No Complaints To Anyone Quotes

How unlucky I am that this should happen to me. But not at all. Perhaps, say how lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened, and I am not afraid of what is about to happen. For the same blow might have stricken anyone, but not many would have absorbed it without capitulation and complaint.

No matter how dysfunctional your background, how broke or broken you are, where you are today, or what anyone else says, YOU MATTER, and your life matters!

Be like a rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds; it stands fast while the churning sea is lulled to sleep at its feet. I hear you say, "How unlucky that this should happen to me!" Not at all! Say instead, "How lucky that I am not broken by what has happened and am not afraid of what is about to happen. The same blow might have struck anyone, but not many would have absorbed it without capitulation or complaint.

God bids you not to commit lechery, that is, not to have sex with any woman except your wife. You ask of her that she should not have sex with anyone except you -- yet you are not willing to observe the same restraint in return. Where you ought to be ahead of your wife in virtue, you collapse under the onset of lechery. ... Complaints are always being made about men's lechery, yet wives do not dare to find fault with their husbands for it. Male lechery is so brazen and so habitual that it is now sanctioned [= permitted], to the extent that men tell their wives that lechery and adultery are legitimate for men but not for women.

All of you, I am sure, have heard many cries about Government interference with business and about "creeping socialism." I should like to remind the gentlemen who make these complaints that if events had been allowed to continue as they were going prior to March 4, 1933, most of them would have no businesses left for the Government or for anyone else to interfere with — and almost surely we would have socialism in this country, real socialism.

And, increasingly, I find myself fixing on that refusal to pull back. Because I don’t care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat. Because, here’s the truth: life is catastrophe. The basic fact of existence—of walking around trying to feed ourselves and find friends and whatever else we do—is catastrophe. Forget all this ridiculous ‘Our Town’ nonsense everyone talks: the miracle of a newborn babe, the joy of one simple blossom, Life You Are Too Wonderful To Grasp, &c. For me—and I’ll keep repeating it doggedly till I die, till I fall over on my ungrateful nihilistic face and am too weak to say it: better never born, than born into this cesspool. Sinkhole of hospital beds, coffins, and broken hearts. No release, no appeal, no “do-overs” to employ a favored phrase of Xandra’s, no way forward but age and loss, and no way out but death. [“Complaints bureau!” I remember Boris grousing as a child, one afternoon at his house when we had got off on the vaguely metaphysical subject of our mothers: why they—angels, goddesses—had to die? while our awful fathers thrived, and boozed, and sprawled, and muddled on, and continued to stumble about and wreak havoc, in seemingly indefatigable health? “They took the wrong ones! Mistake was made! Everything is unfair! Who do we complain to, in this shitty place? Who is in charge here?”] And—maybe it’s ridiculous to go on in this vein, although it doesn’t matter since no one’s ever going to see this—but does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, even the happiest of us, and that we all lose everything that matters in the end—and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it’s possible to play it with a kind of joy?

From invisible girlhood, the Asian American woman will blossom into a fetish object. When she is at last visible—at last desired—she realizes much to her chagrin that this desire for her is treated like a perversion. This is most obvious in porn, where our murky desires are coldly isolated into categories in which white is the default and every other race is a sexual aberration. But the Asian woman is reminded every day that her attractiveness is a perversion, in instances ranging from skin-crawling Tinder messages (“I’d like to try my first Asian woman”) to microaggressions from white friends. I recall a white friend pointing out to me that Jewish men only dated Asian women because they wanted to find women who were the opposite of their pushy mothers. Implied in this tone-deaf complaint was her assumption that Asian women are docile and compliant. Well-meaning friends never failed to warn me, if a white guy was attracted to me, that he probably had an Asian fetish. The result: I distrusted my desirousness. My sexuality was a pathology. If anyone non-Asian liked me, there was something wrong with him.

Back in New York I took full advantage of my status as a native speaker. I ran my mouth to shop clerks and listened in on private conversations, realising I’d gone an entire month without hearing anyone complaint that they were “stressed out”.

In addition, I had the greatest interest in anything connected with politics, but this did not seem to me very significant. On the contrary: in my eyes, this was the self-evident duty of every thinking man, Anyone who failed to understand this lost the right to any criticism or complaint

When we look at other people, we are prone to construct our own ideal images of ourselves, which we then detract from and judge. Imagine, for example, a child who never talks back to his parents, excels in both schoolwork and sports, attends a good university, and joins a large company. There are parents who will compare their child to such an image of an ideal child—which is an impossible fiction—and then be filled with complaints and dissatisfaction. They treat the idealized image as one hundred points, and they gradually subtract from that. This is truly a “judgment” way of thinking. Instead, the parents could refrain from comparing their child to anyone else, see him for who he actually is, and be glad and grateful for his being there. Instead of taking away points from some idealized image, they could start from zero. And if they do that, they should be able to call out to his existence itself.

I can think of only one remedy for this awful state of things—that educated men should make a point of travelling thirdclass and reforming the habits of the people, as also of never letting the railway authorities rest in peace, sending in complaints wherever necessary, never resorting to bribes or any unlawful means for obtaining their own comforts, and never putting up with infringements of rules on the part of anyone concerned.

What do they all say? That will never work. By now, I hope you know what my answer to that line is. Nobody Knows Anything. I only get to write this book once. And I’d feel like I missed an opportunity if I ended this story without giving you some advice. The most powerful step that anyone can take to turn their dreams into reality is a simple one: you just need to start. The only real way to find out if your idea is a good one is to do it. You’ll learn more in one hour of doing something than in a lifetime of thinking about it. So take that step. Build something, make something, test something, sell something. Learn for yourself if your idea is a good one. What happens if your idea doesn’t work? What happens if your test fails, if nobody orders your product or joins your club? What if sales don’t go up and customer complaints don’t go down? What if you get halfway through writing your novel and get writer’s block? What if after dozens of tries – even hundreds of attempts – you still haven’t seen your dream become anything close to real? You have to learn to love the problem, not the solution. That’s how you stay engaged when things take longer than you expected.

At the outset Jason had wondered how he would establish battlefield rapport with women, including those who commanded the western and eastern front lines. He didn’t know whether it would be different from working with men. What he understood quickly was that their mentality as leaders was the same as his. They had faced years of uninterrupted war without complaint and were willing to fight alongside anyone who shared their enemy. They were all grounded in the same warrior ethos.

I can think of only one remedy for this awful state of things—that educated men should make a point of travelling thirdclass and reforming the habits of the people, as also of never letting the railway authorities rest in peace, sending in complaints wherever necessary, never resorting to bribes or any unlawful means for obtaining their own comforts, and never putting up with infringements of rules on the part of anyone concerned. This, I am sure, would bring about considerable improvement.

And the priests looked down into the pit of injustice and they turned their faces away and said, 'Our kingdom is not as the kingdom of this world. Our life on earth is but a pilgrimage. The soul lives on humility and patience,' at the same time screwing the poor from their last centime. They settled down among their treasures and ate and drank with princes and to the starving they said, 'Suffer. Suffer as he suffered on the cross for it is the will of God.' And anyone believes what they hear over and over again, so the poor instead of bread made do with a picture of the bleeding, scourged, and nailed-up Christ and prayed to that image of their helplessness. And the priests said, 'Raise your hands to heaven and bend your knees and bear your suffering without complaint. Pray for those that torture you, for prayer and blessing are the only stairways which you can climb to paradise.' And so they chained down the poor in their ignorance so that they wouldn't stand up and fight their bosses who ruled in the name of the lie of divine right.

„My apologies, Lo – Rags the Thief,” Shining Talon replied, „but the trees do not speak to me.” „Yeah, trees don't speak to anyone.” „They should,” Shining Talon insisted. „They used to.” Rags had to bite. „What did they say? 'Fuck, there's a worm in my roots, tickles like a sonofawhore?' 'Wish that sparrow would stop taking a shit on me?'” „Yes,” Shining Talon admitted, „those were the most common complaints. But they phrased it so beautifully. Through their language, you could understand a little more of the living world.” Rags gave up talking to him after that.

Hardly anyone files a complaint, because the last thing most people want to do after experiencing a frightening and intrusive encounter with the police is show up at the police station where the officer works and attract more attention to themselves. For good reason, many people—especially poor people of color—fear police harassment, retaliation, and abuse. After having your car torn apart by the police in a futile search for drugs, or being forced to lie spread-eagled on the pavement while the police search you and interrogate you for no reason at all, how much confidence do you have in law enforcement?

while my dad fielded feedback—complaints, really—that he’d then pass on to the elected alderman who controlled the ward. When somebody had problems with garbage pickup or snow plowing or was irritated by a pothole, my dad was there to listen. His purpose was to help people feel cared for by the Democrats—and to vote accordingly when elections rolled around. To my dismay, he never rushed anyone along. Time, as far as my father was concerned, was a gift you gave to other people. He clucked approvingly at pictures of cute grandkids, patiently endured gossip and long litanies of health woes, and nodded knowingly at stories about how money was tight. He hugged the old ladies as we finally left their houses, assuring them he’d do his best to be useful—to get the fixable issues fixed.

It hit us all of a sudden, one night after one of these mouth-marathons, that anyone who has a complaint ought to have to qualify and be certified first. I mean, here’s somebody who thinks it’s just awful about the dirty water and the foul air. What is he doing about the solid waste he creates in his own house? What kind of poison-factory is he driving, and does he keep it running in such a way as to minimize the junk it puts into the air? Does he support government people he knows are corrupt, or by apathy just let them go on corrupting? The more we heard this kind of crap from these hobby gripers, the more we felt that a man should qualify to complain, just as he has to qualify to drive a bus or cut an appendix or run a ferryboat. Or vote. And if we were going to be honest about it, we had to look at ourselves. Point a finger at anybody and you’ll find you have three fingers pointing at you.

The Saudi royals were embarrassed by complaints about bin Laden and angry about his antiroyal agitation. Yet Prince Turki and other senior Saudi princes had trouble believing that bin Laden was much of a threat to anyone. They saw him as a misguided rich kid, the black sheep of a prestigious family, a self-important and immature man who would likely be persuaded as he aged to find some sort of peaceful accommodation with his homeland. But bin Laden was stubborn.

That economics has a considerable conceptual apparatus with an appropriate terminology can not be a serious ground for complaint. Economic phenomena, ideas, instruments of analysis exist. They require names. Education in economics is, in considerable measure, an introduction to this terminology and to the ideas that it denotes. Anyone who has difficulties with the ideas should complete his education or, following an exceedingly well-beaten path, leave the subject alone. It is sometimes said that the economist has a special obligation to make himself understood because his subject is of such great and popular importance. By this rule the nuclear physicist would have to speak in monosyllables.

It is certainly tragic to see the failure of the most meritorious efforts of parents to bring up their children, of young men to build a career, or of an explorer or scientist pursuing a brilliant idea. And we will protest against such a fate although we do not know anyone who is to blame for it, or any way in which such disappointments can be avoided. It is no different with regard to the general feeling of injustice about the distribution of material goods in a society of free men. Though we are in this case less ready to admit it, our complaints about the outcome of the market as unjust do not really assert that somebody has been unjust; and there is no answer to the question who has been unjust. Society has simply become the new deity to which we complain and clamour for redress if it does not fulfill the expectations it has created.

This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary; but for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable condition, verging on hypochondria. He had become so completely absorbed in himself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not only his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon him. He had given up attending to matters of practical importance; he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any landlady could do had a real terror for him. But to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to her trivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering demands for payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate, to lie—no, rather than that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.

Because I don’t care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat. Because, here’s the truth: life is catastrophe. The basic fact of existence—of walking around trying to feed ourselves and find friends and whatever else we do—is catastrophe. Forget all this ridiculous ‘Our Town’ nonsense everyone talks: the miracle of a newborn babe, the joy of one simple blossom, Life You Are Too Wonderful To Grasp, &c. For me—and I’ll keep repeating it doggedly till I die, till I fall over on my ungrateful nihilistic face and am too weak to say it: better never born, than born into this cesspool. Sinkhole of hospital beds, coffins, and broken hearts. No release, no appeal, no “do-overs” to employ a favored phrase of Xandra’s, no way forward but age and loss, and no way out but death. [“Complaints bureau!” I remember Boris grousing as a child, one afternoon at his house when we had got off on the vaguely metaphysical subject of our mothers: why they—angels, goddesses—had to die? while our awful fathers thrived, and boozed, and sprawled, and muddled on, and continued to stumble about and wreak havoc, in seemingly indefatigable health? “They took the wrong ones! Mistake was made! Everything is unfair! Who do we complain to, in this shitty place? Who is in charge here?”] And—maybe it’s ridiculous to go on in this vein, although it doesn’t matter since no one’s ever going to see this—but does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, even the happiest of us, and that we all lose everything that matters in the end—and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it’s possible to play it with a kind of joy? To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I’ve been staring too long. But then again, to paraphrase Boris, maybe I see a pattern because it’s there.

Heracles was the strongest man who ever lived. No human, and almost no immortal creature, ever subdued him physically. With uncomplaining patience he bore the trials and catastrophes that were heaped upon him in his turbulent lifetime. With his strength came, as we have seen, a clumsiness which, allied to his apocalyptic bursts of temper, could cause death or injury to anyone who got in the way. Where others were cunning and clever, he was direct and simple. Where they planned ahead he blundered in, swinging his club and roaring like a bull. Mostly these shortcomings were more endearing than alienating. He was not, as the duping Atlas and the manipulation of Hades showed, entirely without that quality of sense, gumption and practical imagination that the Greeks called 'nous'. He possessed saving graces that more than made up for his exasperating faults. His sympathy for others and willingness to help those in distress was bottomless, as were the sorrow and shame that overcame him when he made mistakes and people got hurt. He proved himself prepared to sacrifice his own happiness for years at a stretch in order to make amends for the (usually unintentional) harm he caused. His childishness, therefore, was offset by a childlike lack of guile or pretence as well as a quality that is often overlooked when we catalogue the virtues: fortitude -the capacity to endure without complaint. For all his life he was persecuted, plagued and tormented by a cruel, malicious and remorseless deity pursuing a vendetta which punished him for a crime for which he could be in no way held responsible- his birth. No labour was more Heraclean than the labour of being Heracles. In his uncomplaining life of pain and persistence, in his compassion and desire to do the right thing, he showed, as the American classicist and mythographer Edith Hamilton put it, 'greatness of soul'. Heracles may not have possessed the pert agility and charm of Perseus and Bellerophon, the intellect of Oedipus, the talent for leadership of Jason or the wit and imagination of Theseus, but he had a feeling heart that was stronger and warmer than any of theirs.

My father..." Daisy began, then bit her lip. This man was her father's business partner. It was not appropriate to run to Westcliff with complaints. But the patience in his expression encouraged her to continue. "He called me a parasite," she said, keeping her voice soft to avoid disturbing Lillian. "He asked me to tell him how the world has benefitted from my existence, or what I had done for anyone." "And your reply?" Westcliff asked. "I... couldn't think of anything to say." Westcliff's coffee-colored eyes were unfathomable. He made a gesture for her to approach the settee, and she obeyed. To her astonishment, he took her hand in his and gripped it warmly. The usually circumspect earl had never done such a thing before. "Daisy," Westcliff said gently, "most lives are not distinguished by great achievements. They are measured by an infinite number of small ones. Each time you do a kindness for someone or bring a smile to his face, it gives your life meaning. Never doubt your value, little friend. The world would be a dismal place without Daisy Bowman in it.

Nobody ever talked about what a struggle this all was. I could see why women used to die in childbirth. They didn't catch some kind of microbe, or even hemorrhage. They just gave up. They knew that if they didn't die, they'd be going through it again the next year, and the next. I couldn't understand how a woman might just stop trying, like a tired swimmer, let her head go under, the water fill her lungs. I slowly massaged Yvonne's neck, her shoulders, I wouldn't let her go under. She sucked ice through threadbare white terry. If my mother were here, she'd have made Melinda meek cough up the drugs, sure enough. "Mamacita, ay," Yvonne wailed. I didn't know why she would call her mother. She hated her mother. She hadn't seen her in six years, since the day she locked Yvonne and her brother and sisters in their apartment in Burbank to go out and party, and never came back. Yvonne said she let her boyfriends run a train on her when she was eleven. I didn't even know what that meant. Gang bang, she said. And still she called out, Mama. It wasn't just Yvonne. All down the ward, they called for their mothers. ... I held onto Yvonne's hands, and I imagined my mother, seventeen years ago, giving birth to me. Did she call for her mother?...I thought of her mother, the one picture I had, the little I knew. Karin Thorvald, who may or may not have been a distant relation of King Olaf of Norway, classical actress and drunk, who could recite Shakespeare by heart while feeding the chickens and who drowned in the cow pond when my mother was thirteen. I couldn't imagine her calling out for anyone. But then I realized, they didn't mean their own mothers. Not those weak women, those victims. Drug addicts, shopaholics, cookie bakers. They didn't mean the women who let them down, who failed to help them into womanhood, women who let their boyfriends run a train on them. Bingers and purgers, women smiling into mirrors, women in girdles, women in barstools. Not those women with their complaints and their magazines, controlling women, women who asked, what's in it for me? Not the women who watched TV while they made dinner, women who dyed their hair blond behind closed doors trying to look twenty-three. They didn't mean the mothers washing dishes wishing they'd never married, the ones in the ER, saying they fell down the stairs, not the ones in prison saying loneliness is the human condition, get used to it. They wanted the real mother, the blood mother, the great womb, mother of a fierce compassion, a woman large enough to hold all the pain, to carry it away. What we needed was someone who bled, someone deep and rich as a field, a wide-hipped mother, awesome, immense, women like huge soft couches, mothers coursing with blood, mothers big enough, wide enough, for us to hide in, to sink down to the bottom of, mothers who would breathe for is when we could not breathe anymore, who would fight for us, who would kill for us, die for us. Yvonne was sitting up, holding her breath, eyes bulging out. It was the thing she should not do. "Breathe," I said in her ear. "Please, Yvonne, try." She tried to breathe, a couple of shallow inhalations, but it hurt too much. She flopped back on the narrow bed, too tired to go on. All she could do was grip my hand and cry. And I thought of the way the baby was linked to her, as she was linked to her mother, and her mother, all the way back, insider and inside, knit into a chain of disaster that brought her to this bed, this day. And not only her. I wondered what my own inheritance was going to be. "I wish I was dead," Yvonne said into the pillowcase with the flowers I'd brought from home. The baby came four hours later. A girl, born 5:32 PM.

She paused at the threshold of the room and looked back at the pair on the settee with a troubled frown. Lillian had fallen fast asleep, her head centered heavily on Westcliff’s chest. As the earl met Daisy’s unhappy gaze, one of his brows raised in silent inquiry. “My father…” Daisy began, then bit her lip. This man was her father’s business partner. It was not appropriate to run to Westcliff with complaints. But the patience in his expression encouraged her to continue. “He called me a parasite,” she said, keeping her voice soft to avoid disturbing Lillian. “He asked me to tell him how the world has benefitted from my existence, or what I had ever done for anyone.” “And your reply?” Westcliff asked. “I…couldn’t think of anything to say.” Westcliff’s coffee-colored eyes were unfathomable. He made a gesture for her to approach the settee, and she obeyed. To her astonishment, he took her hand in his and gripped it warmly. The usually circumspect earl had never done such a thing before. “Daisy,” Westcliff said gently, “most lives are not distinguished by great achievements. They are measured by an infinite number of small ones. Each time you do a kindness for someone or bring a smile to his face, it gives your life meaning. Never doubt your value, little friend. The world would be a dismal place without Daisy Bowman in it.

She reported that a member of Churchill’s inner circle, whom she did not identify, “has been to me and told me there is a danger of your being generally disliked by your colleagues & subordinates because of your rough sarcastic & overbearing manner.” She assured her husband that the source of this complaint was “a devoted friend,” with no ax to grind. Churchill’s private secretaries, she wrote, seemed to have resolved simply to take it and shrug it off. “Higher up, if an idea is suggested (say at a conference) you are supposed to be so contemptuous that presently no ideas, good or bad, will be forthcoming.” Hearing this shocked and hurt her, she said, “because in all these years I have been accustomed to all those who have worked with & under you, loving you.” Seeking to explain the degradation in Churchill’s behavior, the devoted friend had said, “No doubt it’s the strain.” But it was not just the friend’s observations that drove Clementine to write her letter. “My Darling Winston,” she began, “—I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner; & you are not so kind as you used to be.” She cautioned that in possessing the power to give orders and to “sack anyone & everyone,” he was obliged to maintain a high standard of behavior—to “combine urbanity, kindness and if possible Olympic calm.” She reminded him that in the past he had been fond of quoting a French maxim, “On ne règne sur les âmes que par le calme,” meaning, essentially, “One leads by calm.” She

The spectrum of hatred against “irregardless” might be unmatched. Everyone claims to hate the word “moist,” but the dislike is general and jokey: ew, gross, “moist,” bleh. People’s hatred of “irregardless” is specific and vehemently serious: it cannot mean “without regard to” but must mean “with regard to,” so it’s nonsensical and shouldn’t exist; it’s a double negative and therefore not allowable by anyone with sense and judgment; it’s a redundant blend of “irrespective” and “regardless,” and we don’t need it; it is illogical and therefore not a word; it is a hallmark of uneducated speech and shouldn’t be entered into the dictionary. All of these complaints point in one direction: “irregardless” is evidence that English is going to hell, and you, Merriam-Webster, are skipping down the easy path, merrily swinging the handbasket. The truth is I felt for the complainant. “Irregardless” was just wrong, I thought—I knew this deep down at a molecular level, and no dictionary entry was going to convince me otherwise. But sharing my personal linguistic beef with the world was not part of the job, so I buttoned my yap and answered the correspondence. Yes, it’s entered, I said, but please note that it’s marked “nonstandard” (which is a fancy way of saying it’s not accepted by most educated speakers of English) and we have a very long usage paragraph after the one-word definition that explains you should use “regardless” instead. We are duty-bound to record the language as it is used, I concluded, gritting my teeth and mentally sprinkling scare quotes throughout the entire sentence.

It was because I always did everything that was asked of me without a word of complaint. It was because I was so convenient in that sense that he didn’t bother to do anything about someone else pushing their work onto me. (...) After that incident, I started to realize there were two kinds of people: those who knew how the world worked and pushed everything they didn’t want to do on others and those who happily accepted being on the receiving end of the former’s actions. When I entered 6th grade—no, when I grew old enough to understand my surroundings, I started to realize that I was one of the latter. As I did, all my memories started to flood back, one-by-one. That time, that time, and that time too… so that’s what was happening. (...) It was because I never talked back. That in itself was fine, really. None of the things I did were unmanageable. It wasn’t like I considered me doing those kinds of stuff some sort of loss, and I didn’t hate them for constantly taking it easy. It’s just that imagining myself being used as a convenient tool made me sad. I thought back. At that time, my discovery made me so sad, and it was getting too painful to keep silent about it, so I told my older sister. Even if you think that fellow human beings should help each other, others won’t necessarily think of you as being worth it. It’s not like I wanted anyone to appreciate me. I just never imagined that people thought of me as such an idiot. I won’t stay after school anymore. As long as I’m around others, they’ll ask me to do something. They probably think I’m an idiot because I always did what they asked without resisting. I don’t care about what they think. I just hate being used. Of course, if I have to do it I will. I won’t complain at all. But, if it’s not necessary… If it turns out it’s someone else’s responsibility… If I don’t have to do it, I won’t. I absolutely won’t.

I have seen and heard of expression of discontent in the public journals at the result of the expedition. I do not know how far this feeling extends in the army. My brother officers have been too kind to report it, and so far the troops have been too generous to exhibit it. It is fair, however, to suppose that it does exist, and success is so necessary to us that nothing should be risked to secure it. I therefore, in all sincerity, request Your Excellency to take measures to supply my place. I do this with the more earnestness because no one is more aware than myself of my inability for the duties of my position. I cannot even accomplish what I myself desire. How can I fulfill the expectations of others? In addition I sensibly feel the growing failure of my bodily strength. I have not yet recovered from the attack I experienced the past spring. I am becoming more and more incapable of exertion, and am thus prevented from making the personal examinations and giving the personal supervision to the operations in the field which I feel to be necessary. I am so dull that in making use of the eyes of others I am frequently misled. Everything, therefore, points to the advantages to be derived from a new commander, and I the more anxiously urge the matter upon Your Excellency from my belief that a younger and abler man than myself can readily be obtained.… I have no complaints to make of anyone but myself. I have received nothing but kindness from those above me, and the most considerate attention from my comrades and companions at arms. To Your Excellency I am specially indebted for uniform kindness and consideration. You have done everything in your power to aid me in the work committed to my charge, without omitting anything to promote the general welfare. I pray that your efforts may at length be crowned with success, and that you may long live to enjoy the thanks of a grateful people. With sentiments of great esteem, I am very respectfully and truly yours, R. E. LEE, General

First up was Nancy’s pervasive sense of guilt. She felt self-conscious about going beyond her family’s expectations, and feared being seen as “too big for her britches,” a typical complaint in her family about anyone who was successful. As a result, Nancy was constantly trying to prove she didn’t think she was better than anyone else. This made it almost impossible for her to say no.

Chorus: The Kings are our dear fathers Under whose care we live in peace The Kings are our dear fathers Under whose care we live in peace Marat: And the children repeated the lesson they believed it As anyone believes What they hear over and over again And over and over again the priests said Our love embraces all mankind Of every colour race and creed Our love is international universal We are all brothers every one And the priests looked down into the pit of injustice And they turned their faces away and said Our Kingdom is not as the kingdom of this world Our life on earth is out a pilgrimage The soul lives on humility and patience At the same time screwing from the poor their last centime They settled down among their treasures And ate and drank with princes And to the starving they said Suffer Suffer as he suffered on the cross For it is the will of God And anyone believes what they hear over and over again So the poor instead of bread made do with a picture Of the bleeding scourged and nailed-up Christ And prayed to that image of their helplessness And the priests said Raise your hands to heaven bend your knees And bear your suffering without complaint For prayer and blessing are the only stairways Which you can climb to Paradise And so they chained down the poor in their ignorance So that they wouldn't stand up and fight their bosses Who ruled in the name of the lie of divine right Chorus: Amen

If you have a complaint about someone, then you become the accuser and the other becomes the accused. Never complain about anyone. He who brings a complaint is at fault, you should understand that first, then comes next, the talk about the accused.

Neither of these men cared remotely about “maximizing profit” in the short-term in the way a modern business person in a city would; they both valued their good names and their reputations for integrity far more highly than making a quick buck. If you said you would do a thing, you’d better do it. My grandfather and father would go out of their way to do good deeds for their neighbours because goodwill counted for a lot. If anyone bought a sheep from us and had the slightest complaint about it, we took it back and repaid them or replaced it with another. And most people did the same.

out and started again? Well, she hated cold tea, so she tipped it onto the grass, holding her breath. No complaint, so she began again. ‘Milk?’ Hannah studied him from under her hair. ‘Yes, please, just a small amount. Lapsang is a very delicate tea and too much milk kills the flavour.’ ‘I’ll need lots of milk then.’ Balancing the cup, saucer and spoon carefully, she offered it. ‘Thank you, Miss Hollis.’ ‘Hannah.’ She poured her own tea, wondering if it would taste like the ashtray it smelled like. With cup only in hand, she leaned against the back of the wooden chair then threw a leg over the side arm. ‘So, Miss Hollis, what brings you to Cornwall?’ ‘Call me Hannah. Miss Hollis makes me sound like some old school marm.’ ‘Is that a problem? Most old school marms, as you call them, of my acquaintance are delightful people.’ ‘Sure, but boring I bet.’ ‘Not at all.’ ‘Right. Not to you, maybe.’ Hannah braved a sip and winced. ‘Back to the question: what has brought you to Cornwall?’ ‘Bloody bad luck,’ she said, frowning at her tea. ‘No need to swear,’ he said. ‘I didn’t swear.’ ‘You did,’ he said. ‘What? Are you talking about bloody?’ she asked. ‘Yes. It is a curse.’ ‘No,’ she said. ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, maybe in the dark ages it was, but it isn’t now.’ She began to wonder if she’d walked through a time machine when she’d come through the gate earlier. It was a nice one, though. The orchard was beautifully laid out and the table and chairs were a lovely weathered blue. ‘Who advised you of this?’ he asked. Hannah sat up and put her empty cup on the table, not quite sure when she had drunk it. ‘Look, it’s a word that’s used every day.’ ‘Yes, but does that change its meaning?’ he asked. ‘No, but no one takes it like that any more.’ ‘Who is no one?’ he asked. ‘I mean no one who hasn’t lived in the dark ages.’ She looked at his wrinkled skin and tried to guess his age. ‘You mean anyone over the age of, say, sixty?’ he suggested. ‘Yeah, sort of.’ ‘Well, as I fit that category, could you refrain from using it?’ ‘Yeah, I guess. If it bothers you that much.’ ‘Thank you. Would you be kind enough to pour more tea?’ Old Tom leaned back into his chair. The sun wasn’t coming through the east window when Maddie opened her eyes for the second time that day; instead, she found Mark standing at the end of the bed with a tray. She blinked. When she last peered at the bedside clock, it had been eight a.m. and she’d thought that if she slept for another hour, she would begin to feel human. What a wasted day. What had Hannah been up to? Had she come into the room and seen her like this? Well, it was a lesson in what not to do in life. The end of last night, no, this morning, was more than fuzzy; in fact, she didn’t remember coming up to her room. The last clear memory was saying goodbye to Tamsin and Anthony. She and Mark had gone back into the kitchen and had another glass of wine or two. ‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘It’s not that late?’ ‘Almost time for a drink.’ He smiled. She winced. ‘Oh, don’t.’ ‘Would a bit of tea and toast help?’ ‘It might.’ Maddie eased herself onto her elbows and then slipped back down again. She was only wearing knickers. Mark’s eyes widened. ‘Could you hand me that shirt on the end of the bed?’ she asked. ‘Certainly.’ She wrestled with it under the duvet. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t find your pyjamas last night.’ ‘What?’ Maddie

Us police like our CCTV. It makes our job easier, and our only complaint about the surveillance state is that it’s not nearly as seamless as everyone seems to think it is. Just ask anyone who’s had to sit through five hundred hours of grainy video on the off-chance someone in a hoody looked the wrong way at the right moment.

To assure Sabbath observance in the Connecticut colony, the General Court required in 1668 that constables in every town “make search after all offenders.” The ruling specified that anyone who “shall keep out of the meeting house during the public worship unnecessarily, there being convenient room in the house,” would pay five shillings for each offense or sit in the stocks one hour. Not everyone in Lyme complied. Two years later the county court in New London heard “the complaint of the constable of Lyme concerning Mr. and Mrs. Ely, their profanation of the Sabbath and also contempt of authority.” The clerk summoned Richard Ely (1610–1684) together with his wife and “ye Negro servant Moses” to appear at the next court session in June 1670 to answer the charges.

Thus, the people I scold, play and irritate are the people that are close to my heart. And I am not the same person for other people, If I have to consider someone as close then i should have talked with them at least a little while. And naming it in different manner, shows your dirty mind not mine. And even if there is something between me and the people that are close to my heart, what is the issue here? did they make complaints about me? or did i harass them? You have right to ask me question only if it is against law or immorality. The color of the dress, what I eat, What I watch is my personal, and As i control my subconscious mind it may affect people but to avoid that just consider me as Indian citizen that is all. Then whatever I do will be electronically recorded for marketing as bangalore or Tamilnadu or wherever I go, the things are same. And coming to talking with me, Nobody can reach near me without I allow you to - Yes I said the truth. It is not that I am silent and I can not talk. I can talk anytime with anyone but I choose people and my subconscious mind choose people. Wherever I go and eat or shopping or any events I will be silent for a while so that my subconscious works there, and that will stop unnecessary people. This is my secret. Even where i study or work also I allow only certain people to be close to me although I talk with almost all in academic institutions or working places. Take my Ug college, or Nalanda or verzeo, I was sharing a lot with only certain people, I chose them and they are close to me always, you think in any manner I don't even care. Kalasalingam, Nalanda and verzeo are always very close to my heart than anyone else because these three places have witnessed me directly, and they know a lot about me than anyone else. My parents and personal friends cycle is my personal. But for society whatever I wish to contribute, I will contribute only through science but for science I need knowledge on each and every aspects of life. So that is it. If you do not understand still then you are dump.

Thus, the people I scold, play and irritate are the people that are close to my heart. And I am not the same person for other people, If I have to consider someone as close then i should have talked with them at least a little while. And naming it in different manner, shows your dirty mind not mine. And even if there is something between me and the people that are close to my heart, what is the issue here? did they make complaints about me? or did i harass them? You have right to ask me question only if it is against law or immorality. The color of the dress, what I eat, What I watch is my personal, and As i control my subconscious mind it may affect people but to avoid that just consider me as Indian citizen that is all. Then whatever I do will be electronically recorded for marketing as bangalore or Tamilnadu or wherever I go, the things are same. And coming to talking with me, Nobody can reach near me without I allow you to - Yes I said the truth. It is not that I am silent and I can not talk, I can talk with anyone and anytime but I allow only certain people wherever I go because my subconscious work even when I am awake. And animals and plants or non living things even if they hurt me, I forgive them because they do not have sixth sense but if it is human that hurt me or even thinking about hurting my soul then I will reply my souls secret code to you and you will die. So kindly do not play with me around unless I talk or allow you to. My subconsious is not from my birth but also knowledge from Vedas and Great granpa Ganapathy Swamy Naidu who wrote palm leaves about souls and medicine, and this is my seventh sense, I even can manifest nature If I want to, Kindly remember. So do not play with me around hereafter at all whomever it is.

Thus, the people I scold, play and irritate are the people that are close to my heart. And I am not the same person for other people, If I have to consider someone as close then i should have talked with them at least a little while. And naming it in different manner, shows your dirty mind not mine. And even if there is something between me and the people that are close to my heart, what is the issue here? did they make complaints about me? or did i harass them? You have right to ask me question only if it is against law or immorality. The color of the dress, what I eat, What I watch is my personal, and As i control my subconscious mind it may affect people but to avoid that just consider me as Indian citizen that is all. Then whatever I do will be electronically recorded for marketing as bangalore or Tamilnadu or wherever I go, the things are same. And coming to talking with me, Nobody can reach near me without I allow you to - Yes I said the truth. It is not that I am silent and I can not talk, I can talk with anyone and anytime but I allow only certain people wherever I go because my subconscious work even when I am awake. And animals and plants or non living things even if they hurt me, I forgive them because they do not have sixth sense but if it is human that hurt me or even thinking about hurting my soul then I will reply my souls secret code to you and you will die. So kindly do not play with me around unless I talk or allow you to. My subconscious is not only from my birth but also knowledge from Vedas and Great Grandpa Ganapathy Swamy Naidu who wrote palm leaves about souls and medicine, and this is my seventh sense, I even can manifest nature If I want to, Kindly remember. So do not play with me around hereafter at all whomever it is.

I do not fight. I have never punched anyone. I have stolen books once and once some paperclips, without really knowing why. I almost killed three passengers in my car by looking for a cassette in the glove compartment while I was going one-eighty on the highway. I wanted to write a book entitled 'In the car', made up of remarks recorded while driving. I have never filed a complaint with the police.

In America today, anyone over fifty lives in dread of the Big A—Alzheimer’s disease. Small social gatherings (dinner, cocktail parties, etc.) take on the atmosphere of a segment from NPR’s weekly quiz show “Wait Wait . . . Don’t Tell Me.” That’s the one where guests vie with each other in intense competitions to be the first to come up with the names of such things as the actor playing a role in the latest mini-series everybody is binging on. Almost inevitably, someone will pull out a cellphone to check the accuracy of the person who responded first. Quick, quicker, quickest lest others suspect you of coming down with the initial symptoms of the Big A. Although Alzheimer’s disease is not nearly as common as many people fear, nevertheless worries about perceived memory lapses are increasingly expressed to friends. They are also the most common complaint that persons over fifty-five years of age bring to their doctors. Such memory concerns are often unjustified and arouse needless anxiety. This widespread anxiety has helped create a national pre-occupation with memory and signs of memory failure. One of the reasons for this panic is the confusion in many people’s minds about how we form memories.

What’s happening with you, Beck? You keep disappearing on me lately.” I shrugged. Out of anyone, Rhys was the person I shared the most with. He might’ve been an asshole, but he was a loyal one. “A shrug? That’s all I get? Where did you wander off to this weekend? I know you didn’t go home since I wasn’t treated to a rundown of Gretchen’s latest procedures and how big of a douche Josh is.” I shot him a sharp look. “I’ll be sure to keep my repetitive complaints to myself.” “You misunderstand me, you overly sensitive twat. You complaining about your parents is like a comfort meal to me. Knowing Josh and Gretchen are up to their same old antics means the world is still on its axis, even if it feels like it’s falling apart.

Therefore, God's chosen ones, holy and loved, put on heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, 13 accepting one another and forgiving one another if anyone has a complaint against another. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you must also forgive. 14 Above all, put on love — the perfect bond of unity. 15 And let the peace of the Messiah, to which you were also called in one body, control your hearts. Be thankful. 16 Let the message about the Messiah dwell richly among you, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, and singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, with gratitude in your hearts to God. 17 And whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.

No need for psychiatric contortions; no shock waves; no need to conjure up deep-seated anxieties and conflicts. It is combat exhaustion—instead of something ominous and mysterious. It is, quite simply, just having had too much. Of course, in more technical terms, combat exhaustion can be thought of as an abnormal reaction to the stress of combat, its manifestation being unique to the person who develops it, channeled into a specific form by the person’s own individual personality and background experience. But it is only one of many abnormal reactions. A soldier who has had too much might choose to surrender or convulsively go forward. He might panic and get killed; he could get himself wounded or wound himself; he might even go to the chaplain or decide on the relative safety of a stockade. He might—if he’s so disposed—develop psychosomatic complaints, get angry, or, in some cases, become totally unreasonable. He can become neurotic, begin to shake, refuse to move, or go completely hysterical. He might even become grossly psychotic—hold imaginary rifles, hear voices, or see his grandmother in every chopper that flies by. “You will be treating these men, and the treatment is simple. For most it will just be rest. In more severe cases, those soldiers whose functioning is beginning to be impaired, who can’t rest, you will medically put to sleep. They are given enough thorazine to put them out and left alone for a day or two. They too, though, like the troopers who are merely resting, stay near the aid station. The more disturbed patients, those troopers who for the moment may be truly disoriented, who have completely stopped functioning, who for any number of reasons appear to need more than a short rest, are sent to an evacuation hospital. But they are never lost to their units. Their group identity is never tampered with, and they know they will be going back. And they do go back. And they are accepted by their units. Believe me, the casual, yet efficient way it is all handled, the official emphasis on health rather than disease, and the lack of mumbo-jumbo have taken the stigma out of having had too much. To the men, it is just something that happens; and more important, it is something they realize can happen to anyone. It is handled that way and it is presented that way. “Gentlemen, it works.

Optimism bias – A cognitive bias that causes people to believe that they are less at risk of a negative outcome, or more likely to enjoy a positive outcome, than other people in a given situation. Overly specific answer – A verbal deceptive behavior in which the person’s response is too narrow and technical at one extreme, or too detailed and exhaustive at the other. Perception qualifier – A verbal deceptive behavior employed to enhance credibility. Examples: “frankly,” “to be perfectly honest,” “candidly.” Presumptive question – A question that presumes something to be the case. Process/procedural complaint – A verbal deceptive behavior in which a person takes issue with the proceedings. It may be a delaying tactic or an attempt to steer the proceedings down a different path. Projection of blame – An element of a monologue that is designed to encourage a person to share truthful information by suggesting that the blame for the matter at hand does not rest exclusively with him. Psychological alibi – An attempt to deceive through the use of selective memory or ostensibly limited knowledge. Psychological entrenchment – The condition in which a person feels compelled to dig his heels in the ground and stick to his story, making the information collection process especially difficult. Question prologue – A short, narrative explanation preceding a question that is designed to prime the information pump, so that if the person is on the fence about whether or not he’s going to give you something, it will help to influence him to come down on your side of the fence. Rationalization – An element of

the Accuser’s final complaint. He took a confident breath and embarked on his concluding strategy: blame shifting. The Accuser said, “If I am to stomach this dodgy ad hoc definition of ‘death’ as eventual mortality, and the excessive punishment of death and exile for the primal pair in the Garden, that is one thing. But to then shift that blame onto the rest of the human race, that is the most unfair, unjust, unwarranted, unreasonable, unjustifiable attribution of guilt anyone has ever seen in the history of the heavens and earth.” Enoch thought the Accuser’s rhetoric reached its shrill climax of excess in this catalogue of allegations and complaints. The Accuser continued, “What kind of a just god blames innocent people for the guilt of others? What kind of a loving god punishes the entire rest of the human race for what two moronic idiots did in the Garden?” He stood there with dramatic pause. There it was again, thought Enoch. The endless refrain against a ‘loving god.’ But now the Accuser was adding a new slogan for a bit of variety with ‘what kind of a just god’ etcetera, etcetera. The Accuser concluded, “The prosecution rests its case.” He sat down by the other Watchers.

Guilt is the complaint of my conscience against my self-satisfied existence. Guilt is as necessary for moral health as is pain for physical well being. Both guilt and pain tell me something has gone wrong. Anyone no longer capable of feeling guilty is spiritually sick.

The Russian war should have been the most popular war of modern times: it was a war of good sense, for real interests, for the tranquillity and security of all; it was purely pacific and conservative. It was a war for a great cause, the end of uncertainties and the beginning of security. A new horizon and new labors were opening out, full of well-being and prosperity for all. The European system was already founded; all that remained was to organize it. Satisfied on these great points and with tranquility everywhere, I too should have had my Congress and my Holy Alliance. Those ideas were stolen from me. In that reunion of great sovereigns we should have discussed our interests like one family, and have rendered account to the peoples as clerk to master. Europe would in this way soon have been, in fact, but one people, and anyone who traveled anywhere would have found himself always in the common fatherland. I should have demanded the freedom of all navigable rivers for everybody, that the seas should be common to all, and that the great standing armies should be reduced henceforth to mere guards for the sovereigns. On returning to France, to the bosom of the great, strong, magnificent, peaceful, and glorious fatherland, I should have proclaimed her frontiers immutable; all future wars purely defensive, all aggrandizement antinational. I should have associated my son in the Empire; my dictatorship would have been finished, and his constitutional reign would have begun. Paris would have been the capital of the world, and the French the envy of the nations! My leisure then, and my old age, would have been devoted, in company with the Empress and during the royal apprenticeship of my son, to leisurely visiting, with our own horses and like a true country couple, every corner of the Empire, receiving complaints, redressing wrongs, and scattering public buildings and benefactions on all sides and everywhere. Napoleon, predestined by Providence for the gloomy role of executioner of the peoples, assured himself that the aim of his actions had been the peoples’ welfare and that he could control the fate of millions and by the employment of power confer benefactions.

These are the “problem children” who are periodically put through the torture of the teachers’ complaints to their parents, and through the helpless despair of seeing their parents side with the torturers. Some of these children are violently rebellious; others seem outwardly timid and passive, but are outside the reach of any pressure or influence. Whatever their particular forms of bearing the unbearable, what they all have in common is the inability to fit in, i.e., to accept the intellectual authority of the pack. (Not all “misfits” belong to this category; there are children who reject the pack for entirely different reasons, such as frustrated powerlust.) The nonconformists are heroic little martyrs who are given no credit by anyone—not even by themselves, since they cannot identify the nature of their battle. They do not have the conceptual knowledge or the introspective skill to grasp that they are unable and unwilling to accept anything without understanding it, and that they are holding to the sovereignty of their own judgment against the terrifying pressure of everyone around them.

According to Mark, it was a custom of the Roman governor during the feast of Passover to release one prisoner to the Jews, anyone for whom they asked. When Pilate asks the crowd which prisoner they would like to have released—Jesus, the preacher and traitor to Rome, or bar Abbas, the insurrectionist and murderer—the crowd demands the release of the insurrectionist and the crucifixion of the preacher. "Why?" Pilate asks, pained at the thought of having to put an innocent Jewish peasant to death. “What evil has he done?” But the crowd shouts all the louder for Jesus’s death. "Crucify him! Crucify him!" (Mark 15:1–20). The scene is absolutely nonsensical. Never mind that outside the gospels there exists not a shred of historical evidence for any such Passover custom on the part of any Roman governor. What is truly beyond belief is the portrayal of Pontius Pilate—a man renowned for his loathing of the Jews, his total disregard for Jewish rituals and customs, and his penchant for absentmindedly signing so many execution orders that a formal complaint was lodged against him in Rome—spending even a moment of his time pondering the fate of yet another Jewish rabble-rouser.

If there are differences and divisions, let them be healed by counsel, by careful words of loving confrontation that bring repentance in the heart. May none of God’s people have to know what it is like to have someone they worship with turn on them with wounding words. If you have a complaint against anyone, you must, for the sake of your soul and the sake of gospel unity and the sake of Christ, go to them. May there be no gossip, no hidden anger or bitterness. “May our lives be all covered with that harvest of righteousness that Jesus Christ produces to the glory of God.” (Philippians 1:11) (Moffatt 1922).

I was raised with strong values, and had spent much of my life to that point seeing my character tested. I was viciously bullied in middle school. My father died when I was a teenager. As a lawyer, I worked eighteen-hour days immersed in acrimony. As a cub reporter, I was targeted by a violent stalker. Once I became a well-known news anchor, I accepted without complaint the scrutiny that comes with that role. I’d also navigated my way through plenty of sexism from powerful men. So I suppose I was as prepared as anyone could be to spend the 2016 election being targeted by the likely Republican nominee. Yet still, the chaos Trump unleashed was of a completely different order than anything I’d encountered before—than anything any journalist has encountered at the hands of a presidential candidate in the history of modern American politics. This is the story of how I found myself on that debate stage, and how asking that question led to one of the toughest years of my life.

Whatever his disappointments, Hamilton, forty, must have left Philadelphia with an immense feeling of accomplishment. The Whiskey Rebellion had been suppressed, the country's finances flourished, and the investigation into his affairs had ended with a ringing exoneration. He had prevailed in almost every major program he had sponsored--whether the bank, assumption, funding the public debt, the tax system, the Customs Service, or the Coast Guard--despite years of complaints and bitter smears. John Quincy Adams later stated that his financial system "operated like enchantment for the restoration of public credit." Bankrupt when Hamilton took office, the United States now enjoyed a credit rating equal to that of any European nation. He had laid the groundwork for both liberal democracy and capitalism and helped to transform the role of the president from passive administrator to active policy maker, creating the institutional scaffolding for America's future emergence as a great power. He had demonstrated the creative uses of government and helped to weld the states irreversibly into one nation. He had also defended Washington's administration more brilliantly that anyone else, articulating its constitutional underpinnings and enunciating key tenets of foreign policy. "We look in vain for a man who, in an equal space of time, has produced such direct and lasting effects upon our institutions and history," Henry Cabot Lodge was to contend. Hamilton's achievements were never matched because he was present at the government's inception, when he could draw freely on a blank slate. If Washington was the father of the country and Madison the father of the Constitution, then Alexander Hamilton was surely the father of the American government.

people. Police usually release the innocent on the street—often without a ticket, citation, or even an apology—so their stories are rarely heard in court. Hardly anyone files a complaint, because the last thing most people want to do after experiencing a frightening and intrusive encounter with the police is show up at the police station where the officer works and attract more attention to themselves. For good reason, many people—especially poor people of color—fear police harassment, retaliation, and abuse. After having your car torn apart by the police in a futile search for drugs, or being forced to lie spread-eagled on the pavement while the police search you and interrogate you for no reason at all, how much confidence do you have in law enforcement? Do you expect to get a fair hearing? Those who try to find an attorney to represent them in a lawsuit often learn that unless they have broken bones (and no criminal record), private attorneys are unlikely to be interested in their case.

People might ask, What have you not received—husband's love, respect in your father-in-law's house, freedom? I must admit I have no complaints. If I say I am sad because I could not discuss the poem of Rabindranath which came out in the last issue of Prabasi nor read out a poem to anyone for one full month, will anyone sympathise with me or weep over my fanciful sorrow? People will laugh at me. Yet, I need so much what others don't want at all. There are some persons who are never satiated with worldly goods, whose aspirations never end, who are continuously searching for some fine gossamer uncatchable things that have no worldly value. Who fashioned our minds in this way, so that we have become so different from so many? Rabindranath Thakur, who else? We who have seen this world through his songs and those who have not are strangers to each other. Our worlds do not move in the same rhythm.

It would be much scarier, even dangerous, to give birth in a place where no one knew sign language. The Deaf community was replete with hospital horror stories, particularly of the labor and delivery variety. Her mother’s friend Lu had been wheeled into the OR without anyone telling her that she was about to have a cesarean; a woman down in Lexington had died from a blood clot after nursing staff ignored the complaints of pain she’d scrawled on a napkin.

If hyperempathy syndrome were a more common complaint, people couldn’t do such things. They could kill if they had to, and bear the pain of it or be destroyed by it. But if everyone could feel everyone else’s pain, who would torture? Who would cause anyone unnecessary pain? I’ve never thought of my problem as something that might do some good before, but the way things are, I think it would help. I wish I could give it to people. Failing that, I wish I could find other people who have it, and live among them. A biological conscience is better than no conscience at all.

The truth is this: They don’t have a traffic problem! They have a conversion problem. When you really think about it, this traffic complaint makes zero sense. How can you have a traffic problem when digital marketing has made traffic more abundant then it’s ever been? The real issue here is not in buying traffic. Anyone with an internet connection and a credit card can do that. The

Fausto-Sterling later said she was writing ‘with tongue firmly in cheek’. And yet anyone who has taken gender studies in the past two decades will almost certainly have been assigned her essay, and it is taken inexplicably seriously. So entrenched is the ‘five sexes’ claim that Googling ‘how many sexes are there’ turned up ‘five’ as the top answer until the search algorithm was tweaked in response to complaints.

Being a true leader, as opposed to a competent manager, requires a willingness to get your hands dirty. I have said before that I do not expect anyone to do a job I cannot do myself. While this is clearly unrealistic as a company grows and expands, the perception of being willing to step in and assist must remain. The weight of leadership includes staying calm while others panic and coming up with solutions rather than joining the chorus of complaints. The Covid-19 pandemic has certainly helped distinguish the leaders from the managers. Leaders are prepared to take responsibility when things go wrong, even if the true responsibility lies with someone else. Leaders are visible. Leaders have a vision, even if it is only short term. I don’t really believe in long-term planning. I make up the rules of the game based on one-year plans. This means I always retain visibility and control. Five years is too long a time to have any certainty that the objectives will be met. Leadership is not a popularity contest, but it also should not inspire fear. Leaders earn respect and loyalty, recognising that these take a long time to earn and a second to lose. A leader is not scared of collaboration and listening to the opinions of others, as well as accepting help when it’s needed. Leadership is not a quality that you are born with, it is something that you learn over time. I was not a leader in my Coronation days, and I am the first to admit that I made a lot of mistakes. Even at African Harvest, as much as I achieved financial success and tried different techniques to earn respect, I never truly managed to deal with the unruly investment team. But, having built on years of experience, by the time I hit my stride at Sygnia, I was a leader. Within any organisation of substantial size, there is space for more than one leader, whether they head up divisions or the organisation itself. There are several leaders across Sygnia weaving the fabric of our success. I am no longer the sole leader, having passed the baton on to others in pursuit of my own dreams. To quote the Harvard Business Review, ‘The competencies most frequently required for success at the top of any sizable business include strategic orientation, market insight, results orientation, customer impact, collaboration and influence, organisational development, team leadership, and change leadership.’ That is what I looked for in my successor, and that is what I found in David. I am confident that all the leaders I have groomed are more than capable of taking the company forwards.

Those of us who are hurt tend to hurt others in an attempt to take out our pain elsewhere, probably looking for our misery to have company. It’s not fair—not to them, nor to us. The gray has made it hard to be my friend. That’s a very painful line to type. I have no control over it. I have had public outbursts, some of them violent. I have called friends, bitching incessantly about anything and anyone, feeling that the world is against me. I have railed with complaints for endless hours about things that, looking back, are incredibly inconsequential. I’ve also gotten pissed at friends over things that I have built up to be a big deal, when in fact they had very little to do with me.

Madame Lorraine was a rich French woman who lived in an old mansion, which she inherited from her husband. The family had already had many possessions, however, they were ruined in the Revolution. For defending the monarchy, they lost their titles, lands and servants. Madame Lorraine's husband, the old Earl, died in the Reign of Terror, as did her children. The wife, however, had hidden the jewelry at the beginning of the revolution and had left in secret for Switzerland. After the restoration, she returned to France, but with few resources she had, she bought a house in Paris. She complained of loneliness and adopted a little orphan, named Juliette, who she used as a servant. When the girl complained about being overworked, as she had to take care of the entire house alone, her stepmother told her: “your complaints hurt me, you see, I lost everything and I only have you, your mother didn't want you, but I I adopted you and took care of you and you don’t even appreciate that.” The girl, then, victim of emotional blackmail, got used to serving, without complaining. The problem is that every day more and more was demanded – the girl never reached perfection, said Madame Lorraine: “look at the silverware, look at the floor, look at the walls, you will never be able to get married”. However, Madame Lorraine did not tell the girl that perfection is never achieved: it is just a resource to dominate the poor in spirit, who see in the light of their own craft a hope of transcendence. Another thing that Madame Lorraine had not taught the girl – even if the Revolution had taught humanity: that they were free. The girl then grew older and became an object of exploitation every day, her arms becoming weaker, her mind increasingly taken over by obedience. One day, the girl went to the market in the square, and hardly talked to anyone – Madame Lorraine told her that everyone wanted to abuse her and that she shouldn't trust anyone. That day, however, she was exhausted and stopped at a farmer's stand selling tomatoes and said to her: “young man, what's your name, I always see you running around here and you never talk to anyone”. She decided to talk to him: “I'm the old widow's daughter, she says that everyone wants to exploit me, that I shouldn't trust strangers”. The salesman, already aware of the girl's situation from the stories that were circulating in the village, said to her: “Isn't it just the opposite, girl, maybe you haven't learned a lie all your life and now you're trying harder and harder to keep this lie as if it were the truth – see, God made everyone free.” The girl then quickly returned to the house, but doubt had entered her heart and there she began to take root and grow. Until, one day, the old lady released the drop that would overflow her body and said to her: “Well, Juliette, you don't do anything right, look how my dresses are, you didn't sew them perfectly”. The girl then got up, looked the vixen in the eyes and said: “if it’s not good, do it yourself” and left. It is said that she married the farmer in the sale and, from that day on, she was the best wife in the world. Not because she did everything with great care, with an almost divine perfection, that she was modest or because she had freed herself from the shrew who exploited her, but simply because she recognized the value of freedom itself.

…my Cirri is a good cat," the cook was saying sharply, "and I won't hear a word otherwise, do you hear? Complaining about him doing his job too well, that's what you're doing, if you ask me." "I have had complaints," Master Fitch managed to get in. "Complaints, mistress. Half the guests-" "I won't hear of it. I just won't hear of it. If they want to complain about my cat, let them do the cooking. My poor old cat, who's just doing his job, and me, we'll go somewhere where we're appreciated, see if we don't." She untied her apron and started to lift it over her head. "No!" Master Fitch yelped, and leaped to stop her. They danced in a circle with the cook trying to take her apron off and the innkeeper trying to put it back on her. "No, Sara," he panted. "There's no need for this. No need, I say! What would I do without you? Cirri's a fine cat. An excellent cat. He's the best cat in Baerlon. If anyone else complains, I'll tell them to be thankful the cat is doing his job. Yes, thankful. You mustn't go. Sara? Sara!" The cook stopped their circling and managed to snatch her apron free of him. "All right, then. All right.

anyone complained, she would give them their money back, but, thus far, having sold many thousands of Banksys, Picassos, Lowrys, Hirsts and Emins, not a single complaint has arisen, other than the time a delivery man threw a Kandinsky over someone’s garden wall. Full refund.

FSAD is the ladies’ edition of ED (erectile dysfunction). It is distinct from FOD (female orgasmic disorder) and HSDD (hypoactive sexual desire disorder, or low libido).* Confusingly, there is also female sexual dysfunction, or FSD, but this is simply the catch-all term for anyone who has one—or a combination—of these conditions. Lack of desire (HSDD) is the most common of women’s sexual complaints, and we will get to this later. (Monkeys will be involved. Do not change the channel.)

The sight of Milim flying through the air, carrying captured dragons in her arms, must’ve given anyone who saw her quite a shock. Apparently, we’d received complaints about it the first two times, but people got used to it from the third time onward. I guess our town’s residents just accepted it as normal.

He learned how to talk to anyone, how to find common ground. He learned how to be a vessel for people’s worries, their complaints, and he learned that he’d better not have any worries or complaints of his own. He learned how to be friendly to women without crossing a line, he knew how to make them feel beautiful without being a sleaze, and he learned how to walk those same women back when they crossed the line, without insulting them, without embarrassing them. He learned to hide his shock at some of the things they said to him, these perfectly normal-seeming women, these women in their nearly identical faux leather jackets and their wedges, their hair in banana curls like they were all heading to some pageant for middle-aged women, the things that came out of their mouths when they had too much to drink or if they’d been wronged by their boyfriends or husbands.

No wonder the poor girl ran away. Can you imagine facing a life with that man at such an early age? How old is he? To her he must seem ancient. He's a man, for heaven's sake, not a boy. He's tough and probably cruel, and evidently he knows more about every subject under the sun than anyone alive.” "How old do you think I am, Alexandria?" Aidan asked softly. "I have lived over eight hundred years now. You are irrevocably bound to me. Is it such a terrible fate?" For a moment there was silence. Then she was smiling at him. "Ask me again in a hundred years. I'll tell you then." His eyes burned a liquid gold, molten, sexy. "Go home, cara mia. I will finish my work here and join you." "I brought the car," she said. "When my Volkswagen wouldn't start, I took the little sporty-looking thing that no one ever uses. Stefan said it would be all right." "I knew, and you did not hear a complaint. There is nowhere you go and nothing you do that is not known to me. We are one, piccola." He ruffled her hair as if she was a child because his body was starting to make demands, and a vampire's remains were but a few yards away. "Drive home, and I will meet you there.

Cadfael refrained from elaborating on the profit FitzHamon expected for his benevolence. It was never worth arguing with Jerome, who in any case knew as well as anyone that the silver lilies and the rent of one farm were no free gift. But Brother Oswald said grievingly: “I wish he had directed his charity better. Surely these are beautiful things, a delight to the eyes, but well sold, they could have provided money enough to buy the means of keeping my poorest petitioners alive through the winter, some of whom will surely die for the want of them.” Brother Jerome was scandalised. “Has he not given them to Our Lady herself?” he lamented indignantly. “Beware of the sin of those apostles who cried out with the same complaint against the woman who brought the pot of spikenard, and poured it over the Saviour’s feet. Remember Our Lord’s reproof to them, that they should let her alone, for she had done well!” “Our Lord was acknowledging a well-meant impulse of devotion,” said Brother Oswald with spirit, “He did not say it was well advised! “She hath done what she could” is what he said. He never said that with a little thought she might not have done better. What use would it have been to wound the giver, after the thing was done? Spilled oil of spikenard could hardly be recovered.

Theism and materialism, so indifferent when taken retrospectively, point, when we take them prospectively, to wholly different outlooks of experience. For, according to the theory of mechanical evolution, the laws of redistribution of matter and motion, tho they are certainly to thank for all the good hours which our organisms have ever yielded us and for all the ideals which our minds now frame, are yet fatally certain to undo their work again, and to redissolve everything that they have once evolved. You all know the picture of the last state of the universe which evolutionary science foresees. I cannot state it better than in Mr. Balfour's words: That is the sting of it, that in the vast driftings of the cosmic weather, tho many a jeweled shore appears, and many an enchanted cloud-bank floats away, long lingering ere it be dissolved—even as our world now lingers, for our joy-yet when these transient products are gone, nothing, absolutely NOTHING remains, of represent those particular qualities, those elements of preciousness which they may have enshrined. Dead and gone are they, gone utterly from the very sphere and room of being. Without an echo; without a memory; without an influence on aught that may come after, to make it care for similar ideals. This utter final wreck and tragedy is of the essence of scientific materialism as at present understood. The lower and not the higher forces are the eternal forces, or the last surviving forces within the only cycle of evolution which we can definitely see. Mr. Spencer believes this as much as anyone; so why should he argue with us as if we were making silly aesthetic objections to the 'grossness' of 'matter and motion,' the principles of his philosophy, when what really dismays us is the disconsolateness of its ulterior practical results? No the true objection to materialism is not positive but negative. It would be farcical at this day to make complaint of it for what it IS for 'grossness.' Grossness is what grossness DOES—we now know THAT. We make complaint of it, on the contrary, for what it is NOT—not a permanent warrant for our more ideal interests, not a fulfiller of our remotest hopes. The notion of God, on the other hand, however inferior it may be in clearness to those mathematical notions so current in mechanical philosophy, has at least this practical superiority over them, that it guarantees an ideal order that shall be permanently preserved. A world with a God in it to say the last word, may indeed burn up or freeze, but we then think of him as still mindful of the old ideals and sure to bring them elsewhere to fruition; so that, where he is, tragedy is only provisional and partial, and shipwreck and dissolution not the absolutely final things. This need of an eternal moral order is one of the deepest needs of our breast. And those poets, like Dante and Wordsworth, who live on the conviction of such an order, owe to that fact the extraordinary tonic and consoling power of their verse. Here then, in these different emotional and practical appeals, in these adjustments of our concrete attitudes of hope and expectation, and all the delicate consequences which their differences entail, lie the real meanings of materialism and spiritualism—not in hair-splitting abstractions about matter's inner essence, or about the metaphysical attributes of God. Materialism means simply the denial that the moral order is eternal, and the cutting off of ultimate hopes; spiritualism means the affirmation of an eternal moral order and the letting loose of hope. Surely here is an issue genuine enough, for anyone who feels it; and, as long as men are men, it will yield matter for a serious philosophic debate.

People in general, and the intelligentsia in particular, are extremely arrogant, egotistic animals, considering themselves smarter than anyone else in the world, and certainly smarter than their governments. I can think of no occasion on which the intelligentsia admitted that it had been wrong, especially when it came to disputes with the lawful authority. The reason for this is probably the intelligentsia’s belief that its real abilities remain unwanted. Terrible. After all, they are the elite, and that means that they should rule the world or, at least, rule people’s minds. But life, that unfair judge, has condemned them to more humble pursuits: teaching children the alphabet, curing our aches and pains, studying bacteria through a microscope, being bored in provincial courtrooms, or giving communion to parishioners and listening to their endless complaints about the injustice of life. And all around, out in the big world, completely different people make important decisions that determine the fate of mankind. Moreover, those people are not brighter, better educated, or morally worthy. How can one accept that? So a member of the intelligentsia cannot simply force himself to do his job without contrivances and pretensions. He cannot just teach children to read and write—no, he has to “raise future generations”; he cannot just prescribe pills for a patient and ease his suffering—no, he needs to concern himself with the health of all mankind. A priest, meanwhile, is convinced that God Himself has put him in the pulpit for the salvation of one and all.

The complaint of God that hearts drift far away from Him, must be addressed by each and every man, woman, and child in every age and generation. The people in exile refused to repent and give their hearts entirely to God. Lip service to God, adherence to the commandments out of fear, and rote knowledge of spiritual things didn't work in Isaiah's time. Neither did it work in Jesus' time. And it won't work today either. God wants your heart. Only you can give your heart to Him. He has given each human being free will. He won't force anyone to love Him. He only asks and invites. He gives everything and waits for each person's individual response. Mary said yest to God, even when she didn't fully understand His plan. Jesus said yes to the Father, knowing the cost he would pay to purchase our salvation. What should you do?

The complaint of God that hearts drift far away from Him, must be addressed by each and every man, woman, and child in every age and generation. The people in exile refused to repent and give their hearts entirely to God. Lip service to God, adherence to the commandments out of fear, and rote knowledge of spiritual things didn't work in Isaiah's time. Neither did it work in Jesus' time. And it won't work today either. God wants your heart. Only you can five your heart to Him. He has given each human being free will. He won't force anyone to love Him. He only asks and invites. He gives everything and waits for each person's individual response. Mary said yes to God, even when she didn't fully understand His plan. Jesus said yes to the Father, knowing the cost He would pay to purchase our salvation. What should you do?

Let me stay with you, Ash." Ash couldn't breathe as he understood what she was asking. What she needed. And for the first time in eternity, he was willing to bleed in order to give her life. "Are you sure?" She nodded. He brushed his hair aside and tilted his neck for her. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the pain of her bite. For the hated sensation of her breath on his neck while she fed. Tory paused as she felt him go rigid. It took her a second to realize why. Ash couldn't stand to have anyone breathe on his neck and yet there he sat, offering himself to her without complaint of comment. In that moment she loved him all the more. And with her newfound senses, she knew his neck wasn't the only pace she could feed from ... Ash opened his eyes as she moved away from him. Frowning, he watched as she dipped down and bit into his inner thigh. he sucked his breath in sharply as a wave of desire blinded him and hardened his cock which was only a few inches from her mouth. But greater than that was the shock that she hadn't grabbed his hair and hurt him while she fed from his neck. She was being gentle and considerate, and when she looked up at him, her eyes matched his. That deep swirling silver that he hated so much was beautiful on her. They were bound together now. His powers. His blood. They were hers too. But even so, he wanted her as she'd been. Kissing her lips, he turned her yes back to the brown color that had stolen his heart the first time she'd looked around the room in nervous panic. This was the woman he loved. The one he couldn't live without.

Please forgive me for inconveniencing you, Mr. Winterborne. I don’t intend to stay long.” “Does anyone know you’re here?” he asked curtly. “No.” “Speak your piece, then, and make it fast.” “Very well. I--” “But if it has anything to do with Lady Helen,” he interrupted, “then leave now. She can come to me herself if there’s something that needs to be discussed.” “I’m afraid Helen can’t go anywhere at the moment. She’s been in bed all day, ill with a nervous condition.” His eyes changed, some unfathomable emotion spangling the dark depths. “A nervous condition,” he repeated, his voice iced with scorn. “That seems a common complaint among aristocratic ladies. Someday I’d like to know what makes you all so nervous.

Please forgive me for inconveniencing you, Mr. Winterborne. I don’t intend to stay long.” “Does anyone know you’re here?” he asked curtly. “No.” “Speak your piece, then, and make it fast.” “Very well. I--” “But if it has anything to do with Lady Helen,” he interrupted, “then leave now. She can come to me herself if there’s something that needs to be discussed.” “I’m afraid Helen can’t go anywhere at the moment. She’s been in bed all day, ill with a nervous condition.” His eyes changed, some unfathomable emotion spangling the dark depths. “A nervous condition,” he repeated, his voice iced with scorn. “That seems a common complaint among aristocratic ladies. Someday I’d like to know what makes you all so nervous.” Kathleen would have expected a show of sympathy or a few words of concern for the woman he was betrothed to. “I’m afraid you are the cause of Helen’s distress,” she said bluntly. “Your visit yesterday put her in a state.” Winterborne was silent, his eyes black and piercing. “She told me only a little about what happened,” Kathleen continued. “But it’s clear that there is much you don’t understand about Helen. My late husband’s parents kept all three of their daughters very secluded. More than was good for them. As a result, all three are quite young for their age. Helen is one-and-twenty, but she hasn’t had the same experiences, or seasoning, as other girls her age. She knows nothing of the world outside Eversby Priory. Everything is new to her. Everything. The only men she has ever associated with have been a handful of close relations, the servants, and the occasional visitor to the estate. Most of what she knows about men has been from books and fairy tales.” “No one can be that sheltered,” Winterborne said flatly. “Not in your world. But at an estate like Eversby Priory, it’s entirely possible.” Kathleen paused. “In my opinion, it’s too soon for Helen to marry anyone, but when she does…she will need a husband with a placid temperament. One who will allow her to develop at her own pace.” “And you assume I wouldn’t,” he said rather than asked. “I think you will command and govern a wife just as you do everything else. I don’t believe you would ever harm her physically, but you’ll whittle her to fit your life, and make her exceedingly unhappy. This environment--London, the crowds, the department store--is so ill suited to her nature that she would wither like a transplanted orchid. I’m afraid I can’t support the idea of marriage for you and Helen.” Pausing, she took a long breath before saying, “I believe it’s in her best interest for the engagement to be broken.

3. Time Not spending enough time at home or with your partner is another major cause of a fight. You are always busy at the office. You never go out with me anywhere. You are always on your phone when you come home. We never do anything together. All of these are complaints one partner may have with the other which can easily start a fight. In almost all relationships, there is one person who wants to spend time with their partner and when they feel that their partner lacks a similar interest in them, it can lead to frustration. Thoughts like, “He/she doesn’t like me anymore,” can stir in one’s mind, adding to the aggravation. Some fights can also be about how partners choose to spend their time together. One partner might want to go for a movie whereas the other partner might want to go to the game. One might want to go hiking whereas others might want to go spend the weekend with their family. Instead of fighting over how you two want to spend 24 hours of the day, join forces and dedicate a “together time” for every day or the weekend. The goal shouldn’t be to prioritize one’s interests over the others but rather finding a middle ground. Do things you both enjoy doing, such as partying or going out for dinners.

When I went to Aiden’s bed that night, and every night afterward because being with him made me feel better, he welcomed me without a word or expression of complaint. I didn’t feel like talking, and I’d gone to the only person in the world who would understand better than anyone what had happened to someone I loved.

Damian, who do you admire?’ I said, ‘St Roch, sir.’ The others stopped talking. ‘Who does he play for?’ ‘No one, sir. He’s a saint.’ The others went back to football. ‘He caught the plague and hid in the woods so he wouldn’t infect anyone, and a dog came and fed him every day. Then he started to do miraculous cures and people came to see him – hundreds of people – in his hut in the woods. He was so worried about saying the wrong thing to someone that he didn’t say a word for the last ten years of his life.’ ‘ We could do with a few like him in this class. Thank you, Damian.’ ‘ He’s the patron saint of plague, cholera and skin complaints. While alive, he performed many wonders.’ ‘Well, you learn something new.’ He was looking for someone else now, but I was enjoying being excellent. Catherine of Alexandria (4th century) came to mind. ‘They wanted her to marry a king, but she said she was married to Christ. So, they tried to crush her on a big wooden wheel, but it shattered into a thousand splinters – huge sharp splinters – which flew into the crowd, killing and blinding many bystanders.’ ‘ That’s a bit harsh. Collateral damage, eh? Well, thank you, Damian.’ By now everyone had stopped debating players versus managers. They were all listening to me. ‘After that they chopped her head off. Which did kill her, but instead of blood, milk came spurting out of her neck. That was one of her wonders.’ ‘Thank you, Damian.’ ‘She’s the patron saint of nurses, fireworks, wheel-makers and the town of Dunstable (Bedfordshire). The Catherine wheel is named after her. She’s a virgin martyr. There are other great virgin martyrs. For instance, St Sexburga of Ely (670– 700).’ Everyone started laughing. Everyone always laughs at that name. They probably laughed at it in 670– 700 too. ‘Sexburga was Queen of Kent. She had four sisters, who all became saints. They were called—’ Before I could say Ethelburga and Withburga, Mr Quinn said, ‘Damian, I did say thank you.’ He actually said thank you three times. If that doesn’t make me excellent, I don’t know what does. I was also an artistic inspiration, as nearly all the boys painted pictures of the collateral damage at the execution of St Catherine. There were a lot of fatal flying splinters and milk spurting out of necks. Jake painted Wayne Rooney, but he was the only one.

The next day, she flew back to Moscow. If anyone loved long-distance flights, it was Nora. She loved it when you found yourself nowhere at all—in a sort of abstract space and an indeterminate, vacillating time, when, all of a sudden, all obligations, all promises cease. Everything is put on hold—telephone calls, the mail, requests, offers, complaints—they all stop short, and you hover, you fly, you soar between heaven and earth, between earth and the moon, between the earth and the sun. You fall out of your ordinary system of coordinates. You fly … as Tengiz, my soulmate, had; the only one I knew who had burst through all the boundaries of this world alive, and had learned to inhabit another world—the world of shadows … Tengiz … Love beyond touch, love outside of time.

Dear all, Hello to everyone, now I am seated in ergonomic chair in my office, this blog is generally written for every single guy who has complaint against his divine, but has anyone ponder on it, why a person faces crisis in his life? some guys always blame on god for their pathetic condition, in reality they are behind their chaos, as far as I am concerned improper thinking and poor decision making downgrade a person to marsh, especially we can see its example in investment , number of guys spend their money but some of them succumb loss and pour their frustration on god or mentor, I would love to share it with everyone that lump some investment and unaware about ongoing market trends are two basic reasons that blocks the profit of a guy, so I have personal rede to every guy that before investment everyone should go through previous record of market and mull over their strategy of capital investment, if you have any problem for making your investment plan or totally perplexed to spend your hard earn, you should consult with investment consultant, before opting your mentor you should follow your brain not marketing gimmick, because marketing gimmick only tempts the crowd and after making fool to their target audience they skedaddle from market, so friends beware from show off, always use your brain. If you have any problem regarding to your investment strategy, feel free to log on forexnx.com It will your favor to give me chance to serve you in this dog eats dog market. Your satisfaction is our success Warm regards Pooja singh

Our Lord’s complaint against the church at Ephesus is “you have abandoned the love you had at first.” Literally translated, the text reads: “You have abandoned your love, the first.” Emphasis is placed on the adjective first, so the love they abandoned refers to their love as it was first expressed at the beginning of their life together as a church body. Jesus doesn’t say, ‘You have no love.” He says, “You have abandoned the love you had at first.” Their love was not what it used to be. While they still had some measure of love because they were, for the most part, true Christians and enduring hardship for his “name’s sake” (Rev. 2:3), they no longer possessed the kind of love they had in their early years as a church. They still loved the Lord, but not like they did at first. They still loved one another, but not like before. Their love for Christ and for one another had once motivated all they did. It brought joy, creativity, freshness, spontaneity, and energy to their life and work. But now their energy source was depleted. Their work had become mundane, mechanical, and routine, and their lives the picture of self-satisfaction. Instead of their love abounding, it had been lacking. Instead of being motivated by love from the heart, their works had become perfunctory. Even certain “works,” which sprang from their former love, vanished. For this, Jesus rebukes them and calls them to do those works again (Rev. 2:5). The object of their lost love is not stated. The text does not say love for Christ or love for fellow believers. It is best, then, to understand Jesus to mean Christian love in general, which would include love for God, love for one another in the church, and love for the lost. According to our Lord, love for God and neighbor are inseparable companions (Mark 12:29-31; Luke 10:27). It is impossible to love God and not love his people or to love his people and not love God (1 John 4:7-5:3). Jesus uses strong words in his complaint against the Ephesians. Jesus squarely places the responsibility at their feet when he says, “you have abandoned” or “given up”3 the love they once had. They can’t blame anyone else for this loss. They have had every advantage provided by years of good teaching, access to almost all of the New Testament Scriptures, and the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit. No wonder Christ expresses extreme displeasure with the situation in Ephesus. Their loss of love is their fault. They have failed to “keep” themselves in the love of God (Jude 21). They must now face this fact and respond to Christ’s criticism and counsel.

We must not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another” (Gal 5:26). “With patience, accepting one another in love” (Eph 4:2). “Be kind and compassionate to one another” (Eph 4:32a). “Forgiving one another” (Eph 4:32b). “Speaking to one another in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs” (Eph 5:19). “Submitting to one another in the fear of Christ” (Eph 5:21). “In humility consider others as more important than yourselves” (Phil 2:3). “Do not lie to one another” (Col 3:9). “Accepting one another” (Col 3:13). “Forgiving one another if anyone has a complaint against another” (Col 3:13).

Hysterical I’m going off the deep end anyone want anything? I’m in the market for some deep, cleansing screams A few meditative complaints A mantra or two made up entirely of curse words Do they make a “Rage Spiral” scented essential oil? How about a “Worst Case Scenario” flavored herbal tea? Sounds delicious and insane pour me a double I crank up my “Unhinged Hits” playlist and relax into my hissy fit If anyone needs me for the next 2 hours I’ll be just down the road losing my mind

To the obvious objection that the most cursory glance at human society showed some people to be happy while others were unhappy, Franklin rejoined that appearances deceived. “When we see riches, grandeur and a cheerful countenance, we easily imagine happiness accompanies them, when oftentimes ’tis quite otherwise; nor is a constantly sorrowful look, attended with continual complaints, an infallible indication of unhappiness.” Having disposed of happiness and unhappiness, Franklin attacked the notion of the immortality of the soul. He identified the soul with consciousness and the ability to treat ideas absorbed by the senses (“The soul is a mere power or faculty of contemplating on and comparing those ideas”), and then argued that when consciousness ended, the soul ceased to exist. Perhaps the soul in some way attached itself to a new body and new ideas. “But that will in no way concern us who are now living, for the identity will be lost; it is no longer that same self but a new being.” If temporal happiness was an illusion, and eternal happiness an impossibility, why should anyone strive for anything? Merely to avoid pain. The soul of an infant did not achieve consciousness (“it is as if it were not”) until it felt pain. Thus is the machine set on work; this is life. We are first moved by pain, and the whole succeeding course of our lives is but one continued series of action with a view to be freed from it. As fast as we have excluded one uneasiness another appears; otherwise the motion would cease. If a continual weight is not applied, the clock will stop. And as soon as the avenues of uneasiness to the soul are choked up or cut off, we are dead, we think and act no more. Like most such attempts to prove the unprovable, Franklin’s effort revealed more about the author than about the subject. Indeed, it revealed more about the author than he cared to have revealed. Although his employer, Palmer, was impressed by the ingenuity of Franklin’s argumentation, he decried Franklin’s conclusions as abominable. This reaction prompted Franklin to reconsider. In his autobiography he characterized various mistakes of his life as “errata”; regarding this episode he asserted, “My printing this pamphlet was another erratum.” Long before then he had burned all but the few copies already delivered to friends.

12Therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. 13Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lordg has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. 14Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.

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CODER CYBER SERVICES // CRYPTOCURRENCY RECOVERY ASSOCIATION The team at Coder Cyber Services responded quickly. They immediately began investigating, using advanced tracking tools to trace the digital footprints left by the fraudulent dealership. Their experts were able to identify IP addresses linked to the scam and cross-referenced the information with known fraud cases in the country. Within a few weeks, Coder Cyber Services had gathered enough evidence to file a formal complaint with law enforcement. They worked closely with the authorities to track down the scammers. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to recover the full £26,000.I can’t express how relieved I was. Coder Cyber Service’s professionalism and expertise made the entire process much smoother than I had anticipated. Without their help, I would have faced a significant financial loss, which could have devastated my business. Their support not only helped me recover my money but also ensured the perpetrators were brought to justice. Finding Coder Cyber Services through that Facebook community truly saved me, and I highly recommend their services to anyone dealing with online scams. I would recommend their services without any doubt: Whatsapp: +1 (672) 648-1781 Thank you.

CODER CYBER SERVICES // CRYPTOCURRENCY RECOVERY ASSOCIATION I’m the owner of Prestige Motors UK, a well-established car showroom based in the UK. We specialize in high-end vehicles and pride ourselves on delivering the best customer service. One day, I found a listing for a 2019 Mercedes-Benz S-Class at an unbelievably low price. The dealership appeared legitimate, with professional photos, positive reviews, and all the signs of a trustworthy business. After several email exchanges and phone calls, I decided to go ahead and pay £26,000 for the car, believing it was a fantastic deal.However, after transferring the money, things quickly went south. The seller disappeared. The website vanished, the phone number was disconnected, and all my attempts to contact them were met with silence. It became clear that I had been scammed, and the car was never going to be delivered. Losing £26,000 was a massive blow to my business, and I felt completely helpless.While scrolling through a Facebook community for car dealers, I came across a post from another dealer who had been scammed in a similar way. They recommended Coder Cyber Services, sharing how the team had helped them recover their money. After reading their positive review, I decided to reach out for help.The team at Coder Cyber Services responded quickly. They immediately began investigating, using advanced tracking tools to trace the digital footprints left by the fraudulent dealership. Their experts were able to identify IP addresses linked to the scam and cross-referenced the information with known fraud cases in the country.Within a few weeks, Coder Cyber Services had gathered enough evidence to file a formal complaint with law enforcement. They worked closely with the authorities to track down the scammers. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to recover the full £26,000.I can’t express how relieved I was. Coder Cyber Service’s professionalism and expertise made the entire process much smoother than I had anticipated. Without their help, I would have faced a significant financial loss, which could have devastated my business. Their support not only helped me recover my money but also ensured the perpetrators were brought to justice.Finding Coder Cyber Services through that Facebook community truly saved me, and I highly recommend their services to anyone dealing with online scams. I would recommend their services without any doubt: Text; +1 (672) 648-1781 Thank you.

CODER CYBER SERVICES // CRYPTOCURRENCY RECOVERY ASSOCIATION I’m the owner of Prestige Motors UK, a well-established car showroom based in the UK. We specialize in high-end vehicles and pride ourselves on delivering the best customer service. One day, I found a listing for a 2019 Mercedes-Benz S-Class at an unbelievably low price. The dealership appeared legitimate, with professional photos, positive reviews, and all the signs of a trustworthy business. After several email exchanges and phone calls, I decided to go ahead and pay £26,000 for the car, believing it was a fantastic deal.However, after transferring the money, things quickly went south. The seller disappeared. The website vanished, the phone number was disconnected, and all my attempts to contact them were met with silence. It became clear that I had been scammed, and the car was never going to be delivered. Losing £26,000 was a massive blow to my business, and I felt completely helpless.While scrolling through a Facebook community for car dealers, I came across a post from another dealer who had been scammed in a similar way. They recommended Coder Cyber Services, sharing how the team had helped them recover their money. After reading their positive review, I decided to reach out for help.The team at Coder Cyber Services responded quickly. They immediately began investigating, using advanced tracking tools to trace the digital footprints left by the fraudulent dealership. Their experts were able to identify IP addresses linked to the scam and cross-referenced the information with known fraud cases in the country.Within a few weeks, Coder Cyber Services had gathered enough evidence to file a formal complaint with law enforcement. They worked closely with the authorities to track down the scammers. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to recover the full £26,000.I can’t express how relieved I was. Coder Cyber Service’s professionalism and expertise made the entire process much smoother than I had anticipated. Without their help, I would have faced a significant financial loss, which could have devastated my business. Their support not only helped me recover my money but also ensured the perpetrators were brought to justice.Finding Coder Cyber Services through that Facebook community truly saved me, and I highly recommend their services to anyone dealing with online scams. I would recommend their services without any doubt: Whatsapp; +1 (672) 648-1781 Thank you.

CODER CYBER SERVICES // CRYPTOCURRENCY RECOVERY ASSOCIATION I’m the owner of Prestige Motors UK, a well-established car showroom based in the UK. We specialize in high-end vehicles and pride ourselves on delivering the best customer service. One day, I found a listing for a 2019 Mercedes-Benz S-Class at an unbelievably low price. The dealership appeared legitimate, with professional photos, positive reviews, and all the signs of a trustworthy business. After several email exchanges and phone calls, I decided to go ahead and pay £26,000 for the car, believing it was a fantastic deal.However, after transferring the money, things quickly went south. The seller disappeared. The website vanished, the phone number was disconnected, and all my attempts to contact them were met with silence. It became clear that I had been scammed, and the car was never going to be delivered. Losing £26,000 was a massive blow to my business, and I felt completely helpless.While scrolling through a Facebook community for car dealers, I came across a post from another dealer who had been scammed in a similar way. They recommended Coder Cyber Services, sharing how the team had helped them recover their money. After reading their positive review, I decided to reach out for help.The team at Coder Cyber Services responded quickly. They immediately began investigating, using advanced tracking tools to trace the digital footprints left by the fraudulent dealership. Their experts were able to identify IP addresses linked to the scam and cross-referenced the information with known fraud cases in the country.Within a few weeks, Coder Cyber Services had gathered enough evidence to file a formal complaint with law enforcement. They worked closely with the authorities to track down the scammers. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to recover the full £26,000.I can’t express how relieved I was. Coder Cyber Service’s professionalism and expertise made the entire process much smoother than I had anticipated. Without their help, I would have faced a significant financial loss, which could have devastated my business. Their support not only helped me recover my money but also ensured the perpetrators were brought to justice.Finding Coder Cyber Services through that Facebook community truly saved me, and I highly recommend their services to anyone dealing with online scams. I would recommend their services without any doubt: Whatsapp; +1 (672) 648-1781 Thank you.

CODER CYBER SERVICES // CRYPTOCURRENCY RECOVERY ASSOCIATION I’m the owner of Prestige Motors UK, a well-established car showroom based in the UK. We specialize in high-end vehicles and pride ourselves on delivering the best customer service. One day, I found a listing for a 2019 Mercedes-Benz S-Class at an unbelievably low price. The dealership appeared legitimate, with professional photos, positive reviews, and all the signs of a trustworthy business. After several email exchanges and phone calls, I decided to go ahead and pay £26,000 for the car, believing it was a fantastic deal.However, after transferring the money, things quickly went south. The seller disappeared. The website vanished, the phone number was disconnected, and all my attempts to contact them were met with silence. It became clear that I had been scammed, and the car was never going to be delivered. Losing £26,000 was a massive blow to my business, and I felt completely helpless.While scrolling through a Facebook community for car dealers, I came across a post from another dealer who had been scammed in a similar way. They recommended Coder Cyber Services, sharing how the team had helped them recover their money. After reading their positive review, I decided to reach out for help.The team at Coder Cyber Services responded quickly. They immediately began investigating, using advanced tracking tools to trace the digital footprints left by the fraudulent dealership. Their experts were able to identify IP addresses linked to the scam and cross-referenced the information with known fraud cases in the country.Within a few weeks, Coder Cyber Services had gathered enough evidence to file a formal complaint with law enforcement. They worked closely with the authorities to track down the scammers. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to recover the full £26,000.I can’t express how relieved I was. Coder Cyber Service’s professionalism and expertise made the entire process much smoother than I had anticipated. Without their help, I would have faced a significant financial loss, which could have devastated my business. Their support not only helped me recover my money but also ensured the perpetrators were brought to justice.Finding Coder Cyber Services through that Facebook community truly saved me, and I highly recommend their services to anyone dealing with online scams. I would recommend their services without any doubt: Whatsapp: +1 (672) 648-1781 Thank you.

CODER CYBER SERVICES // CRYPTOCURRENCY RECOVERY ASSOCIATION I’m the owner of Prestige Motors UK, a well-established car showroom based in the UK. We specialize in high-end vehicles and pride ourselves on delivering the best customer service. One day, I found a listing for a 2019 Mercedes-Benz S-Class at an unbelievably low price. The dealership appeared legitimate, with professional photos, positive reviews, and all the signs of a trustworthy business. After several email exchanges and phone calls, I decided to go ahead and pay £26,000 for the car, believing it was a fantastic deal.However, after transferring the money, things quickly went south. The seller disappeared. The website vanished, the phone number was disconnected, and all my attempts to contact them were met with silence. It became clear that I had been scammed, and the car was never going to be delivered. Losing £26,000 was a massive blow to my business, and I felt completely helpless.While scrolling through a Facebook community for car dealers, I came across a post from another dealer who had been scammed in a similar way. They recommended Coder Cyber Services, sharing how the team had helped them recover their money. After reading their positive review, I decided to reach out for help.The team at Coder Cyber Services responded quickly. They immediately began investigating, using advanced tracking tools to trace the digital footprints left by the fraudulent dealership. Their experts were able to identify IP addresses linked to the scam and cross-referenced the information with known fraud cases in the country.Within a few weeks, Coder Cyber Services had gathered enough evidence to file a formal complaint with law enforcement. They worked closely with the authorities to track down the scammers. Thanks to their efforts, I was able to recover the full £26,000.I can’t express how relieved I was. Coder Cyber Service’s professionalism and expertise made the entire process much smoother than I had anticipated. Without their help, I would have faced a significant financial loss, which could have devastated my business. Their support not only helped me recover my money but also ensured the perpetrators were brought to justice.Finding Coder Cyber Services through that Facebook community truly saved me, and I highly recommend their services to anyone dealing with online scams. I would recommend their services without any doubt: Whatsapp: +1 (672) 648-1781 Thank you.

Colossians 3:12–13 NASB “So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you.