Deliberate Discomfort Quotes

The great enemy of truth is very often not the lie--deliberate, contrived and dishonest--but the myth--persistent, persuasive and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the cliches of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought. [Commencement Address at Yale University, June 11 1962]

In particular, the virtues and ambitions called forth by war are unlikely to find expression in liberal democracies. There will be plenty of metaphorical wars—corporate lawyers specializing in hostile takeovers who will think of themselves as sharks or gunslingers, and bond traders who imagine, as in Tom Wolfe’s novel The Bonfire of the Vanities, that they are “masters of the universe.” (They will believe this, however, only in bull markets.) But as they sink into the soft leather of their BMWs, they will know somewhere in the back of their minds that there have been real gunslingers and masters in the world, who would feel contempt for the petty virtues required to become rich or famous in modern America. How long megalothymia will be satisfied with metaphorical wars and symbolic victories is an open question. One suspects that some people will not be satisfied until they prove themselves by that very act that constituted their humanness at the beginning of history: they will want to risk their lives in a violent battle, and thereby prove beyond any shadow of a doubt to themselves and to their fellows that they are free. They will deliberately seek discomfort and sacrifice, because the pain will be the only way they have of proving definitively that they can think well of themselves, that they remain human beings.

Being a monk was the strangest and most perverted way of life imaginable. Monks spent half their lives putting themselves through pain and discomfort that they could easily avoid, and the other half muttering meaningless mumbo jumbo in empty churches at all hours of the day and night. They deliberately shunned anything good—girls, sports, feasting and family life.

Tribulation brings about perseverance.” Thlipsis cultivates hypomon which means “remaining under” in the literal sense and “patiently enduring” in the figurative. Naturally, when the pressure builds we should take reasonable measures to relieve the discomfort. No one is suggesting we volunteer for pain or ignore the opportunity to eliminate it. But sometimes there is no solution, no remedy, no relief. Sometimes we cannot avoid or escape the pressure. When that happens, we deliberately choose to “remain under” and to do so with graceful and calm dignity.

But Krishna is an unusual God. He challenges all conventional notions of divinity and appropriate social conduct. His name literally translates as ‘black’, challenging the traditional Indian discomfort with the dark complexion. He is visualised as either cowherd or charioteer, never as priest or king, a deliberate association with the lower strata of society. His mother is not his real mother, his beloved is not his wife, and the women he rescues are neither his subjects nor members of his family. His lovemaking is not really lovemaking; his war is not really war. There is always more than meets the eye. And so, only Krishna, of all the avatars, sports a smile, a mischievous, meaningful smile. There is always more than meets the eye, when Krishna is around.

There was something in Lima that was wrappd up in yards of violet satin from which protruded a great dropsical head and two fat pearly hands; and that was its archbishop. Between the rolls of flesh that surrounded them looked out two black eyes speaking discomfort, kindliness, and wit. A curious and eager soul was imprisoned in all this lard, but by dint of never refusing himself a pheasant or a goose or his daily procession of Roman wines, he was his own bitter jailer. He loved his cathedral; he loved his duties; he was very devout. Some days he regarded his bulk ruefully; but the distress of remorse was less poignant than the distress of fasting, and he was presently found deliberating over the secret messages that a certain roast sends to the certain salad that will follow it. And to punish himself he led an exemplary life in every other respect. He had read all the literature of antiquity and forgotten all about it except a general aroma of charm and disillusion. He had been learned in the Fathers and the Councils and forgotten all about them save a floating impression of dissensions that had no application to Peru. He had read all the libertine masterpieces of Italy and France and reread them annually;

Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?” Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world held a contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by an expressive shake of the head, adding soon, “Perhaps the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst.” “Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;” and bending from the perpendicular, he installed his person in the arm-chair opposite Mrs. Reed’s. “Come here,” he said. I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before him. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth! “No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” he began, “especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?” “They go to hell,” was my ready and orthodox answer. “And what is hell? Can you tell me that?” “A pit full of fire.” “And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?” “No, sir.” “What must you do to avoid it?” I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: “I must keep in good health, and not die.” “How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I buried a little child of five years old only a day or two since,—a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the same could not be said of you were you to be called hence.” Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes down on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing myself far enough away. “I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever having been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent benefactress.

Ell's Double Down --- "The haze across the room conceals the faces of the patrons and gives the setting a secretive draping. Her heart is pounding and although she has done this for months now, she still becomes nervous starting out. She glances across the table, the man facing her is attractive he is dressed in a fine suit his eyes a warm brown, his stare deliberate. When he looks at her she can tell, it’s a look you don’t give a kid sister, his look is heated. She can hardly breathe when she looks into his eyes it is disarming, she can’t have this. She looks above him to her friend Sophie; she is unsure of herself and silently communicates her discomfort to her friend. Sophie gives her a smile then leans down whispering into the man’s ear his attention is suddenly diverted giving Ell the opportunity to settle in. She exhales feeling better now that the man is distracted. Later she will help Sophie untangle herself from him but now she has to focus on the business at hand. She takes a deep breath, flashing a dazzling smile at the rest of the men gathered around the table and antes up. The truth is gambling makes her feel empowered the rush was like none other. Each hand dealt promised her a solution to her problems. Logically that alone could be the cause for her increased heart rate and butterflies but Ell knew better. She liked the mind games played as each of them attempted to psyche out opponents seated around the table. Ell herself suffered through painful lessons until she honed her own skills. Eventually Sophie taught her the most valuable ploy --using her womanly wiles as her weapon. Ell initially felt foolish but the first time she glanced through mascaraed lashes and saw the effect she turned to her friend for additional suggestions. This combined with her ability to gauge the cards each player held or what now laid in the muck. However to be honest, she simply loved soundly beating the table full of men.

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest, but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Belief in myths allows the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought. —JOHN F. KENNEDY

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie - deliberate, contrived and dishonest - but the myth, persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Belief in myths allows the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.” ~ John F. Kennedy

When you adopt a productivity mindset, however, deliberate practice-inducing tasks are often sidestepped, as the ambiguous path toward their completion, when combined with the discomfort of the mental strain they require, makes them an unpopular choice in scheduling decisions.

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie – deliberate, contrived, and dishonest – but the myth, persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Belief in myths allows the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.” -- President John F. Kennedy

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest—but the myth, persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic.… We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.

Narian and I left the parlor shortly thereafter in high spirits. The former Queen had been very accepting of him, and he had been remarkably forthcoming with her. Somehow, through common experience and maternal instinct, she had reached out to forge a connection with her future son-in-law. We went to my quarters and Narian stayed in the parlor while I changed for dinner, although he would not accompany me to the meal--we may have had luck with my mother, but my father would not be so receptive to the news of our betrothal. When I reemerged in simpler garb, he was in an armchair, contemplatively rubbing his once-broken wrist, his face growing progressively more trouble. I glanced around the room, wondering what could possibly have happened to change his temperament in the short time we had been apart. “Narian? What is it?” He shook his head, then ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “Your mother would make an excellent interrogator.” I couldn’t help it--I laughed, harder than I had in a long time. “I hardly think she’s the type!” “Find it as funny as you like,” he said with a smile. “But I don’t know what I was telling her!” “Well, do you regret it?” I asked, and he flashed through a myriad of emotions: confusion, deliberation, discomfort at having been so open with her, then, at last, acceptance. “No,” he said, with a touch of wonder. “I…I understand it now, I suppose--why you talk to her. Why you trust her. I wanted to trust her.” I walked over to him and sat in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but it’s time I did. I’m in love with you, Narian.” “I love you, too,” he said, the corners of his mouth flicking upward. The words weren’t so difficult, after all.

Strain, I now accepted, was good. Instead of seeing this discomfort as a sensation to avoid, I began to understand it the same way that a body builder understands muscle burn: a sign that you’re doing something right. Inspired by this insight, I accompanied a promise to do more large-scale paper deconstructions of this type with a trio of smaller habits designed to inject even more deliberate practice into my daily routine. I describe these new routines below: My

The insights of Rule #2 fundamentally changed the way I approach my work. If I had to describe my previous way of thinking, I would probably use the phrase “productivity-centric.” Getting things done was my priority. When you adopt a productivity mindset, however, deliberate practice-inducing tasks are often sidestepped, as the ambiguous path toward their completion, when combined with the discomfort of the mental strain they require, makes them an unpopular choice in scheduling decisions. It’s much easier to redesign your graduate-student Web page than it is to grapple with a mind-melting proof. The result for me was that my career capital stores, initially built up during the forced strain of my early years as a graduate student, were dwindling as time went on. Researching Rule #2, however, changed this state of affairs by making me much more “craft-centric.” Getting better and better at what I did became what mattered most, and getting better required the strain of deliberate practice. This is a different way of thinking about work, but once you embrace it, the changes to your career trajectory can be profound. How

There are two sides to every coin. If you want to experience real emotion, you get the gamut. If you experience a level 8 emotion in one area, you get access to all emotions at level 8. And if you seek out a negative experience at level 8, you master it. Fear doesn’t blindside you because you went after it. Pain doesn’t overwhelm you because you went into it willingly, step by step. If you wanted to back off, you could have. Whatever level of discomfort you reach, you reach deliberately. You’ve met the negative head-on, on your own terms. You own it, and you’ll own it forever. And your world gets bigger. Your spectrum of experiences broadens in all directions — positive and negative. We don’t grow in a line. We grow in a sphere. If you master X, you get access to Y. That’s how it works. We seek out edges so that we can reconnect with who we really are. We are not averages and statistics. We are not the upper, middle, or lower class. We are not citizens, or constituents, or

What is the book (or books) you’ve given most as a gift, and why? Or what are one to three books that have greatly influenced your life? Books that influenced me the most: The Transformed Cell by Steven A. Rosenberg Mistakes Were Made (but Not by Me) by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! by Richard P. Feynman If you could have a gigantic billboard anywhere with anything on it, what would it say? Are there any quotes you think of often or live your life by? Well, assuming it’s a big billboard, I’d lobby for the following: “The fundamental cause of the trouble is that in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.”—Bertrand Russell “For the great enemy of truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.”—John F. Kennedy “No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it.”—Albert Einstein “If you set a goal, it should meet these two conditions: 1) It matters; 2) You can influence the outcome.”—Peter Attia

If you start to question yourself, remember to doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith in yourself.

Everyone has the same chemicals in our body: endorphins, dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, and cortisol,” Jeff explains. “Dopamine helps us to achieve—to reach our goals. Serotonin inspires pride and esprit de corps, and oxytocin inspires love and bonding. What can we do to maximize those three chemicals? I’ll tell you what—it’s service. We are operating at our optimal levels when we are in service to our fellow man. Therefore, we have discovered the trifecta of happiness, and it’s not as if we just invented it or discovered it; it has been around for thousands of years. If you read the sacred texts of all the major religions, it really comes down to one thing: service.

Don’t aim at success. The more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one’s surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long-run—in the long-run, I say!—success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think about it (Frankl, 1962).

By progressively confronting one's opposites, it becomes more and more obvious — and this point can hardly be repeated too often—that since the Shadow is a real and integral facet of the ego, all of the "symptoms" and discomforts that the Shadow seems to be inflicting on us are really symptoms and discomforts which we are inflicting on ourselves, however much we may consciously protest to the contrary. It is very, very much as if I, for instance, were deliberately and painfully pinching myself but pretending not to! Whatever my symptoms on this level may be — guilt, fear, anxiety, depression—all are strictly the result of my "mentally" pinching myself in one fashion or another. And this directly implies, incredible as it may seem, that I want this painful symptom, whatever its nature, to be here just as much as I want it to depart!

Values are internal signposts that help us navigate the challenging world we live in.

Therefore, self-control is an important skill to master if we want to stay productive. One effective way of strengthening our self-control is to practice voluntary discomfort. This means deliberately subjecting ourselves to uncomfortable situations and avoiding the urge to give in easily to the comfort we could derive from easier solutions.

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. . . . We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought. —JOHN F. KENNEDY, Commencement Address at Yale University, delivered June 11, 1962

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. . . . We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.

I do not blame myself for running from those feelings. No one would deliberately subject himself to the discomfort I carried inside my skin unless he had a very good reason to. As a little boy fleeing into the streets and waiting neighborhood games, as an adolescent fleeing toward drugs that soothed me like a mother, I have taken flight throughout most of my life. Hurt, grandiose, blaming others for not filling me up, I was in search of the next big fix, in search of love without having the skills to love well in return. Like Perceval, I have spent a good portion of my life wandering, searching for the right question.

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest, but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Belief in myths allows the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.

great enemy of truth is very often not the lie – deliberate, contrived, and dishonest – but the myth – persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinions without the discomfort of thought.

President John F. Kennedy explained to Yale’s graduating class of 1962 that “the great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our forebears…. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.”89 Powerful historical falsehoods are particularly harmful in constitutional republics such as the United States.

Shereketa” is a Shona word ordinarily meaning to fidget, to be restless, and to show discomfort. Whilst this word has largely been used negatively, the Shereketa principle channels it into a different dimension to be used positively for success. Shereketa re–defined refers to deliberate movements, actions and adjustments inspired by the calling to excellence & success, driven by a conviction against and a growing discomfort with mediocrity. The movements and actions take place in two realms - the inner spirit/convictions of your heart and the outer execution platforms of your physical and material world (Shereketa within and Shereketa without).

I want you to be assured, Mrs. Bronson,” Holly told her carefully one morning, “that I would never deliberately cause discomfort or unhappiness to anyone in your family—” “My lady, it's not your fault,” Paula responded with her customary frankness, reaching over to give Holly's hand an affectionate pat. “You may be the first thing my son has ever truly wanted that he wasn't able to get. To my way of thinking, it's good for him to finally learn his limits. I've always warned him about reaching too high above his buttons.” “Has he spoken to you about me?” Holly asked, flushing until even the tips of her ears felt hot. “Not a word,” Paula said. “But there was no need. A mother always knows.” “He is such a wonderful man,” Holly began to tell her earnestly, afraid that Paula might be under the misconception that she didn't think Zachary was good enough for her. “Yes, I think so, too,” Paula said matter-of-factly. “But that doesn't make him right for you, milady, any more than you are right for him.

For the great enemy of truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.”—John F. Kennedy

If you’re assuming that my plans to leave are nothing more than a reaction to Miss Hathaway … I’ve been considering this for a long time. I’m not an idiot. Nor am I inexperienced with women.” “To say the least,” St. Vincent commented dryly. “But in your pursuit of women—or perhaps I should say their pursuit of you—you seem to have regarded them all as interchangeable. Until now. If you are taken with this Hathaway creature, don’t you think it bears investigating?” “God, no. There’s only one thing it could lead to.” “Marriage,” the viscount said rather than asked. “Yes. And that’s impossible.” “Why?” The fact that they were discussing Amelia Hathaway and the subject of marriage was enough to make Cam blanch in discomfort. “I’m not the marrying kind—” St. Vincent snorted. “No man is. Marriage is a female invention.” “—but even if I were so inclined,” Cam continued, “I’m a Roma. I wouldn’t do that to her.” There was no need to elucidate. Decent gadjis didn’t marry Gypsies. His blood was mixed, and even though Amelia herself might harbor no prejudices, the routine discriminations Cam encountered would certainly extend to his wife and children. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his own people would be even more disapproving of the match. Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa … Gadje with Gadje, Roma with Roma. “What if your heritage made no difference to her?” Westcliff asked quietly. “That’s not the point. It’s how others would view her.” Seeing that the older man was about to argue, Cam murmured, “Tell me, would either of you wish your daughter to marry a Gypsy?” In the face of their discomforted silence, he smiled without amusement. After a moment, Westcliff stubbed out his cigar in a deliberate, methodical fashion. “Obviously you’ve made up your mind. Further debate would be pointless.

President John F. Kennedy explained to Yale’s graduating class of 1962 that “the great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our forebears…. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.

I’m beginning to realize I shouldn’t have stayed away from Eversby Priory for so long,” she heard him say grimly. “The entire household is running amok.” Unable to restrain herself any longer, Kathleen went to the open gap in the doorway and glared at him. “You were the one who hired the plumbers!” she hissed. “The plumbers are the least of it. Someone needs to take the situation in hand.” “If you’re foolish enough to imagine you could take me in hand--” “Oh, I’d begin with you,” he assured her feelingly. Kathleen would have delivered a scathing reply, but her teeth had begun to chatter. Although the Turkish towel had absorbed some of the moisture from her clothes, they were clammy. Seeing her discomfort, Devon turned and surveyed the room, obviously hunting for something to cover her. Although his back was turned, she knew the precise moment that he spotted the shawl on the fireplace chair. When he spoke, his tone had changed. “You didn’t dye it.” “Give that to me.” Kathleen thrust her arm through the doorway. Devon picked it up. A slow smile crossed his face. “Do you wear it often?” “Hand me my shawl, please.” Devon brought it to her, deliberately taking his time. He should have been mortified by his indecent state of undress, but he seemed entirely comfortable, the great shameless peacock. As soon as the shawl was within reach, Kathleen snatched it from him. Casting aside her damp towel, she pulled the shawl around herself. The garment was comforting and familiar, the soft wool warming her instantly. “I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it,” she said grudgingly. She was tempted to tell him that even though the gift had been inappropriate…the truth was, she loved it. There were days when she wasn’t certain whether the gloomy widow’s weeds were reflecting her melancholy mood or causing it, and when she pulled the brilliant shawl over her shoulders, she felt instantly better. No gift had ever pleased her as much. She couldn’t tell him that, but she wanted to. “You look beautiful in those colors, Kathleen.” His voice was low and soft. She felt her face prickle. “Don’t use my first name.” “By all means,” Devon mocked, glancing down at his towel-clad form, “let’s be formal.

The happiness of excellence is the work of emotional resilience. It’s the highest ranking on Maslow’s hierarchy. It is measured, deliberate, and consistent. It is often avoided because the discomfort is palpable, and the reward isn’t instantaneous. There’s no contact high during the first days of marathon training when your lungs are stinting and you want to vomit. But over time, you develop your skill. You begin to imagine what you could accomplish. You fall in love with the process.

Maybe you’ve never told a dark lie. So, just to make sure you feel included, let me swing the pendulum all the way over to little white ones. In Chapter 5 I mentioned that audiences predictably lie to reassure me they’re comfortable in uncomfortable chairs. Most of us engage in a lot of such unconscious self-deception. We use it to ignore anything from slight discomforts to flat-out torture. For example, if we’re raised hearing our drunken parents smash furniture, if we’re sexually or physically abused, or if we get stuck in disasters like war or wildfire, our conscious awareness of the unbearable events can get fuzzy, even disappear. We may repress conscious knowledge of the trauma, or drastically minimize it to make it less painful. These responses are automatic, often involuntary. But they can cause us to suffer as much as deliberate deception. Going blind and deaf to our own pain means we don’t realize that we must leave dangerous situations or people. It puts us, or keeps us, directly in harm’s way. We endure one horrible experience after another. Is this fair? No. Fairness doesn’t enter into it. Any lie, even an unconscious one, splits us from integrity. Remember the reason planes crash. Not God’s punishment. Just physics.