Nuisance Person Quotes

I’m afraid the idea that a woman is a person, whether married or not, is so inherently radical no matter which way I present it I shall be considered a nuisance.

When one of a culture's guiding credos is that "all men are created equal," any person who, say, becomes an expert on, say, nuclear weapons or, say, ecology, i.e., anyone who distinguishes himself through mental excellence, is a nuisance.

God did not make this person as I would have made him. He did not give him to me as a brother for me to dominate and control, but in order that I might find above him the Creator. Now the other person, in the freedom with which he was created, becomes the occasion of joy, whereas before he was only a nuisance and an affliction. God does not will that I should fashion the other person according to the image that seems good to me, that is, in my own image; rather in his very freedom from me God made this person in His image. I can never know beforehand how God's image should appear in others. That image always manifests a completely new and unique form that comes solely from God's free and sovereign creation. To me the sight may seem strange, even ungodly. But God creates every man in the likeness of His Son, the Crucified. After all, even that image certainly looked strange and ungodly to me before I grasped it.

Perhaps a person gains by accumulating obstacles. The more obstacles set up to prevent happiness from appearing, the greater the shock when it does appear, just as the rebound of a spring will be all the more powerful the greater the pressure that has been exerted to compress it. Care must be taken, however, to select large obstacles, for only those of sufficient scope and scale have the capacity to lift us out of context and force life to appear in an entirely new and unexpected light. For example, should you litter the floor and tabletops of your room with small objects, they constitute little more than a nuisance, an inconvenient clutter that frustrates you and leaves you irritable; the petty is mean. Cursing, you step around the objects, pick them up, knock them aside. Should you, on the other hand, encounter in your room a nine thousand pound granite boulder, the surprise it evokes, the extreme steps that must be taken to deal with it, compel you to see with new eyes. Difficulties illuminate existence, but they must be fresh and of high quality.

Each was a talisman with magical properties. They were imbued with memory, story, and event, and in the course of time had gone from mere phenomena to sacred vessels of personal history. They were simultaneously a nuisance and completely necessary. My mother had grown old without losing the better part of innocence when it came to keepsakes. “Look,

Ma’am, I’m afraid the idea that a woman is a person, whether married or not, is so inherently radical no matter which way I present it I shall be considered a nuisance.

1. Bangladesh.... In 1971 ... Kissinger overrode all advice in order to support the Pakistani generals in both their civilian massacre policy in East Bengal and their armed attack on India from West Pakistan.... This led to a moral and political catastrophe the effects of which are still sorely felt. Kissinger’s undisclosed reason for the ‘tilt’ was the supposed but never materialised ‘brokerage’ offered by the dictator Yahya Khan in the course of secret diplomacy between Nixon and China.... Of the new state of Bangladesh, Kissinger remarked coldly that it was ‘a basket case’ before turning his unsolicited expertise elsewhere. 2. Chile.... Kissinger had direct personal knowledge of the CIA’s plan to kidnap and murder General René Schneider, the head of the Chilean Armed Forces ... who refused to countenance military intervention in politics. In his hatred for the Allende Government, Kissinger even outdid Richard Helms ... who warned him that a coup in such a stable democracy would be hard to procure. The murder of Schneider nonetheless went ahead, at Kissinger’s urging and with American financing, just between Allende’s election and his confirmation.... This was one of the relatively few times that Mr Kissinger (his success in getting people to call him ‘Doctor’ is greater than that of most PhDs) involved himself in the assassination of a single named individual rather than the slaughter of anonymous thousands. His jocular remark on this occasion—‘I don’t see why we have to let a country go Marxist just because its people are irresponsible’—suggests he may have been having the best of times.... 3. Cyprus.... Kissinger approved of the preparations by Greek Cypriot fascists for the murder of President Makarios, and sanctioned the coup which tried to extend the rule of the Athens junta (a favoured client of his) to the island. When despite great waste of life this coup failed in its objective, which was also Kissinger’s, of enforced partition, Kissinger promiscuously switched sides to support an even bloodier intervention by Turkey. Thomas Boyatt ... went to Kissinger in advance of the anti-Makarios putsch and warned him that it could lead to a civil war. ‘Spare me the civics lecture,’ replied Kissinger, who as you can readily see had an aphorism for all occasions. 4. Kurdistan. Having endorsed the covert policy of supporting a Kurdish revolt in northern Iraq between 1974 and 1975, with ‘deniable’ assistance also provided by Israel and the Shah of Iran, Kissinger made it plain to his subordinates that the Kurds were not to be allowed to win, but were to be employed for their nuisance value alone. They were not to be told that this was the case, but soon found out when the Shah and Saddam Hussein composed their differences, and American aid to Kurdistan was cut off. Hardened CIA hands went to Kissinger ... for an aid programme for the many thousands of Kurdish refugees who were thus abruptly created.... The apercu of the day was: ‘foreign policy should not he confused with missionary work.’ Saddam Hussein heartily concurred. 5. East Timor. The day after Kissinger left Djakarta in 1975, the Armed Forces of Indonesia employed American weapons to invade and subjugate the independent former Portuguese colony of East Timor. Isaacson gives a figure of 100,000 deaths resulting from the occupation, or one-seventh of the population, and there are good judges who put this estimate on the low side. Kissinger was furious when news of his own collusion was leaked, because as well as breaking international law the Indonesians were also violating an agreement with the United States.... Monroe Leigh ... pointed out this awkward latter fact. Kissinger snapped: ‘The Israelis when they go into Lebanon—when was the last time we protested that?’ A good question, even if it did not and does not lie especially well in his mouth. It goes on and on and on until one cannot eat enough to vomit enough.

People always, always talk about confidence, it’s supposed to be such an attractive thing. I wonder why though, why is it supposed to be such an attractive thing? When confidence hides so many other things that are so much more beautiful! When you think of being confident, you think of tucking away all those other things that you consider to be nuisances; but those nuisances make up whom you are! And those nuisances are beautiful. They are beautiful and they are you and they’re always going to be there, even when you try to cover them up! So what happens when they all come out one day? Are you going to feel like less of a person? Are the people who are supposed to love you, going to see you as less of a person? I say that it’s not about going out into the world and putting on a certain face— it’s just about going out into the world. I’ve gone out into the world! And I don’t put on that face! Or any other face, as a matter of fact! I don’t want to hide the way I play with my hair to feel more secure or the way I laugh at all the wrong times. I don’t want to hide those things because those things are a part of me. And I can still go out into the world— and all alone, too! I know so, because I’ve actually done it! So more important than confidence— is serenity and acceptance. The serenity comes from having a deep acceptance of all those little things about you that add up like the trillions of molecules and atoms you are made up of! And that’s just beautiful. Being beautiful is something rooted and strong; being confident is just a matter of putting on something that isn’t even a real part of you. Falling in love with the molecules that make up your essence is so much more attractive. And maybe that’s what confidence really means— the acceptance and belief in every single atom that you are.

The U.S. has so many rules and regulations, because of fear of being sued, that kids give up on the opportunity for personal exploration. A pool has to be fenced so that it’s not an ‘attractive nuisance.’ Most New Guineans don’t have pools, but even the rivers that we frequented didn’t have signs saying ‘Jump at your own risk,’ because it’s obvious. Why would I jump unless I’m prepared for the consequences? Responsibility in the U.S. has been taken from the person acting and has been placed on the owner of the land or the builder of the house. Most Americans want to blame someone other than themselves as much as possible. In New Guinea I was able to grow up, play creatively, and explore the outdoors and nature freely, with the obligatory element of risk, however well managed, that is absent from the average risk-averse American childhood. I had the richest upbringing possible, an upbringing inconceivable for Americans.

Because in that whole place, you were the only one who looked at me like I was a person and not a nuisance. Because when I looked at you I could see adventure hiding behind your eyes. Because you gave me a tomato, even when you shouldn’t have.” [...] “I did it because you were so kind and caged, and I wanted to see you kind and free.

However, the young person leaving college today, especially if she is a woman, must consider the possibility that her best offerings will be considered a nuisance to the men who also occupy her field. And then, having considered this, she would do well to make her mind to fight whoever would stifle her growth with as much courage and tenacity as Mrs. Hudson fights the Klan. If she is black and coming out into the world she must be doubly armed, doubly prepared. Because for her there is not simply a new world to be gained, there is an old world there must be reclaimed.

And two types of people,” he goes on, completely unfazed. “There’s the one that will walk past that offending piece of lint or paper on the floor every single day and tell themselves they’ll get to it. And those that will pick it up the minute they spot it. They’ll figure out where it came from, trash it, and forget it was ever there. But, for the ones that walk by it every day, it will become a problem. It will start to fester. Another something they’ll have to get to. Another pea on their plate. They’ll start to look for it, its presence a nuisance, and tell themselves they’ll get to it tomorrow. Until one day, it’s more of a crisis of conscience than a pea.” “Let me guess. You don’t have any peas on your plate.” One side of his mouth lifts in contempt before he speaks through thick lips. “I fucking hate peas.” “It’s a piece of lint.” “Only to the person who picked it up.

I think there is a limit beyond which free speech can't go….a limit that is very seldom mentioned. It's the point where free speech begins to collide with the right to privacy… I don't think there are any other conditions to free speech. I have the right to say and to believe anything I please, but I don't have the right to press it on anybody else. For example, take for instance the Catholic Church, which I am on good terms with, personally, but which I have no belief in whatsoever. I have a right to print my dissent from its doctrines, to utter them. I have exercised that right for many years. But I have no right to go on the cathedral steps on Sunday morning, when the Catholics are coming out from High Mass, and make a speech denouncing them. I don't think there is any such right. Nobody has got the right to be a nuisance to his neighbors, or to hurt his neighbor's feelings wantonly. If they come to him and say "What do you think of this Mass that we have just finished?", I think that he has the right to answer. But he has no right to press his opinions on them. Of course you'll notice the peculiar thing about the United States, where there is very little free speech. Free speech is a very limited right, in this country, as I have learned to my bitter experience, more than once. Yet, it is the country where the right to press opinions on reluctant hearers is carried to a development that is unheard of on earth. The whole country's full of propagandists who are bothering everybody, all the time.

The understatement rule means that a debilitating and painful chronic illness must be described as ‘a bit of a nuisance’; a truly horrific experience is ‘well, not exactly what I would have chosen’; a sight of breathtaking beauty is ‘quite pretty’; an outstanding performance or achievement is ‘not bad’; an act of abominable cruelty is ‘not very friendly’, and an unforgivably stupid misjudgement is ‘not very clever’; the Antarctic is ‘rather cold’ and the Sahara ‘a bit too hot for my taste’; and any exceptionally delightful object, person or event, which in other cultures would warrant streams of superlatives, is pretty much covered by ‘nice’, or, if we wish to express more ardent approval, ‘very nice’.

It was only Lara and Kai. Kai and Lara. It was them, watching as the other kissed someone else, watching as they tugged on the person’s hair, reached for the person’s waist, all while never betraying their gaze. They gripped to the violet string that held their eyes together like a lifeline; like it was what kept their hearts beating but also what split them in two.

I’m not going to give and give and give to someone who doesn’t want what I have to share. My parents have done it to me, my siblings have done it to me, everyone does it to me when I let them, and you’re going to be the last person who makes me feel like a freaking nuisance.

More than a nuisance. An outright challenge, a threat. For if a woman was a person in her own right, one could conclude she was also in possession of a mind and a heart of her own, and thus had needs of her own. But the unwearyingly self-sacrificing good mother and wife must not have needs,

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called “separable verbs.” The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite one is reiste ab—which means departed. Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English: “The trunks being now ready, he de- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, parted.” However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One is sure to lose his temper early; and if he sticks to the subject, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrify it. Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, sie, means you, and it means she, and it means her, and it means it, and it means they, and it means them. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six—and a poor little weak thing of only three letters at that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

very early in Moderan the mighty Stronghold masters had solved for themselves the flesh-woman question, or, to be more precise, the wife-nuisance roadblock. And for that I honor them. I mean, my beamish hat is off to them, for that was QUITE a solving! We have no such problem, of course, in the essence times. If I don't like the beams of the woman I'm with, or if I like too much the beams of the woman I'm with and she won't reciprocate, I just signal back to the Love Dictator's office my discontent and he orders one of his little clerk mechanics to call the old beams home, and the Love Dictator then transmits me, personally, a new package.

When she stroked her fingertips around the side of it, she received a shock that made her squeak and nearly stumble backward into the fireplace. The chair was occupied. “Do be careful, Abigail,” chided the person sitting cross-legged and contemplative in the wooden seat. “It’d be such a nuisance to have to haul you from the flames and put you out.” Silyen Jardine was watching her mildly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she snapped, startled. “What are you doing sitting there—trying it for size?” And if there was a guide titled How Slaves Should Never Address Their Masters, then yes, a sentence like that would be written on page one. Abi began to blurt an apology, but the Young Master waved it away.

My mind was caught up in an inexplicable mystery! I had changed, and it bothered me. Not like a subtle adaptation one would deem a nuisance, but vitally enough to eat at my gut. Like a snake slithering out of its old, scaly skin, I had somehow shed my previous self—a person whom I feared was my better self. How had this happened? And so fast! So drastically!

Overwhelming difficulties, you may think. An ordinary person would draw the shutters and hide from the world. But I am no ordinary person. I am Artemis Fowl, the latest in the Fowl crime dynasty, and I will not be turned from my path. I will find whoever planted those lenses and they will pay for their presumption. And once I am rid of this nuisance, my plans will proceed unhindered. I shall unleash a crime wave the likes of which has never been seen. The world will remember the name of Artemis Fowl.

Ma’am, I’m afraid the idea that a woman is a person, whether married or not, is so inherently radical no matter which way I present it I shall be considered a nuisance.” More than a nuisance. An outright challenge, a threat. For if a woman was a person in her own right, one could conclude she was also in possession of a mind and a heart of her own, and thus had needs of her own. But the unwearyingly self-sacrificing good mother and wife must not have needs, or, as Patmore’s perseveringly popular poem put it: Man must be pleased; but him to please / Is woman’s pleasure . .

The biggest adjustment I had to make on moving from New Guinea to the U.S. was my lack of freedom. Children have much more freedom in New Guinea. In the U.S. I was not allowed to climb trees. I was always climbing trees in New Guinea; I still like to climb trees. When my brother and I came back to California and moved into our house there, one of the first things we did was to climb a tree and build a tree house; other families thought that was weird. The U.S. has so many rules and regulations, because of fear of being sued, that kids give up on the opportunity for personal exploration. A pool has to be fenced so that it’s not an ‘attractive nuisance.’ Most New Guineans don’t have pools, but even the rivers that we frequented didn’t have signs saying ‘Jump at your own risk,’ because it’s obvious. Why would I jump unless I’m prepared for the consequences? Responsibility in the U.S. has been taken from the person acting and has been placed on the owner of the land or the builder of the house. Most Americans want to blame someone other than themselves as much as possible. In New Guinea I was able to grow up, play creatively, and explore the outdoors and nature freely, with the obligatory element of risk, however well managed, that is absent from the average risk-averse American childhood. I had the richest upbringing possible, an upbringing inconceivable for Americans.” “A frustration

qualifies as a WMD. The people putting it together in the 1990s no doubt saw it as a tool to bring evenhandedness and efficiency to the criminal justice system. It could also help nonthreatening criminals land lighter sentences. This would translate into more years of freedom for them and enormous savings for American taxpayers, who are footing a $70 billion annual prison bill. However, because the questionnaire judges the prisoner by details that would not be admissible in court, it is unfair. While many may benefit from it, it leads to suffering for others. A key component of this suffering is the pernicious feedback loop. As we’ve seen, sentencing models that profile a person by his or her circumstances help to create the environment that justifies their assumptions. This destructive loop goes round and round, and in the process the model becomes more and more unfair. The third question is whether a model has the capacity to grow exponentially. As a statistician would put it, can it scale? This might sound like the nerdy quibble of a mathematician. But scale is what turns WMDs from local nuisances into tsunami forces, ones that define and

It was simply the way with Harry, like waiting for sunrise. But once you made clear that you wouldn't be going to bed with him, he'd look oddly relieved and calm down. And the matter once raised would not be revisited, I will say that for him. He didn't make a nuisance of himself. Funny old skellum. Never dull. There are men whom it is important not to take the slightest notice of when they're talking, if it's after ten o'clock at night and they've had a glass of beer. Harry was one such mammal. They really and truly don't mean to be idiots. But it's like a Roman Catholic person not wanting to feel guilt. Might as well ask water to run uphill. Except that might conceivably be contrived. With a pump. Once, he asked my sister to run away with him, to Rotterdam I think it was. She said no and he asked my brother. That was the most important thing to understand about Harry. Essentially, what he wanted--darling, who wouldn't--was someone to run away with him to Rotterdam. It's what all of us want, isn't it? Of course, nobody gets it. Probably not even those misfortunates who are in Rotterdam already. One wonders where they want to run away to. Crouch End?

Thai prostitution was a haven for the men and a nuisance for the women. The streets of Phuket were outlined with bars ready to nourish thirsty sailors with euphoric intoxication to smother their pinched nerves from their personal lives deteriorating in their six-month absence. Thailand truly lived up to its port reputation. Hundreds of bikini-clad prostitutes littered the strip. Slim and petite, their narrow hips and flat chests appeared to be the appropriate age for the pink plaid schoolgirl skirts, dress shirts, ties, and pigtails intended to entice pedophilic eroticism. They wore heavy coats of pastel liquid shadow that clashed against their yellow tinted tans. They awkwardly wiggled to a nauseating blend of techno and Reggaeton as cotton-haired granddaddies lustfully gawked at them. Any Caucasian male cannot trek a block without the treatment of a pop culture heartthrob with a trail of Thai teens at his heels. “Wan hunnet baaht!” they taunt in a nasal screech. “Wan hunnet baht and I suck yo cock!” The oriental beauties cup their fists and hold them to their mouths as they wiggle their tongues against their cheeks to provide a clear visual for their performance skills. It’s easy to dismiss the humanity in Thai prostitutes. Their splotchy, heavily accented English allows the language barrier to muffle signs of intellect. They’re overtly sexual in their crotch bearing ensembles, loud and vulgar invitations, and provocative dancing that makes even corner butcher shops feel like Vegas strip clubs. Swarms of them linger in front of bars holding cardboard signs scribbled with magic marker that offer a blow job with the first beer purchased. Their eyes burn into passing tourists, with acute radar for creamy, sun-flushed complexions and potbellies - signals of the deep pockets of white male privilege.

But the worshippers and admirers of these gods delight in imitating their scandalous iniquities, and are nowise concerned that the republic be less depraved and licentious. Only let it remain undefeated, they say, only let it flourish and abound in resources; let it be glorious by its victories, or still better, secure in peace; and what matters it to us? This is our concern, that every man be able to increase his wealth so as to supply his daily prodigalities, and so that the powerful may subject the weak for their own purposes. Let the poor court the rich for a living, and that under their protection they may enjoy a sluggish tranquillity; and let the rich abuse the poor as their dependants, to minister to their pride. Let the people applaud not those who protect their interests, but those who provide them with pleasure. Let no severe duty be commanded, no impurity forbidden. Let kings estimate their prosperity, not by the righteousness, but by the servility of their subjects. Let the provinces stand loyal to the kings, not as moral guides, but as lords of their possessions and purveyors of their pleasures; not with a hearty reverence, but a crooked and servile fear. Let the laws take cognizance rather of the injury done to another man's property, than of that done to one's own person. If a man be a nuisance to his neighbor, or injure his property, family, or person, let him be actionable; but in his own affairs let everyone with impunity do what he will in company with his own family, and with those who willingly join him. Let there be a plentiful supply of public prostitutes for every one who wishes to use them, but specially for those who are too poor to keep one for their private use. Let there be erected houses of the largest and most ornate description: in these let there be provided the most sumptuous banquets, where every one who pleases may, by day or night, play, drink, vomit, dissipate. Let there be everywhere heard the rustling of dancers, the loud, immodest laughter of the theatre; let a succession of the most cruel and the most voluptuous pleasures maintain a perpetual excitement. If such happiness is distasteful to any, let him be branded as a public enemy; and if any attempt to modify or put an end to it let him be silenced, banished, put an end to. Let these be reckoned the true gods, who procure for the people this condition of things, and preserve it when once possessed. Let them be worshipped as they wish; let them demand whatever games they please, from or with their own worshippers; only let them secure that such felicity be not imperilled by foe, plague, or disaster of any kind. What sane man would compare a republic such as this, I will not say to the Roman empire, but to the palace of Sardanapalus, the ancient king who was so abandoned to pleasures, that he caused it to be inscribed on his tomb, that now that he was dead, he possessed only those things which he had swallowed and consumed by his appetites while alive? If these men had such a king as this, who, while self-indulgent, should lay no severe restraint on them, they would more enthusiastically consecrate to him a temple and a flamen than the ancient Romans did to Romulus.

I have been here, ever since our eyes met but you never came to this place. I have been waiting here to see your smile once more, to feel your warmth, to see your eyes which are deep enough to drown anyone at any time but you never returned. You never thought of looking back at me. I waited here every day from the day you left with the false hope that you would return. I was known yet chose to remain ignorant for I didn't want to lose you before you could even be mine. Each day I used to watch over people, used to sip in your favourite coffee in your favourite cafeteria, used to write about your favourite topics, but it never worked out. You never returned. Everybody told me I was turning insane day by day coz I was locked in my room, for almost a month but I felt they were crazy coz daily I used to stroll around your favourite places. Everything was making sense to me, this waiting thing, this restlessness, this fetish but I was asked to come out of my Nuisance world. I didn't get it, why were they restricting me from finding you? Were they jealous of me? Envious of the fact that I would then be the happiest person in the entire world? But they said otherwise. They said I was obsessed with the idea of you and that they were really concerned for me. Leave everything aside why didn't you return? I faithfully still wait for you, to feel you, to feel myself again, to feel that liveliness which only came in me, when I was with you. I wish, I could show them what you mean to me and what you did to my heart but I think even then they won't understand coz love isn't everyone's cup of tea. I miss you, Hope you would return soon though now I am coming in terms with the reality that you won't please still, listen to my heart the way you used to or to years at least. Iloveyou

A Piece of Advice « At all times and in all situations, examine your mindstream moment by moment: are thoughts positive or negative? When you recognize a thought to have negative content, be aware of its potential for harm and lay it aside. This is crucial. Otherwise, when craving or other negative thoughts start to take shape, if you let them take hold, who knows where you’ll wind up in the end? You may not care about becoming a great scholar, but at least do your best to generate goodwill toward others and steadfast devotion to the Three Jewels. Your future rebirths stretch out ahead much farther than this one life. The circumstances of those lifetimes will depend on your current aspirations, positive or negative. Don’t jeopardize your future lives by seeking fame and status in this life. The rest of this life will depend on how stable your virtuous aspirations are. See if you can transform your mindstream through the teachings. You have come to a fork in the road: one path goes up, the other down. If you wait till you’re on your deathbed to make your choice, you’ll be out of luck. Whether others have good or bad qualities is hard to know. Whether others applaud you or criticize you, you need to turn away from both craving praise and avoiding blame. Though you may not accomplish great acts of merit, at least avoid evil actions, great or small. Stop thinking badly of other beings. Don’t speak ill of anyone, because you never know when the person you malign might be a sublime being. In terms of food, clothes, and other material things, be content with what you’ve got and just stay put. Otherwise, one day you’ll end up a nuisance in everyone’s eyes, a show-off in robes who just rambles on from one valley to the next, sniffing around like a stray dog. Don’t do that! — Written by Patrul. May it bring virtue!

A distinctive poetic atmosphere surrounds our autobiographical being. The culmination of our personal experiences projects an expressive emotional prism upon our faces, a self-projected limelight casting us with an aura-like quality that other people readily perceive and interpret. Each person’s life consists of nurturing his or her poetic seedlings. Introspection is the first and foremost means that people rely upon to grasp the referential nature of their essential personal experiences. Reflective moments allow us to enrich our understanding of life’s nuisances that imbue even our most rouge experiences with a personalized ambiance. The juxtaposition of life’s prosodic fragments with unanticipated moments of exhilaration provides the tension that composes the contrapuntal language driving the meter of our life’s story. The sweeping arch of our hand-tooled stories designates our chosen path and serves to remind us that even persons injured while attempting to discern the pathway to bliss can use their own brand of resourcefulness to rescue themselves.

Like the fire department, we HSPs mostly respond to false alarms. But if our sensitivity saves a life even once, it is a trait that has a genetic payoff. So, yes, when our trait leads to overarousal, it is a nuisance. But it is part of a package deal with many advantages.

With Ghirlandaio and Fillipino Luppi dead, and Botticelli in a permanent state of depression, Raphael found an affluent audience starved for works of the highest quality. Florentine mercantile society fell in love with his potrayals of the Madonna and Child and the Holy Family-and with him, personally, for his gentle character. The provincialism of his master Perugino had heretofore kept Raphael’s genius under wraps. Leonardo taught him the power of unified, lucid compositions based on geometry, particularly the triangle and the circle. During Michelangelo’s absence, Raphael’s company was sought by everyone, including Michelangelo’s valued friends Taddeo Taddei and Agnolo Doni. In fact, he was such a frequent guest at Taddei’s home, where he would have had plenty of opportunities to study Michelangelo’s tondo, that Raphael gave his patron two paintings as thanks for his many kindnesses, and painted the Madonna deil Cardellino as a wedding gift for his friend Lorenzo Nasi, Taddei’s cousin. In 1505, the Carrera year, Raphael painted the portraits of Doni and his wife, Maddalena. The out-of-towner whom Michelangelo had dismissed as a mere nuisance had grown up.

I am entirely at your service, Sir Henry. And I feel sure you will have no reason to complain of my frankness.' H.M. blinked. 'Uh-huh. I was afraid of that. Son, frankness is a virtue only when you're talkin' about yourself, and then it's a nuisance. Besides, it's an impossibility. There's only one kind of person who's ever really willing to tell the truth about himself, and that's the kind they certify and shove in the bug-house. And when a person says he intends to be frank about other people, all it means is that he's goin' to give 'em a kick in the eye...

You don't have to work to earn money to feed and clothe a body when it's dead. No one can take your dignity away when you're gone. I wish I could say what shuts down that thought is love for myself as a person deserving of life, or the fear of breaking the hearts of those who love me. Those feelings are present, but they aren't enough to shut it up. What makes me turn it off is another sensation that's always with me - a burning rage, sometimes morphing into total hatred. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you for making me even consider that for a second. You may not want me to live how I need to live in order to be happy, but I won't give you the satisfaction of no longer having me as a problem. I will never stop being a burden on the state when the state decided to make me one in the first place. If I have to scam, commit crimes, and become a nuisance to the taxpayer, so be it. And I'll never once feel guilty. I can't say I didn't try doing things 'the right way'. If you don't allow me to exist as a person, I have no choice but to exist as a problem.

You wish to practice crime as a profession, to gain a livelihood by appropriating—by violence or otherwise—the earnings of honest and industrious men. Very well, you may do so on certain conditions. If you are skilful and cautious you will not be molested. You may occasion danger, annoyance and great loss to honest men with very little danger to yourself unless you are clumsy and incautious; in which case you may be captured. If you are, we shall take possession of your person and detain you for so many months or years. During that time you will inhabit quarters better than you are accustomed to; your sleeping-room will be kept comfortably warm in all weathers; you will be provided with clothing better than you usually wear; you will have a sufficiency of excellent food; expensive officials will be paid to take charge of you; selected medical men will be retained to attend to your health; a chaplain (of your own persuasion) will minister to your spiritual needs and a librarian will supply you with books. And all this will be paid for by the industrious men whom you live by robbing. In short, from the moment that you adopt crime as a profession, we shall pay all your expenses, whether you are in prison or at large.' Such is the attitude of society; and I repeat it is that of a community of madmen. "How much better and more essentially moral is my plan! I invite the criminal to walk into my parlor. He walks in, a public nuisance and a public danger; and he emerges in the form of a museum preparation of permanent educational value.

In this sense, it is not much different from early American settlement activity, which came to see itself existing only in opposition to the native population, first undertaking policies to wipe them all out, then creating a society in which they were essentially non-persons, or even worse, a "nuisance." In fact, on the 2010 Census form, the term "Native American" is not even used. It instead uses "American Indian," a term that is inaccurate, and most importantly, does not connote that these people in fact had a preexisting tie to the land we all live on today. This kind of talk might disturb and confuse most Americans, and, frankly, ruin the myths we have been taught. In fact, I would love to go to the next major Republican gathering and ask all the Native Americans to identify themselves. I think Sarah Palin might raise her hand.

...the special joy of putting a lead ball into any person who presents a nuisance.

No: I want nothing. I’ve already said I want nothing. Don’t come to me with conclusions! The only conclusion is death. Don’t bring me aesthetics! Don’t speak to me of morals! Get out of here with metaphysics! Don’t trumpet complete systems, don’t line up conquests Of science (science, my God, science!) — Of the sciences, the arts, of modern civilization! What harm did I ever do all the gods? If they have the truth, let them keep it! I’m a technician, but I have technique only in technique. Beyond that I’m crazy, with every right to be so. With every right to be so, do you hear? Don’t bother me, for the love of God! Did they want me married, futile, quotidian and taxable? Did they want me the opposite of that, the opposite of anything? If I were another person, I would’ve done what they wanted. The way I am, give me a break! Go to hell without me, Or let me go alone! Why do we have to go together? Don’t take me by the arm! I don’t like being taken by the arm. I want to be alone. I just told you: I’m alone! Ah, what a nuisance, them wanting to keep me company! The blue sky — the same as in my childhood — Eternal truth, empty and perfect! O River Tejo, glassy, ancestral, mute, Small truth where the sky reflects itself! O sorrows revisited, Lisbon past and present! You give nothing, you take nothing, you’re nothing I feel. Leave me in peace! I’m not dallying, I never dally... And as long as the Abyss and Silence dally, I want to be alone!

In all my twenty years of wandering over the restless waters of the globe I can only remember one Christmas Day celebrated by a present given and received. It was, in my view, a proper live-sea transaction, no offering of Dead Sea fruit; and in its unexpectedness perhaps worth recording. Let me tell you first that it happened in the year 1879, long before there was any thought of wireless message, and when an inspired person trying to prophesy broadcasting would have been regarded as a particularly offensive nuisance and probably sent to a rest-cure home. We used to call them madhouses then, in our rude, cave-man way.

You don't have to work to earn money to feed and clothe a body when it's dead. No one can take your dignity away when you're gone. I wish I could say what shuts down that thought is love for myself as a person deserving of life, or the fear of breaking the hearts of those who love me. Those feelings are present, but they aren't enough to shut it up. What makes me turn it off if another sensation that's always with me - a burning rage, sometimes morphing into total hatred. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you for making me even consider that for a second. You may not want me to live how I need to live in order to be happy, but I won't give you the satisfaction of no longer having me as a problem. I will never stop being a burden on the state when the state decided to make me one in the first place. If I have to scam, commit crimes, and become a nuisance to the taxpayer, so be it. And I'll never once feel guilty. I can't say I didn't try doing things 'the right way'. If you don't allow me to exist as a person, I have no choice but to exist as a problem.

You don't have to work to earn money to feed and clothe a body when it's dead. No one can take your dignity away when you're gone. I wish I could say what shuts down that thought is love for myself as a person deserving of life, or the fear of breaking the hearts of those who love me. Those feelings are present, but they aren't enough to shut it up. What makes me turn it off is another sensation that's always with me - a burning rage, sometimes morphing into total hatred. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you for making me even consider that for a second. You may not want me to live how I need to live in order to be happy, but I won't give you the satisfaction of no longer having me as a problem. I will never stop being a burden on the state when the state decided to make me one in the first place. If I have to scam, commit crimes, and become a nuisance to the taxpayer, so be it. And I'll never once feel guilty. I can't say I didn't try doing things 'the right way'. If you don't allow me to exist as a person, I have no choice but to exist as a problem.

Because in that whole place, you were the only one who looked at me like I was a person and not a nuisance. Because when I looked at you I could see adventure hiding behind your eyes. Because you gave me a tomato, even when you shouldn’t have.

What this difference in arousability means is that you notice levels of stimulation that go unobserved by others. This is true whether we are talking about subtle sounds, sights, or physical sensations like pain. It is not that your hearing, vision, or other senses are more acute (plenty of HSPs wear glasses). The difference seems to lie somewhere on the way to the brain or in the brain, in a more careful processing of information. We reflect more on everything. And we sort things into finer distinctions. Like those machines that grade fruit by size—we sort into ten sizes while others sort into two or three. This greater awareness of the subtle tends to make you more intuitive, which simply means picking up and working through information in a semiconscious or unconscious way. The result is that you often “just know” without realizing how. Furthermore, this deeper processing of subtle details causes you to consider the past or future more. You “just know” how things got to be the way they are or how they are going to turn out. This is that “sixth sense” people talk about. It can be wrong, of course, just as your eyes and ears can be wrong, but your intuition is right often enough that HSPs tend to be visionaries, highly intuitive artists, or inventors, as well as more conscientious, cautious, and wise people. The downside of the trait shows up at more intense levels of stimulation. What is moderately arousing for most people is highly arousing for HSPs. What is highly arousing for most people causes an HSP to become very frazzled indeed, until they reach a shutdown point called “transmarginal inhibition.” Transmarginal inhibition was first discussed around the turn of the century by the Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov, who was convinced that the most basic inherited difference among people was how soon they reach this shutdown point and that the quick-to-shut-down have a fundamentally different type of nervous system. No one likes being overaroused, HSP or not. A person feels out of control, and the whole body warns that it is in trouble. Overarousal often means failing to perform at one’s best. Of course, it can also mean danger. An extra dread of overarousal may even be built into all of us. Since a newborn cannot run or fight or even recognize danger, it is best if it howls at anything new, anything arousing at all, so that grown-ups can come and rescue it. Like the fire department, we HSPs mostly respond to false alarms. But if our sensitivity saves a life even once, it is a trait that has a genetic payoff. So, yes, when our trait leads to overarousal, it is a nuisance. But it is part of a package deal with many advantages.

Chronic excessive use of amphetamines also produces a situation, in a matter of months, much worse than that of any heroin addict – except, of course, for those junkies who have been through “cold turkey” withdrawal in a city jail and never quite recovered from it. You are wise if you fear heroin – it is a bad trip in the long run. But fearing the heroin addict is one of the most absurd prejudices of our time. Even under our present laws, which makes it necessary for most of them to steal to get their junk, few are armed robbers; true to their passive and defeatist personality type, they generally become sneak thieves striking only when a house is empty, evidently feeling that even with a gun they couldn’t terrorize anybody into surrendering property to them knowingly. William S. Burroughs has commented that, in his years as a junkie, he hardly recalls an addict who committed a crime of violence. Burroughs, one ex-addict who doesn’t make his living by lecturing for the police, adds pointedly: They tend to be sneak thieves, shoplifters and lush rollers.* If they could obtain the drug legally, their crimes would vanish. As an occasional citizen of New York, I consider the burglaries committed by desperate addicts to be immoral and a goddamned nuisance. I say give them some legal junk before they steal my typewriter. ~•~ * Those who rob sleeping drunks, usually on subways.

Look At The Stars (The Sonnet) Look up my friend, look at the stars, You know some of them exploded long ago. Yet their light keeps shining even when they're gone, For none of their rays is tainted by ego. Not a kernel of kindness ever goes to waste, Not a gesture of gentleness ever goes awry. The unselfish one is the happiest person in the world, You'll find joy when you answer someone's cry. You're thirsty, you seek a glass of water, That is just plain necessity. Someone else is thirsty, you share your last glass, That my friend, is plain humanity. When self-preservation turns trivial, ‘n humanity common sense, That's when a star is born, amidst all self-serving nuisance.

The fates that may befall those at the top are an inevitable part of the power drive. Apart from the risk of injury or death, being in a position of power is stressful. This can be demonstrated by measuring cortisol, a stress hormone in the blood. It is no easy task to do so in wild animals, but Robert Sapolsky has been darting male baboons on the African plains for years. Among these highly competitive primates, cortisol levels depend on how good an individual is at managing social tensions. As in humans, this turns out to be matter of personality. Some dominant males have high stress levels simply because they cannot tell the difference between a serious challenge by another male and neutral behavior that they shouldn’t worry about. They are jumpy and paranoid. After all, if a rival walks by, it could be just because he needs to go from A to B, not because he wants to be a nuisance. When the hierarchy is in flux, misunderstandings accumulate, wrecking the nerves of males near the top. Since stress compromises the immune system, it’s not unusual for high-ranking primates to develop the ulcers and heart attacks also common in corporate CEOs.

How James sees it, as moved along by the Spirit, the way we speak to and about people tells a story. If we understand everyone, friend and foe, neighbor and nuisance, as made in the likeness of God, the words we say should be tempered by that truth. Every single person we will ever converse with, both sinner and saint, bears the image of God; and for that reason, each person is worthy of honor.

Yoga is the effort to experience one's divinity personally and then to hold on that experience forever. Yoga is about self-mastery and the dedicated effort to haul your attention away from your endless brooding over the past and your nonstop worrying about the future so that you can seek instead a place of eternal presence form which may regard yourself and your surrounding with poise. it's all god in disguise but they yogis believe a human life is a very special opportunity because only in alumni from and only with a special opportunity because only in a human form and only with a human mind can God realization ever occur. is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen. a great yogi is anyone who has achieved the permanent state of enlightened bliss. A guru is a great yogi who can actually pass that state on to theirs. mantravirya the potency of the Enlighted consciousness capable of conscious inquiry a yearning to understand the nature of the universe. living spiritual master when I was nine, I couldn't do a thing with it except cry later over these years my hypersensitive awareness of times s led me to push myself to experience life at a maximum pace if I were going to have such a short visit on earth, I had to do everything possible e to experience it now hence all the traveling all the romances all the ambition all the pasta. On the other the Zen masters always say that you cannot see your reflection in running water only in still Ater so something was telling me it would be spiritually negligent to run off now then so much was happening right here in this small, cloistered place where every minute of the day is organized to facilitate self-exploration and devotional practice. vipassana mediation teaches that grief and nuisance are inevitable in this life but if you can plant yourself in stillness long enough you will in time experience the truth that everything. (both uncomfortable and lovely) does eventually pass. Man is neither entirely ap upper off the god and is not entirely the captain of his own destiny he is a little of both. But when they do show up again i can just send them back here back to this rooftop of memory back to the care of those two cool blue souls who already and always understand everything This is what rituals are for we do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place of our most complicated feeling of joy or trauma so that we don't have to have those feelings around with us forever weight us down. we have hands we can stand on them if we want to that's our privilege that is the joy of a moral body and that is because God needs us because God loves to feel things through our hands.

1840, the Republic of Texas began to address the liberal racial policies it had inherited from Mexico. The political status of afromexicanos and emancipated slaves was the most critical issue at hand. For most Anglo-Americans, afromexicanos were a nuisance, since they had the freedom to move freely among them and act as equals.52 Plus, free persons of African descent posed a political threat to Texas’s new racial order because they were

The understatement rule means that a debilitating and painful chronic illness must be described as ‘a bit of a nuisance’; a truly horrific experience is ‘well, not exactly what I would have chosen’; a sight of breathtaking beauty is ‘quite pretty’; an outstanding performance or achievement is ‘not bad’; an act of abominable cruelty is ‘not very friendly’, and an unforgivably stupid misjudgement is ‘not very clever’; the Antarctic is ‘rather chilly’ and the Sahara ‘a bit too warm for my taste’; and any exceptionally delightful object, person or event, which in other cultures would warrant streams of superlatives, is pretty much covered by ‘nice’, or, if we wish to express more ardent approval, ‘very nice’.

If law enforcement is going to play a proper role in protecting society, which can include both protecting ordinary citizens from mentally ill people as well as protecting the often-victimized mentally ill citizens from those who mean to harm them, we need to understand whom we’re dealing with. If we find the behaviors of mentally ill individuals to be incomprehensible and their actions unpredictable, someone may be hurt, perhaps unnecessarily. This should cause any rational officer to ask a number of questions every time they’re dispatched on a call involving an allegedly mentally ill individual: • Many mentally ill people look just like anyone else. How can we recognize them? •    There is not just one “type” of mentally ill person. Furthermore, people with the same diagnosis can be very different. How can I tell what to expect from a specific person even when I know something about mental illness in general? •    How can I tell if I’m going to be safe? This person seems to be acting so strangely. Is what they’re doing an indicator of hostility or potential violence? •    Can I handle this call by myself? I don’t want to appear weak or not able to handle a simple call like a mentally ill person just needing a ride to the hospital. When should I call for a back-up officer? The problems police face in dealing with mentally ill citizens can’t be made to disappear. Our jails fill with them, mostly due to arrests for various nuisance crimes: trespass, drinking or urinating in public, dine and dash, pedestrian interference, assault, etc.

It may, at first sight, be matter of surprise to the thoughtless few that Mr Brass, being a professional gentleman, should not have legally indicted some party or parties, active in the promotion of the nuisance, but they will be good enough to remember, that as Doctors seldom take their own prescriptions, and Divines do not always practise what they preach, so lawyers are shy of meddling with the Law on their own account: knowing it to be an edged tool of uncertain application, very expensive in the working, and rather remarkable for its properties of close shaving, than for its always shaving the right person.