time. But that extra padding also cushions the blow for your opponent's fists, which allows him to slug you longer and with more abandon. So that layer of fat is both a good and a bad thing, I guess. It works both ways is what I'm saying.

Breaking news gently is a misnomer. News doesn't break, people do, no matter how you try to cushion the blow.

Shut your disgusting mouth, mole,” spit Asherah. They stood in the large secret cavern carved out of the rock fifty feet beneath the temple of Dagon. Dagon and Ba’alzebul watched Asherah walk up to the rock wall where they had fastened Mikael’s body. Or rather, where they had fastened the parts of Mikael’s body. When they had ambushed Mikael in the Valley of Hinnom, Ba’alzebul had fallen with him some two hundred feet to the valley floor where all Mikael’s bones had been shattered. Ba’alzebul was also incapacitated in the fall, but because he used Mikael’s body as a cushion, and because he had a much stronger bodily structure, he had healed more quickly and was ready for action. But before Mikael could heal to move at all, they had him drawn and quartered. All four of his limbs were severed from his body, and he was beheaded. As an angel, he could not die, but this was surely a living hell as they pinned all his body parts spread out on the wall so he could look helplessly down upon them and their mockery. Asherah looked into Mikael’s eyes. He could not respond verbally because his head was severed from his voice box and lungs, which were separated from each other by about six feet, like a sick spread-out puzzle. But he could watch her and hear their discussion. Ba’alzebul said, “The only time all of them came together like this was to take back the body of Moses from Mastema.” Molech said, “I think they plan much more than retrieving the prince of Israel here. I think they came to bind us into the earth.” “Of course, you idiot,” said Asherah. “But why do they not hide themselves?” said Dagon. Ba’alzebul said, “They want us to stand and fight.” “And why not?” said Asherah. “We are in our stronghold, we are empowered by the Philistines.” “We are confident,” added Ba’alzebul. “Presumptuous. So we will be reckless.” “Exactly,” said Asherah. “If they can deliver this blow to us now, they will control all of Canaan. Which we cannot allow. So we will run.” “Like cowards?” worried Dagon. “Like insurgents,” said Asherah. “Look at the Amalekites. They were almost wiped out. But their few roaming hordes have become a terror to the Israelites, because they cannot be targeted in a specific location. They hit and they run, and Israel has nowhere to respond or retaliate. In our fortified Philistine cities, the archangels know exactly where we are, and what we are doing in our temples. And they can come get us whenever they want. Because they know where we are. As they do this very moment.” The other gods nodded with understanding. Asherah added, “It is time we become more mobile.

Now,” Hunt said, ignoring the tumult, “if I may have a look at that remaining handcuff, I may be able to do something about it.” “You can’t,” Lillian said with weary certainty. “The key is in St. Vincent’s pocket, and I’ve run out of hairpins.” Sitting beside her, Hunt took her manacled wrist, regarded it thoughtfully, and said with what she thought was rather inappropriate satisfaction, “How fortunate. A pair of Higby-Dumfries number thirty.” Lillian gave him a sardonic glance. “I take it you are a handcuff enthusiast?” His lips twitched. “No, but I do have a friend or two in law enforcement. And these were once given as standard issue to the New Police, until a design flaw was discovered. Now one may find a dozen pair of Higby-Dumfries in any London pawnshop.” “What design flaw?” For answer, Hunt adjusted the locked cuff on her wrist, with the hinge and lock facing downward. He paused at the sound of more furniture breaking from upstairs, and grinned at Lillian’s gathering scowl. “I’ll go,” he said mildly. “But first…” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket with one hand, inserting it between her wrist and the steel cuff as a makeshift inner padding. “There. That may help to cushion the force of the blow.” “Blow? What blow?” “Hold still.” Lillian squeaked in dismay as she felt him lift her manacled wrist high over the desk and bring it down sharply on the bottom of the hinge. The whack served to jar the lever mechanism inside the lock, and the cuff snapped open as if by magic. Stunned, Lillian regarded Hunt with a half smile as she rubbed her bare wrist. “Thank you. I—” There was another crashing sound, this time coming from directly overhead, and a chorus of excited bellows from the onlookers caused the walls to tremble. Above it all, the innkeeper could be heard complaining shrilly that his building would soon be reduced to matchsticks. “Mr. Hunt,” Lillian exclaimed, “I do wish that you would try to be of some use to Lord Westcliff!” Hunt’s brows lifted into mocking crescents. “You don’t actually fear that St. Vincent is getting the better of him?” “The question is not whether I have sufficient confidence in Lord Westcliff’s fighting ability,” Lillian replied impatiently. “The fact is, I have too much confidence in it. And I would rather not have to bear witness at a murder trial on top of everything else.” “You have a point.” Standing, Hunt refolded his handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. He headed to the stairs with a short sigh, grumbling, “I’ve spent most of the day trying to stop him from killing people.

I—I don’t wish to go either. I adore Miss Lucinda and Master Carlisle—they are such lovely children. But I’m not getting any younger.” “I understand,” he said again, and wondered whether there was anything he could do to cushion his children from this blow. “Unless, that is, my lord, you wish to—” She looked up now, her eyes imploring. He stared back at her, half in incomprehension, half in . . . all too much comprehension. Dear God, Holmes would probably have seen where this was going while Miss Yarmouth was still on the other side of the door.

Ah, you can fight on with an arrow in you! You can fight on with a dozen, like a fucken pin-cushion. I knew a fella, a Clydish man, mark you, not like one of you northern piss-sheets, fought on with sixteen arrows, two spears and a sword in him. Carried on for hours, cracking heads and ripping limbs.’ ‘And he lived?’ ‘Well, no, but he didn’t lie down and die at the first blow, did he?’ ‘So what’s the big secret? If you’re hit by an arrow, don’t die?’ ‘Aye. That’s the secret: don’t die.

Wealth cushions the small blows—lost jacket, an overlooked electric bill, a flat tire—while insecurity magnifies them. Economic anxiety is similar to high blood pressure. Always there, waiting to turn a minor ailment into a life-threatening disease.

stamp or where they sealed the envelope?” I asked. “Sure, we’ll check those too. That’s common procedure, but we have nothing to compare it to.” Jack added his two cents. “The message itself sounds kind of like the hell-and-damnation type of speech. Somebody in the clergy or even a religious zealot could have written it.” Clayton slowly read the message out loud again. “Yeah, I see where you’re coming from, Jack. It does sound kind of preachy.” “Yes it does,” I said, “but we still don’t know if it’s a serious threat or just someone blowing smoke.” Clark stood. “Okay, guys, check out whatever you can as far as forensic evidence. Make ten copies of that letter before you get started. The rest of you, keep your eyes and ears peeled for somebody with an ax to grind. That’s all we can do for now.” Chapter 2 The long driveway beyond the dead-end road led to the small, faded clapboard house. The walls inside the home held family secrets that were as dead and buried as the family dog. Nobody spoke of Alice’s incident anymore—it was neatly tucked away, hopefully forgotten, and life carried on. Forced smiles and the cautious daily routine filled the family’s waking hours. Alice’s eyes darted toward Mandy and then at the clock. She watched as her twenty-year-old daughter crossed the living room, barefoot and still wearing her green flannel bathrobe. Mandy took a seat on the old floral couch, as she did every day at eleven o’clock. The dark-paneled living room in that house held the sofa, a rocker, two end tables, and two velvet wall hangings of horses. The sofa had seen better days—sun fading had taken a toll on it after being in front of windows year after year. What used to be vibrant colors on that threadbare couch now appeared as pastel hues at best. Two flattened cushions looked as though somebody had let the air out of them; they held permanent indentions from years of use.

The Buddha famously said that life is suffering. I’m not a Buddhist, but I know what he meant and so do you. To exist in this world, we must contend with humiliation, broken dreams, sadness, and loss. That’s just nature. Each specific life comes with its own personalized portion of pain. It’s coming for you. You can’t stop it. And you know it. In response, most of us are programmed to seek comfort as a way to numb it all out and cushion the blows. We carve out safe spaces. We consume media that confirms our beliefs, we take up hobbies aligned with our talents, we try to spend as little time as possible doing the tasks we fucking loathe, and that makes us soft. We live a life defined by the limits we imagine and desire for ourselves because it’s comfortable as hell in that box. Not just for us, but for our closest family and friends. The limits we create and accept become the lens through which they see us. Through which they love and appreciate us. But for some, those limits start to feel like bondage, and when we least expect it, our imagination jumps those walls and hunts down dreams that in the immediate aftermath feel attainable. Because most dreams are. We are inspired to make changes little by little, and it hurts. Breaking the shackles and stretching beyond our own perceived limits takes hard fucking work—oftentimes physical work—and when you put yourself on the line, self doubt and pain will greet you with a stinging combination that will buckle your knees.

Nibiru, are you around here? Come." Sometimes, he envisioned spoken words in his head as though they were printed in the air and he saw this word - come - all lower case letters in size 9 font. No exclamation point, perhaps two of those wavy dashes on either side, signifying impotence. He was too ashamed to shout without company, nobody there to give him permission to disturb the night's peace, nobody to cushion the blow of odd glances if a person saw him and thought his actions peculiar.

The human mind is kind. It will create blank spaces for itself. I think of them as little airbags in my mind, cushioning the tender places where the blows and bruises are.

The dead woman’s name is Jane Neal,’ Gamache knew it was a false kindness to cushion a blow like this.

The presence of the shield feats can also arise in some cases of pathological jealousy. Here, the dreaded anti-feat would be infidelity, understood as anti-feat when it destroys pride and social prestige. One of the shield feats that would appear is the awareness. Here, the logic would be "aware" of infidelity operating as a consolation or compensation that serves to cushion the blow to the pride that infidelity brings. Therefore, this shield feat of awareness is the belief that infidelity has already occurred

[...] ELYOT: You really can be more irritating than anyone in the world. AMANDA: I fail to see what I've done that's so terribly irritating. ELYOT: You have no tact. AMANDA: Tact. You have no consideration. ELYOT [walking up and down]: Too soon after dinner indeed. AMANDA: Yes, much too soon. ELYOT: That sort of remark shows rather a common sort of mind, I'm afraid. AMANDA: Oh it does, does it? ELYOT: Very unpleasant, makes me shudder. AMANDA: Making all this fuss just because your silly vanity is a little upset. ELYOT: Vanity: What do you mean, vanity? AMANDA: You can't bear the thought that there are certain moments when our chemical, what d'you call 'ems, don't fuse properly. ELYOT [derisively]: Chemical what d'you call 'ems: Please try to be more explicit. AMANDA: You know perfectly well what I mean, and don't you try to patronize me. ELYOT [loudly]: Now look here, Amanda- AMANDA [suddenly]: Darling, Sollocks! Oh, for God's sake, Sollocks! ELYOT: But listen- AMANDA: Sollocks, Sollocks, Oh dear-triple Sollocks! [They stand looking at one another in silence for a moment, then AMANDA flings herself down on the sofa and buries her face in the cushion. ELYOT looks at her, then goes over to the piano. He sits down and begins to play idly. AMANDA raises her head, screws herself round on the sofa, and lies there listening. ELYOT blows a kiss to her and goes on playing. He starts to sing softly to her, never taking his eyes off her. When he has finished the little refrain, whatever it was, he still continues to play it looking at her.] AMANDA: Big romantic stuff, darling. ELYOT [smiling]: Yes, big romantic stuff. [He wanders off into another tune. AMANDA Sits tip crossedlegged on the sofa, and begins to sing it, then, still singing, she comes over and perches on the piano. They sing several old refrains from dead and gone musical comedies finishing with the song that brought them together again in the first act. Finally AMANDA comes down and sits next to him on the piano stool, they both therefore have their backs half turned to the audience. She rests her head on his shoulder, until finally his fingers drop off the keys, and they melt into one another's arms.] ELYOT [after a moment]: You're the most thrilling, exciting woman that was ever born. AMANDA [standing up, and brushing her hand lightly over his mouth]: Dearest, dearest heart. [He catches at her hand and kisses it, and then her arm, until he is standing up, embracing her ardently. She struggles a little, half laughing, and breaks away, but he catches her, and they finish up on the sofa again, clasped in each other's arms, both completely given up to the passion of the moment, until the telephone bell rings violently, and they both spring apart.]

and I tried to come up with something we could do to cushion the blow at least a little.

It’s the kind that pulls you by the hair. The unexpected jolt. It’s merciless, and it doesn’t allow you to change cell by cell, cushioning the blow with time. It smacks you into a new reality. It forces you to examine things you’d rather leave under a rock.

Feelie Box—Cut a hole in a shoebox lid. Place spools, buttons, blocks, coins, marbles, animals, and cars in the box. The child inserts a hand through the hole and tells you what toy she is touching. Or, ask her to reach in and feel for a button or car. Or, show her a toy and ask her to find one in the box that matches. These activities improve the child’s ability to discriminate objects without the use of vision. “Can You Describe It?”—Provide objects with different textures, temperatures, and weights. Ask her to tell you about an object she is touching. (If you can persuade her not to look at it, the game is more challenging.) Is the object round? Cool? Smooth? Soft? Heavy? Oral-Motor Activities—Licking stickers and pasting them down, blowing whistles and kazoos, blowing bubbles, drinking through straws or sports bottles, and chewing gum or rubber tubing may provide oral satisfaction. Hands-on Cooking—Have the child mix cookie dough, bread dough, or meat loaf in a shallow roasting pan (not a high-sided bowl). Science Activities—Touching worms and egg yolks, catching fireflies, collecting acorns and chestnuts, planting seeds, and digging in the garden provide interesting tactile experiences. Handling Pets—What could be more satisfying than stroking a cat, dog or rabbit? People Sandwich—Have the “salami” or “cheese” (your child) lie facedown on the “bread” (gym mat or couch cushion) with her head extended beyond the edge. With a “spreader” (sponge, pot scrubber, basting or vegetable brush, paintbrush, or washcloth) smear her arms, legs, and torso with pretend mustard, mayonnaise, relish, ketchup, etc. Use firm, downward strokes. Cover the child, from neck to toe, with another piece of “bread” (folded mat or second cushion). Now press firmly on the mat to squish out the excess mustard, so the child feels the deep, soothing pressure. You can even roll or crawl across your child; the mat will distribute your weight. Your child will be in heaven.

But faith often helps cushion the blow of our mistakes, and God is always there to help us pick up the pieces.

If I didn’t see my winter coming, then at least I have caught it in the early stages. I am just a little lost, that’s all; just a little clouded over, like my windows. I’m determined to go into it consciously, to make it a kind of practice in understanding myself better. I want to avoid making the same mistakes again. I am almost wondering whether there could be a pleasure in it, somewhere, if only I’m well enough prepared. I can feel the downturn coming; I know that baking and soup-making can’t sustain me forever. It will get worse than this: darker, leaner, lonelier. I want to lay down a bed of straw beneath me to cushion the blow when it comes. I want to make everything ready.

so I leave you to get on top as I lie on my back for you because reality comes hard and perhaps I can cushion the blow for one of us