Meddlesome Quotes

Pursue that which is not meddlesome.

Traitor!" Hera shouted. "You meddlesome, D-list goddess! You aren't worthy to pour my wine, much less rule the world.

And will you love me for a day? A year? A lifetime?" She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it in that beautiful, shattered voice. "Beyond that," he whispered, eyes shining with the tempest of emotion he'd held in check until now. "Beyond the reign of false gods and meddlesome priests. Beyond al Zafira when her bright stars fade.

Our meddlesome intellect misshapen the beauteous form of things.

I had always detested the meddlesome alarmist, who veils ignorance under noisiness, and for ever wails his chant of lugubrious pessimism.

People don't like to be meddled with. We tell them what to do, what to think. Don't run, don't walk. We're in their homes and in their heads and we haven't the right. We're meddlesome.

Why do the people starve? It is because those at the top eat too much, and taxes are too high. This is why the people starve. Why are the people difficult to lead? It is because those in authority are meddlesome in their affairs. This is why the people are difficult to lead.

The humanitarian, like the missionary, is often an irreducible enemy of the people he seeks to befriend, because he has not imagination enough to sympathize with their proper needs nor humility enough to respect them as if they were his own. Arrogance, fanaticism, meddlesomeness, and imperialism may then masquerade as philanthropy.

Erudition is the crude residue of wilted harvests; wit: the meddlesome weed that wilts them.

A National Government cannot create good times. It cannot make the rain to fall, the sun to shine, or the crops to grow, but it can, by pursuing a meddlesome policy, attempting to change economic conditions, and frightening the investment of capital, prevent a prosperity and a revival of business which might otherwise have taken place.

In many schools, teachers have been told, falsely, that there is an “opportunity zone” in which a child’s gender identification is malleable. They have used this zone to try to stamp out boyhood: banning same-sex play groups and birthday parties, forcing children to do gender-atypical activities, suspending boys who run during recess or play cops and robbers. In her book the War Against Boys, the philosopher Christina Hoff Sommers rightly calls this agenda “meddlesome, abusive and quite beyond what educators in a free society are mandated to do(172).

Theologians could not even agree about the nature of their gods. These personages ranged from "blue touch-paper gods" who started everything and never interfered again, to "infinitely meddlesome gods who, as well as starting it off, police every elementary particle.

Do that which consists in taking no action; Pursue that which is not meddlesome; Savor that which has no flavor. Make the small big and the few many; Do good to him who has done you an injury. Lay plans for the accomplishment of the difficult before it becomes difficult; Make something big by starting with it when small. Difficult things in the word must needs have their beginnings in the easy; Big things must needs have their beginnings in the small. Therefore it is because the sage never attempts to be great that he succeeds in becoming great. One who makes promises rashly rarely keeps good faith; One who is in the habit of considering things easy meets with frequent difficulties. Therefore even the sage treats some things as difficult. That is why in the end no difficulties can get the better of him.

On the whole, however, art is free, shameless, irresponsible, and, as I said: the movement is intense, almost feverish, like, it seems to me, a snakeskin full of ants. The snake itself has long been dead, eaten, deprived of its poison, but the skin moves, filled with meddlesome life.

The outsider is necessarily ignorant, usually irrelevant and often meddlesome, because he is trying to navigate the ship from dry land.

Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?

She had aged well, the process had been kind. And she had left nature alone, opting instead to banish vanity like the meddlesome, suffocating weed it was.

IN the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put it in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed. But while we was gone for spiders little Thomas Franklin Benjamin Jefferson Elexander Phelps found it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, and they did; and Aunt Sally she come in, and when we got back she was a- standing on top of the bed raising Cain, and the rats was doing what they could to keep off the dull times for her. So she took and dusted us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. I never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was.

I fully embrace the maxim (which he borrows from a Christian) that 'all power corrupts'. I would go further. The loftier the pretensions of the power, the more meddlesome, inhuman, and oppressive it will be.

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.’ The higher the pretensions of our rulers are, the more meddlesome and impertinent their rule is likely to be and the more the thing in whose name they rule will be defiled.

One sets off to investigate you see, to develop the facility to really notice things so that, over time, and with enough practice, one becomes attuned to the earth’s embedded logos and can experience the enriching joy of moving about in deep and direct accordance with things. Yet invariably this vital process is abruptly thwarted by an idiotic overlay of literal designations and inane alerts so that the whole terrain is obscured and inaccessible until eventually it is all quite formidable. As if the earth were a colossal and elaborate deathtrap. How will I ever make myself at home here if there are always these meddlesome scaremongering signs everywhere I go.

Oh, but you’re wrong! It’s my duty as a priest to pry into people’s lives. I agree it’s a meddlesome trade, but it’s no more useless than the business of a merchant, clothier, carpenter or samurai. It exists because it is needed.

… I was constantly trying to shoehorn characters into each other’s lives, planting them on street corners or in cafés together so that they could talk. So that they could explain things to each other, from across the great human divide. But it was all so contrived. Contrived and meddlesome, really, because sometimes you just have to let your characters get on with it, which is to say coexist. If their paths cross and they can teach each other something, fine. If they don't, well, that's interesting, too. Or, if it isn't interesting, then maybe you need to back up and start again.

Maya—goddess of confusion and misdirection—is back in the chair opposite me. “So who are the priests of all religions?” she asks me. “They are your shepherds,” I respond, “keeping the sheep in the fold, away from the cliffs.” I know this. I know that the religions with their promises of an afterlife form an interior layer of containment and that the eternal rewards and punishments they speak of are as finite as the one in which they speak. Bubbles within bubbles. Turtles on top of turtles. “And who are the saints and sages of the great spiritual traditions?” she asks. “They are your final level of containment. They are the weavers of the final web, masters of subtle misdirection; convincing because they are convinced. For every million that get near the edge, perhaps only one steps over.” She smiles. “And where do I dwell?” “In the heart,” I respond. “In fear.” “Fear of what?” she asks. “Fear of being haunted by meddlesome Hindu deities?” I ask, but she’s already gone.

Bigotry; self-conceit; an insolent curiosity; a meddlesome temper; a cold-blooded criticism, founded on a shallow interpretation of half-perceptions; a monstrous scepticism in regard to any conscience or any wisdom, except one's own; a most irreverent propensity to thrust Providence aside, and substitute one's self in its awful place,—out of these, and other motives as miserable as these, comes your idea of duty!

That is why I can’t in any way approve of those MEDDLESOME and RESTLESS characters who, without being called by BIRTH or by FORTUNE to the management of public affairs, are yet forever thinking up some new reform! If I thought this present work contained the SLIGHTEST ground for suspecting me of such FOLLY, I would SHRINK from allowing it to be published! My plan has NEVER gone beyond trying to reform my own thoughts and to build on a foundation that is ALL MY OWN. If I’m pleased enough with my work to present you with this sketch of it, it’s not because I would advise anyone to imitate it. Those on whom GOD has bestowed more of his favours than he has on me will PERHAPS have higher aims; but I’m afraid that this project of mine may be too bold for many people! The mere decision to rid myself all the opinions I have hitherto accepted isn’t an example that everyone ought to follow! The world is mostly made up of two types of minds for whom it is QUITE unsuitable. (1) There are those who, believing themselves cleverer than they are, can’t help rushing to judgment and can’t muster the patience to direct all their thoughts in an ORDERLY manner. So that if they ONCE took the liberty of doubting the principles they have accepted and leaving the common path, they would NEVER be able to stay on the straighter path that they ought to take, AND would REMAIN lost ALL their LIVES. (2) And there are those who are reasonable enough, or modest enough, to THINK that they can’t distinguish true from false as well as some other people by whom they can be taught. THESE should be content to follow the opinions of those others rather than to seek better opinions themselves.

The conservative does not defend the Old Regime; he speaks on behalf of old regimes—in the family, the factory, the field. There, ordinary men, and sometimes women, get to play the part of little lords and ladies, supervising their underlings as if they all belong to a feudal estate . . . The task of this type of conservatism---democratic feudalism—-becomes clear: surround these old regimes with fences and gates, protect them from meddlesome intruders like the state or a social movement, while descanting on mobility and innovation, freedom and the future.

They both fell, Serilda landing on her back on the pile of straw. Gild landed on top of her with a grunt, his chin smacking her shoulder, making his teeth crack loudly near her ear. His knee struck her hip, as he barely managed to keep from crushing her with his weight. Serilda lay in the straw, disoriented and breathless, a dull pain thrumming in her backside. Gild pushed himself up with one hand and rubbed his chin, grimacing. “Still alive,” moaned Serilda, copying Anna’s favorite phrase. “Makes one of us,” Gild said. He met her gaze, laughter in his eyes. “Hello again.” Then he glanced down, to where Serilda’s hands were caught between their bodies. Her hands, entirely of their own mind, were pressed against his chest. Not pushing him away. Color burst across his face. “Sorry,” he said, pulling back. As soon as he did, a sharp pain burned across Serilda’s scalp. She cried out, leaning toward him. “Stop, stop! My hair!” Gild froze. A lock of Serilda’s long hair had caught on the button of his shirt’s collar. “How did that happen?” “Meddlesome elves, no doubt,” said Serilda, trying to shuffle into a better position where she could start untangling the hair, but by bit. “They’re the worst.” Serilda paused in her work to meet his eyes, catching the silent humor glittering in them. This close, in the light, she could see that they were the color of warm amber. “Hello again,” he said quietly.

Strikes me that one-half or maybe two-thirds of the American people are the best fellows on earth--the friendliest and the most interested in everything and the jolliest. And I guess the remaining third are just about the worst crabs, the worst Meddlesome Matties, the most ignorant and pretentious fools, that God ever made. Male AND female! I'd be tickled to death to live in America IF. If we got rid of Prohibition, so a man could get a glass of beer instead of being compelled to drink gin and hootch. If we got rid of taking seriously a lot of self-advertising, half-educated preachers and editors and politicians, so that folks would develop a little real thinking instead of being pushed along by a lot of mental and moral policemen.

It was a sad fact that the commonest complaint in the outpatient department was “Rasehn . . . libehn . . . hodehn,” literally, “My head . . . my heart . . . and my stomach,” with the patient’s hand touching each part as she pronounced the words. Ghosh called it the RLH syndrome. The RLH sufferers were often young women or the elderly. If pressed to be more specific, the patients might offer that their heads were spinning (rasehn yazoregnal) or burning (yakatelegnal ), or their hearts were tired (lib dekam), or they had abdominal discomfort or cramps (hod kurteth), but these symptoms were reported as an aside and grudgingly, because rasehn-libehn-hodehn should have been enough for any doctor worth his salt. It had taken Matron her first year in Addis to understand that this was how stress, anxiety, marital strife, and depression were expressed in Ethiopia—somatization was what Ghosh said the experts called this phenomenon. Psychic distress was projected onto a body part, because culturally it was the way to express that kind of suffering. Patients might see no connection between the abusive husband, or meddlesome mother-in-law, or the recent death of their infant, and their dizziness or palpitations. And they all knew just the cure for what ailed them: an injection. They might settle for mistura carminativa or else a magnesium trisilicate and belladonna mixture, or some other mixture that came to the doctor’s mind, but nothing cured like the marfey—the needle. Ghosh was dead against injections of vitamin B for the RLH syndrome, but Matron had convinced him it was better for Missing to do it than have the dissatisfied patient get an unsterilized hypodermic from a quack in the Merkato. The orange B-complex injection was cheap, and its effect was instantaneous, with patients grinning and skipping down the hill. T

The excuses she’d been about to offer—New York, Farah’s visit—suddenly seemed transparent. Instead, she told the truth. “I’m afraid it might be awkward, though.” “Awkward! Nonsense. We’re all grownups.” This argument came as a disappointment; Maryam wasn’t sure why. What had she wanted Bitsy to say? A pinch of injury tightened her chest. She said, “I know your father feels I didn’t handle things very well.” “Now, is that in any way relevant to this discussion? We’re talking about a simple little, normal little family get-together,” Bitsy said. “Shoot, we should just shanghai you.” Shanghai. As a verb, it was unfamiliar. Maybe it meant something like “lynch.” Maryam said, “Yes, perhaps you should,” in a tone that must have sounded more bitter than she had intended, because Bitsy said, “Well, forgive me, Maryam. I’m a meddlesome person; I realize that.” Which she was, in fact. But Maryam said, “Oh, no, Bitsy, you’re very kind. You were very sweet to call.” And then, trying to match Bitsy’s energy, “But you haven’t told me what I can do for you! Please, give me a task.” “Not a thing, thanks,” Bitsy said. “I’m getting stronger every day.

Kate turned on her heel and walked out. Before she was halfway across the hall, though, Bunny had jumped up from the couch and come after her. “Are you saying we can’t see each other anymore?” she asked. “He’s just visiting me at my house! We’re not going out on dates or anything.” “The guy must be twenty years old,” Kate told her. “You don’t find anything wrong with that?” “So? I’m fifteen years old. A very mature fifteen.” “Don’t make me laugh,” Kate told her. “You’re just jealous,” Bunny said. She was following Kate through the dining room now. “Just because you have to settle for Pyoder—” “His name is Pyotr,” Kate said through her teeth. “You might as well learn to pronounce it right.” “Well, la-di-da to you, Miss Frilling-Your-rs. At least I didn’t have to rely on my father to find me a boyfriend.” By the time she was saying this, they had reached the kitchen. The two men glanced over at them, surprised. “Your daughter is a jerk,” Bunny told their father. “I beg your pardon?” “She is a snoopy, jealous, meddlesome jerk, and I refuse to—and now look!” Her attention had been snagged by something outside the window. The rest of them turned to see Edward slinking past with his shoulders hunched, veering beneath the redbud tree to cross to his own house. “I hope you’re satisfied,” Bunny told Kate. “Why is it,” Dr. Battista asked Pyotr, “that whenever I’m around women for any length of time, I end up asking, ‘What just happened here?’ ” “That is extremely sexist of you,” Pyotr said sternly. “Don’t blame me,” Dr. Battista said. “I base the observation purely on empirical evidence.

What is involved in appearing to court me?” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You haven’t been courted before? What about the climbing cits and baronets’ sons? They never came up to scratch?” “Many of them did.” She wondered what he’d look like if somebody were to shave off those piratical eyebrows. “They did not bother much with the other part of the business.” “The wooing?” “The nonsense.” “We need the nonsense,” he said. “We need to drive out at the fashionable hour; we need to be seen arm in arm at the social events. I need to call upon you at the proper times with flowers in hand, to spend time with your menfolk when I creditably can. I’ll carry your purchases when you go shopping and be heard begging you to save your waltzes for me.” “There’s a problem,” she said, curiously disappointed to see the flaw in his clever scheme. He was a wonderful dancer; that was just plain fact. And she loved flowers, and loved the greenery and fresh air of Hyde Park. She also liked to shop but generally contented herself with the occasional minor outing with her sisters. And to hear him begging for her waltzes… “What sort of problem can there possibly be? Couples are expected to court in spring. It’s the whole purpose behind the Season.” “If you court me like that, Their Graces will get wind of it. They very likely already know you’ve called on me.” “And this is a problem how?” He wasn’t a patient man, or one apparently plagued with meddlesome parents. “They will start, Mr. Hazlit. They will get their hopes up. They will sigh and hint and quiz my siblings, all in hopes that you will take me off their hands.” “Then they will be disappointed. Parents expect to be disappointed. My sister was a governess, and she has explained this to me.” He looked like he was winding up for a lecture before the Royal Society, so she put a hand on his arm. “I do not like to disappoint Their Graces,” she said quietly. “They have suffered much at the hands of their children.” He blinked at her, his lips pursing as if her sentiments were incomprehensible. “I won’t declare for you,” he said. “If they let their hopes be raised by a few silly gestures, then that is their problem. You have many siblings. Let them fret over the others.” “It isn’t like that.” She cocked her head to study him. Hadn’t he had any parents at all? “I could have seventeen siblings, and Their Graces would still worry about me. You mentioned having sisters. Do you worry less about the one than the other?” “I do not.” He didn’t seem at all pleased with this example. “I worry about them both, incessantly. Excessively, to hear them tell it, but they have no regard for my feelings, else they’d write more than just chatty little…” “Yes?” “Never mind.” Some

Indian Express (Indian Express) - Clip This Article at Location 721 | Added on Sunday, 30 November 2014 20:28:42 Fifth column: Hope and audacity Ministers, high officials, clerks and peons now report for duty on time and are no longer to be seen taking long lunch breaks to soak in winter sunshine in Delhi’s parks. Reform is needed not just in economic matters but in every area of governance. Does the Prime Minister know how hard it is to get a passport? Tavleen Singh | 807 words At the end of six months of the Modi sarkar are we seeing signs that it is confusing efficiency with reform? I ask the question because so far there is no sign of real reform in any area of governance. And, because some of Narendra Modi’s most ardent supporters are now beginning to get worried. Last week I met a man who dedicated a whole year to helping Modi become Prime Minister and he seemed despondent. When I asked how he thought the government was doing, he said he would answer in the words of the management guru Peter Drucker, “There is nothing quite so useless as doing with great efficiency something that should not be done at all.” We can certainly not fault this government on efficiency. Ministers, high officials, clerks and peons now report for duty on time and are no longer to be seen taking long lunch breaks to soak in winter sunshine in Delhi’s parks. The Prime Minister’s Office hums with more noise and activity than we have seen in a decade but, despite this, there are no signs of the policy changes that are vital if we are to see real reform. The Planning Commission has been abolished but there are many, many other leftovers from socialist times that must go. Do we need a Ministry of Information & Broadcasting in an age when the Internet has made propaganda futile? Do we need a meddlesome University Grants Commission? Do we need the government to continue wasting our money on a hopeless airline and badly run hotels? We do not. What we do need is for the government to make policies that will convince investors that India is a safe bet once more. We do not need a new government that simply implements more efficiently bad policies that it inherited from the last government. It was because of those policies that investors fled and the economy stopped growing. Unless this changes through better policies, the jobs that the Prime Minister promises young people at election rallies will not come. So far signals are so mixed that investors continue to shy away. The Finance Minister promises to end tax terrorism but in the next breath orders tax inspectors to go forth in search of black money. Vodafone has been given temporary relief by the courts but the retroactive tax remains valid. And, although we hear that the government has grandiose plans to improve the decrepit transport systems, power stations and ports it inherited, it continues to refuse to pay those who have to build them. The infrastructure industry is owed more than Rs 1.5 lakh continued... crore in government dues and this has crippled major companies. No amount of efficiency in announcing new projects will make a difference unless old dues are cleared. Reform is needed not just in economic matters but in every area of governance. Does the Prime Minister know how hard it is to get a passport? Does he know that a police check is required even if you just want to get a few pages added to your passport? Does he know how hard it is to do routine things like registering property? Does he know that no amount of efficiency will improve healthcare services that are broken? No amount of efficiency will improve educational services that have long been in terminal decline because of bad policies and interfering officials. At the same time, the licence raj that strangles private investment in schools and colleges remains in place. Modi’s popularity with ordinary people has increased since he became Prime Minister, as we saw from his rallies in Kashmir last week, but it will not la

Only one aspect of the Vision resonated sharply throughout his first eight months in office. During the second presidential debate with Al Gore, on October 11, 2000, George W. Bush promised a less interventionist foreign policy than that of the Clinton-Gore administration – one, in keeping with his Responsibility Era, that would encourage self-reliance while curbing its own meddlesome Great Power Impulses. “I am worried,” Bush said then, “about over committing our military around the world. I want to be judicious in its use… I think what we need to do is convince people who live in the lands they live in to build nations. Maybe I’m missing something here. I mean, we’re going to have kind of a nation-building corps from America? Absolutely not. Our military is meant to fight and win war; that’s what its meant to do. And when it gets overextended, moreal drops… I’m going to be judicious as to how I use the military. It needed to be in our vital interest, the mission needs to be clear, and the exit strategy obvious.

...though Leona refused to be a meddlesome old woman, she prayed every day that Kate would know the love of God and a husband, and that she'd have as many children as she wanted.

Quiet and distant, my grandfather was a challenge — and so naturally attracted the meddlesome interest of the flock.

Commenting on the police’s questionable role in the whole case, Tushar Gandhi writes: One of the crucial factors in the success of the murder plot was that the police—who were hampered by Gandhi’s decision not to allow additional security and frisking of his visitors—did not think of placing constables or inspectors from Bombay, Poona or Ahmednagar at Birla House, who would have been able to identify Godse, Apte and Karkare . . . The Congress Government and at least some of the members of the Cabinet were fed up of the interventions of the meddlesome old man. To them, a martyred Mahatma would be easier to live with . . . the way the investigation was carried out, and the lackadaisical approach of the police in trying to protect Gandhi’s life, leads one to believe that the investigation was meant to hide more than it was meant to reveal. The measures taken by the police between 20th and 30th January 1948 were more to ensure the smooth progress of the murderers, than to try and prevent his murder.

Reagan (or, at least, the public’s version of him) was tailor-made for the sociopathic electorate. Never again would the Boomers be told to save, or adjust the thermostat, or define themselves other than by their material possessions, to work on their families, to trust a meddlesome government, to abandon the pursuit of unrestrained individualism, or to undertake an “all-out effort” of any kind. All problems would be resolved by neoliberalism, for once the decks had been cleared of encumbering regulation and the human bilge discharged from the holds of the welfare state, things would take care of themselves: growth, jobs, inflation, consumption, all of it.

Social networks like Facebook seem impelled by a similar aspiration. Through the statistical "discovery" of potential friends, the provision of "Like" buttons and other clickable tokens of affection, and the automated management of many of the time-consuming aspects of personal relations, they seek to streamline the messy process of affiliation. Facebook's founder, Mark Zuckerberg, celebrates all of this as "frictionless sharing"--the removal of conscious effort from socializing. But there's something repugnant about applying the bureaucratic ideals of speed, productivity, and standardization to our relations with others. The most meaningful bonds aren't forged through transactions in a marketplace or other routinized exchanges of data. People aren't notes on a network grid. The bonds require trust and courtesy and sacrifice, all of which, at least to a technocrat's mind, are sources of inefficiency and inconvenience. Removing the friction from social attachments doesn't strengthen them; it weakens them. It makes them more like the attachments between consumers and products--easily formed and just as easily broken. Like meddlesome parents who never let their kids do anything on their own, Google, Facebook, and other makers of personal software end up demeaning and diminishing qualities of character that, at least in the past, have been seen as essential to a full and vigorous life: ingenuity, curiosity, independence, perseverance, daring. It may be that in the future we'll only experience such virtues vicariously, though the exploits of action figures like John Marston in the fantasy worlds we enter through screens.

I say, Lucien, you all right?” He spied his brother, Lawrence, a few feet behind him in the open doorway. Except for the fact he was five years younger, he was a mirror image of Lucien. Anger still boiling deep inside him like a dormant volcano, Lucien now aimed the vase at his meddlesome brother. Lawrence stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “If you break that, mother will be most upset. She spent a fortune getting that back from Shanghai for you. To hear her tell it, she hired an entire caravan of elephants like Hannibal for part of the journey.” With a snarl, he set the vase back down on the cherrywood side table and glowered at his smirking brother. “I thought you were in France.” His brother gave a casual shrug. “I came back with Avery.” “Have you obtained lodgings?” “Not as of yet.” “Then you must stay here,” Lucien replied, but his heart wasn’t in the gesture. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain, not even his family. Was it so bad to want some peace and quiet to sort out the messy tangle of emotions that plagued him? His brother flicked an invisible speck of dust off his coat sleeve. “I’m only here for a few days and I wouldn’t dare to impose, especially since you seem to be having rather heated issues with your décor.” Lawrence was well known for his sarcasm. Lucien had had words, and more than words with him over such remarks when they’d been younger. “Just because we are no longer children doesn’t mean I won’t box your ears.” “You could try.” Lucien swung his fist good-naturedly at his brother, who danced back a step. They laughed, and Lucien found his anger deflated. God bless Lawrence. -Lawrence & Lucien

The best bosses let the workers do their work. They protect their people from red tape, meddlesome executives, nosy visitors, unnecessary meetings, and a host of other insults, intrusions and time wasters. The notion that management ‘buffers’ the core work of the organization from uncertainty and external perturbations is an old theme in organization theory. A good boss takes pride in serving as a human shield, absorbing and deflecting heat from superiors and customers, doing all manner of boring and silly tasks, and battling back against every idiot and slight that makes life unfair or harder than necessary on his or her charges.

meddlesome

I learned early in life that ...No matter how well-intentioned,concerned, loving or even anointed you are, you can not take God's place in peoples' lives,not even your spouse or children...you were never configured to do that! Also, you neither can love people more than God nor be more merciful than Him! Stop being a meddlesome interloper!

So she liked daisies. What other secrets did she have? A most unsettling truth took hold. He wanted to discover them all. And not only was it worth a few minutes of discomfort under the meddlesome aunts’ scrutiny to be with Emily Graham, but he also had a sneaking suspicion she was worth a whole lot more.

They mean well, the lot of them,” Sophie fumed as she lifted a naked, happy Kit from a laundry tub of warm water. “Gah-bu-bu!” “They’re getting as meddlesome as His Grace, leaving me to ride by myself for most of the journey, dodging about so Vim must take me in to dinner, then shuffling around with the subtlety of elephants so he sits beside me, as well.” She rubbed noses with the baby. “The worst part was deciding to spend the night here when Morelands is just a few miles farther down the road, and all without consulting me, of course. And Vim, ever so polite through it all.” “Ba-ba-ba.

Reagan (or, at least, the public’s version of him) was tailor-made for the sociopathic electorate. Never again would the Boomers be told to save, or adjust the thermostat, or define themselves other than by their material possessions, to work on their families, to trust a meddlesome government, to abandon the pursuit of unrestrained individualism, or to undertake an “all-out effort” of any kind. All problems would be resolved by neoliberalism, for once the decks had been cleared of encumbering regulation and the human bilge discharged from the holds of the welfare state, things would take care of themselves: growth, jobs, inflation, consumption, all of it. The

Finding she trusted Jean Armitage’s account considerably more than Pamela Peacock’s, Gemma translated this as, Everyone was smashed on punch and limoncello. Roland was flirting outrageously with Reagan Keating, who didn’t slap him, and Jean Armitage is a meddlesome bitch.

The Runners do not, as a rule, like me, and I do not like them. They consider me a meddlesome nuisance who only exists to make them look like bumbling fools, and I consider them, well, bumbling fools.

You must understand that the meddlesome little cretinoids who run the West always put a stop to great plans and great actions. They’ve ended many promising adventures through their snooping…they’re tattletales, always watching, never sleeping, always whispering. Gallant men, who live under the sign of the lion are stopped before they can act. A different way is necessary.

In the early stages, curiosity can seem frivolous. That’s part of why it gets dismissed. It doesn’t obviously bear immediate fruit. It’s just some annoying kid asking irksome questions. But these meddlesome kids go on to invent fertilizer and dynamite, atom bombs and iPhones.

when attuned to the objectives of the team and the supporters, an objective that transcends self, unencumbered by meddlesome individualistic concerns, you can achieve flow. When reflecting on the power that can be accessed by getting beyond the self, in the moment, it becomes apparent how prohibitive the concept of self is. We are subject to a mass hypnosis and believe that our individual needs are more important and in conflict with our collective needs.

Just imagine dying old and alone and always wondering what would have happened if you had just been brave.

A man adopts civility in order to make a better world for his family. His children, his wife. Even those meddlesome relatives he wishes would go away and leave him in peace.

Indeed, Putin would like nothing more than to see the complete collapse of NATO so he can reconstitute Russia’s lost empire without the meddlesome West standing in his way. Under his leadership, Russia is once again quietly funneling money to extreme political parties in Western Europe on both the left and the right. It seems Putin doesn’t care much about his friends’ politics, so long as they are opposed to the United States and see the world roughly as he does. Besides, Putin has no real politics of his own. He is a kleptocrat and has no philosophy other than the cynical exercise of power.

Particularly in the Global South, trade liberalization has rarely been accompanied by working mechanisms to redistribute its gains to the poor, or to provide meaningful work or retraining for those left unemployed by the consequences of market shifts.20 This is because liberalization is part of a bigger political philosophy – one in which government intervention (even to provide a basic protection for rights) is considered meddlesome and inefficient. This is why, with few exceptions, the era of trade agreements has also been the era of increasing inequality.

Like meddlesome parents who never let their kids do anything on their own, Google, Facebook, and other makers of personal software end up demeaning and diminishing qualities of character that, at least in the past, have been seen as essential to a full and vigorous life: ingenuity, curiosity, independence, perseverance, daring. It may be that in the future we’ll only experience such virtues vicariously, through the exploits of action figures like John Marston in the fantasy worlds we enter through screens.

Give the people good conditions, improve their environment, and all will tend towards the highest type. “Eugenics is simply the meddlesome interference of an arrogant, scientific priestcraft.

Meddlesome,

Simon stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing better than making a maid happy, is there?" "Aye, there most assuredly is." Simon cocked a puzzled brow. "Skewering my meddlesome brother would definitely be better." Simon laughed. "Then I'd best go pack so that I won't be directly in your sight for the next few minutes." "You do that, Simon, and while you're at it, make sure to find your common sense and bring it along as well.

She’s turned my life upside down,” Langley continued. “In short, she’s the most mischievous, meddlesome, maddening female I’ve ever met!” Outside the door, Amelia decided she had heard enough. She rushed off down the hall, thereby missing Langley’s next sentence. “I don’t think I can live without her.” Langley raked a hand through his hair with all the confusion of a man in the thrall of a violent emotion for the first time in his life. Pettigrew smiled sympathetically at his employer. “Good luck, my lord.