Shoot The Messenger Quotes

The point is, when you ask, “What do you want for dinner?” we’re thinking about screwing you on the kitchen counter. When you’re telling us about the sappy film you watched with your girlfriends last week, we’re thinking about the porno we saw on cable last night. When you show us the designer shoes you bought on sale, we’re thinking how nice they would look on our shoulders. I just thought you’d want to know. Don’t shoot the messenger

I do believe in shooting the messenger. You know why? Because it sends a message.

You’re going to shoot the messenger?” “Yeah, Dad, if the messenger can’t learn to keep his interfering ass out of my business.

Nick could see the gun shaking in Alan's hand now, in tight, terrified spasms. "Last night we put a magician in the river," Alan said, his voice low and intense as if he was making a promise."Maybe we should send you to join him." "You know the rules," the woman whispered. "Don't shoot the messenger." Nick interrupted, leaning down to speak in her ear. "Do they say 'Don't cut the messenger in half with your great big sword'?

Like so many before them, they didn't care that my dad was only the messenger. They still wanted to shoot him.

You know the phrase ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’?” Edmondson says. “In fact, it’s not enough to not shoot them. You have to hug the messenger and let them know how much you need that feedback. That way you can be sure that they feel safe enough to tell you the truth next time.

We live in a society where people are often more offended by those who point out child abuse than by the abuse itself. In other words, society does not view abuse as the problem; the problem is you pointing it out. Society's basic mindset is that "If we don't talk about abuse, then it's not happening." Similarly, children are attacked when they point out the dysfunction around them.

To hide is our insecurities telling God that what we fear is bigger than Who He is. And in this case, maybe we should shoot the messenger.

Before you shoot the messenger, it helps to get the message first.

If we ignore and repress an emotion, we won’t erase its message—we’ll just shoot the messenger and interfere with an important natural process. The unconscious then has two choices: to increase the intensity of the emotion and present it to us one more time (this is how unresolving moods or escalating emotional suffering may be activated), or to give up on us and stuff the emotional energy deep into our psyches. Now, that instinct will no longer be readable as itself—as fear or anger or despair—but it will still contain all its original intensity and information. Usually, this squelched intensity mutates into something else, like tics, compulsions, psychosomatic illness, addictions, or neuroses. Repressing our emotions is a perilous way to manage them.

Honest people will always be hated, not because they are incorrect (they may be exactly right), but because some loathe truth and its agents.

Negative emotions are messengers delivering urgent news from faraway lands you lost contact to Don’t shoot the messengers they are gardeners bringing tears to water the seeds of a new you

(On WWI:) A man of importance had been shot at a place I could not pronounce in Swahili or in English, and, because of this shooting, whole countries were at war. It seemed a laborious method of retribution, but that was the way it was being done. ... A messenger came to the farm with a story to tell. It was not a story that meant much as stories went in those days. It was about how the war progressed in German East Africa and about a tall young man who was killed in it. ... It was an ordinary story, but Kibii and I, who knew him well, thought there was no story like it, or one as sad, and we think so now. The young man tied his shuka on his shoulder one day and took his shield and his spear and went to war. He thought war was made of spears and shields and courage, and he brought them all. But they gave him a gun, so he left the spear and the shield behind him and took the courage, and went where they sent him because they said this was his duty and he believed in duty. ... He took the gun and held it the way they had told him to hold it, and walked where they told him to walk, smiling a little and looking for another man to fight. He was shot and killed by the other man, who also believed in duty, and he was buried where he fell. It was so simple and so unimportant. But of course it meant something to Kibii and me, because the tall young man was Kibii's father and my most special friend. Arab Maina died on the field of action in the service of the King. But some said it was because he had forsaken his spear.

You’re kind of an asshole.” My conviction is weak – so weak – and more wishful thinking that anything. “You were disturbing the peace – the natural order of things, if you will – and I’ve been tasked with escorting you from the premises. Don’t shoot the messenger.

This body is a guesthouse each morning someone new arrives. Welcome them all for they may be messengers from the invisible. Do not feel burdened by them or they may go back to non-existence. Each time a thought enters your heart treat it as an honored guest, your worth is shown by the thoughts you entertain. Embrace sorrowful thoughts for they sweep the house of your heart clean, scatter the withered leaves, and pull out the twisted roots, preparing the ground for the new shoots of joy.

To prevent us from shooting each other in the darkness white armlets would be worn. At this moment a messenger arrived to say that there were no white armlets.

Punishing failure and “shooting the messenger” only cause people to hide their mistakes, and eventually, all desire to innovate is completely extinguished.

87. Just maybe These cool Himalayan winds that burst open the tender shoots of the deodar and drink the fragrance of its sap hurry southwards to me. I embrace them, my love for what if by the tiniest chance they had touched you? Cloud Messenger, Kalidasa, 400 CE?

His smile faded. “Yeah. He said Fitz was going to need a friend today.” “He said a lot more than that,” Ro muttered. “Relax, Foster,” Keefe said, shooting Ro a glare before he pointed to the crease that had formed between Sophie’s eyebrows. “No need to get all crinkly on me.

The enemy that is Envy is trigger-happy; he's pretty much a gunslinger who wields a silenced Demotivator - sent with sabotage, suicide, and suppression, he assassinates in secret, and so hopes to exterminate, to kill what was meant to motivate him - in simpler terms and less expression: he shoots the messenger.

von Braun went looking for problems, hunches, and bad news. He even rewarded those who exposed problems. After Kranz and von Braun’s time, the “All Others Bring Data” process culture remained, but the informal culture and power of individual hunches shriveled. In 1974, William Lucas took over the Marshall Space Flight Center. A NASA chief historian wrote that Lucas was a brilliant engineer but “often grew angry when he learned of problems.” Allan McDonald described him to me as a “shoot-the-messenger type guy.” Lucas transformed von Braun’s Monday Notes into a system purely for upward communication. He did not write feedback and the notes did not circulate. At one point they morphed into standardized forms that had to be filled out. Monday Notes became one more rigid formality in a process culture. “Immediately, the quality of the notes fell,” wrote another official NASA historian.

Until, on the last day of shooting the pilot, just as Miranda was leaving set, she turned back and said, “Hey, Jennette, do you have AIM?” “Not really,” I said, thinking she was talking about throwing things. I’ve never had good aim. “You don’t have AOL Instant Messenger?” She seemed shocked. “Ohhhh, AIM,” I said, hoping that I sounded convincing, like I knew what it was even though I still didn’t. “Yeah, I have it.” “Cool. Add me.” “Cool.” And I felt it. As soon as I got home that day, I had Marcus sign me up for an account. Over AIM, our friendship blossomed. Miranda and I spent hours talking every day on it. Sometimes if Mom walked past and asked me what I was doing, I’d tell her I was talking to Miranda, but most of the time I’d shrink the AIM text bubble, lie, and say I was doing schoolwork. She didn’t question me. She’d leave the room and then I’d pull the text bubble back up and start laughing.

the following prayer by Dr. Jane Goodall, who was named a UN Messenger of Peace for her continued world efforts, she seems to touch on most aspects of world conflict as we know them today and as they pertain to all living things. Prayer for World Peace We pray to the great Spiritual Power in which we live and move and have our being. We pray that we may at all times keep our minds open to new ideas and shun dogma; that we may grow in our understanding of the nature of all living beings and our connectedness with the natural world; that we may become ever more filled with generosity of spirit and true compassion and love for all life; that we may strive to heal the hurts that we have inflicted on nature and control our greed for material things, knowing that our actions are harming our natural world and the future of our children; that we may value each and every human being for who he is, for who she is, reaching to the spirit that is within,knowing the power of each individual to change the world. We pray for social justice, for the alleviation of the crippling poverty that condemns millions of people around the world to lives of misery—hungry, sick, and utterly without hope. We pray for the children who are starving,who are condemned to homelessness, slave labor, and prostitution, and especially for those forced to fight, to kill and torture even members of their own family. We pray for the victims of violence and war, for those wounded in body and for those wounded in mind. We pray for the multitudes of refugees, forced from their homes to alien places through war or through the utter destruction of their environment. We pray for suffering animals everywhere, for an end to the pain caused by scientific experimentation, intensive farming, fur farming, shooting, trapping, training for entertainment, abusive pet owners, and all other forms of exploitation such as overloading and overworking pack animals, bull fighting, badger baiting, dog and cock fighting and so many more. We pray for an end to cruelty, whether to humans or other animals, for an end to bullying, and torture in all its forms. We pray that we may learn the peace that comes with forgiving and the strength we gain in loving; that we may learn to take nothing for granted in this life; that we may learn to see and understand with our hearts; that we may learn to rejoice in our being. We pray for these things with humility; We pray because of the hope that is within us, and because of a faith in the ultimate triumph of the human spirit; We pray because of our love for Creation, and because of our trust in God. We pray, above all, for peace throughout the world. I love this beautiful and magnanimous prayer. Each request is spelled out clearly and specifically, and it asks that love, peace, and kindness be shown to all of earth’s creatures, not just its human occupants.

She’s amazing.” That comes out a bit gooier than I mean it to, and my cheeks burn. My whole head practically bursts into flames when I notice my parents. My mom’s grinning her my little boy is growing up smile and my dad looks like he wants to pat me on the back and call me “slugger.” Parents: perfecting ways to humiliate their children since the dawn of time. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” my mom whispers, her voice thick. If she starts crying, I’m going to smother myself with my pillow. Audra steps forward, offering a sturdy hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Vane talks about you guys all the time.” My parents beam and I can’t help grinning. She sure knows how to charm the parental units. “I wish I could say the same,” my mom says, shooting me a glare. “He told us he had a date, but you’re the first girl he’s brought home. He must really like you.” “Mom,” I complain, ready to bean her with my pillow. Or maybe the bedside lamp. Especially when Audra blushes bright red.

You don’t need to pity them. Really, let me tell you: don’t. The reality of the universe is not something to envy.” “Why?” Yifan lifted a hand and pointed at the stars of the galaxy. Then he let the 3G force pull his arm back to this chest. “Darkness. Only darkness.” “You mean the dark forest state?” Guan Yifan shook his head, a gesture that appeared to be a struggle in hypergravity. “For us, the dark forest state is all-important, but it’s just a detail of the cosmos. If you think of the cosmos as a great battlefield, dark forest strikes are nothing more than snipers shooting at the careless—messengers, mess men, etc. In the grand scheme of the battle, they are nothing. You have not seen what a true interstellar war is like.” “Have you?” “We’ve caught a few glimpses. But most things we know are just guesses.… Do you really want to know? The more you possess of this kind of knowledge, the less light remains in your heart.” “My heart is already completely dark. I want to know.” And so, more than six centuries after Luo Ji had fallen through ice into that lake, another dark veil hiding the truth about the universe was lifted before the gaze of one of the only survivors of Earth civilization. Yifan asked, “Why don’t you tell me what the most powerful weapon for a civilization possessing almost infinite technological prowess is? Don’t think of this as a technical question. Think philosophy.” Cheng Xin pondered for a while and then struggled to shake her head. “I don’t know.” “Your experiences should give you a hint.” What had she experienced? She had seen how a cruel attacker could lower the dimensions of space by one and destroy a solar system. What are dimensions? “The universal laws of physics,” Cheng Xin said. “That’s right. The universal laws of physics are the most terrifying weapons, and also the most effective defenses. Whether it’s by the Milky Way or the Andromeda Galaxy, at the scale of the local galactic group or the Virgo Supercluster, those warring civilizations possessing godlike technology will not hesitate to use the universal laws of physics as weapons. There are many laws that can be manipulated into weapons, but most commonly, the focus is on spatial dimensions and the speed of light. Typically, lowering spatial dimensions is a technique for attack, and lowering the speed of light is a technique for defense. Thus, the dimensional strike on the Solar System was an advanced attack method. A dimensional strike is a sign of respect. In this universe, respect is not easy to earn. I guess you could consider it an honor for Earth civilization.

better to shoot the messenger than to learn about—and fix—the problems. In contrast to such constructive defiance, I know bosses who employ the opposite strategy to undermine and drive out incompetent superiors. One called it “malicious compliance,” following idiotic orders from

where mistakes are routinely punished and scapegoats fired. Punishing failure and “shooting the messenger” only cause people to hide their mistakes, and eventually, all desire to innovate is completely extinguished.

Life has taught me not to shoot messengers, no matter how bad and discouraging the news.

In today’s world, a refugee from a war-torn country is a messenger carrying an important message to all Western people. That message is: 'I am here because of what the warmongers in your so-called ‘democratic’ governments have done to my country and my people.' And so, read the message and work with the messenger rather than shoot them.

Life has taught me not to shoot messengers, no matter how bad and discouraging the news. It is more important to pay attention to those crafting the message!

But, my lady, you seem to have an altogether different admirer who can’t take his eyes off you. And, at this particular moment, he doesn’t appear at all pleased that you are enjoying yourself in my arms.” She started to look to see to whom he was referring, when he stopped her quickly. “Don’t look, kitten. Then he’ll know we’re discussing him.” “Who?” “You mean you don’t know? You haven’t noticed him watching you all evening? All season?” “Freddie, WHO?” “Blackmoor, of course.” “You’re touched.” Alex laughed, shaking her head. “He’s not been watching me all season, and if he has been watching me tonight, it’s only because he feels obligated to. He’s my chaperone for the evening.” Freddie laughed shortly. “Really? Your chaperone? It seems to me that your family are the ones who are touched, Alex. They’re practically feeding you to the lion.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Freddie. Blackmoor has no interest in me other than pseudobrotherly admiration.” “Oh? I’ve two sisters myself, if you’ll remember, Alex. And I’ve never looked at one of them quite the way he’s looking at you right now.” It took all of Alex’s strength not to look. “Which is how, precisely?” “As though he doesn’t know if he wants to kiss you or kill you.” She gasped, a blush coming to her cheeks. “Freddie!” “Don’t shoot the messenger, sweet.” “You’re sorely mistaken.” “Perhaps.

If there are junk yards in hell, love is the dog that guards the gates,” he wasn’t kidding.

Some are dismissed from life in the dawn of infancy; some in the morning of childhood; others in the noon of youth. The sands of some are continued longer; and a very few are permitted to see the night of what we generally term old age. Not a day, nor an hour; no, not a minute passes, wherein multitudes of all ages are not called away to stand before the holy Lord God. Death, that promiscuous reaper, pays no regard to years or station. The infant of a day, and the man of a century are alike to him; he mows the shooting blade and the mature stem: the growing and the grown unite to swell his harvest and augment his spoils. But is that which we term Death, the offspring of chance, or the result of accident? Surely, no. Death is a scythe! but if I may so speak, it is a scythe in the hand of God. Affliction, sickness, and dissolution, are messengers of His; which come not but at His command.

They invalidate vegans in large part through promulgating inaccurate, negative stereotypes that cause meat eaters - or nonvegans - to feel defensive against the information vegans share: if she shoot the messenger, we don't have to take seriously the implicatioins of their message. For example, vegans are often portrayed as overly emotional, animal-loving sentimentalists. If someone is overly emotional, by definition they are not rational, and people who are not rational are not worth listening to.

Of course, terms of surrender were better fed from one of your own. If they didn't like the message, there was no harm in shooting down the messenger for effect.

Diana Fox, a striking young beauty of only twenty-two. She had gotten into trouble when she was a teenager, when another student at her high school had been arrested for plotting a shooting at the school. He had been infatuated with her, and all of his social media ramblings indicated that she was part of the plan, but she had denied it. Unfortunately, she had once engaged him on instant messenger when he was ranting about how the privileged students were causing so much havoc for everyone else, and she thought he was only joking when he talked about killing them all. She had gone along with it during the chat, thinking it was only some sort of cathartic role-play, but that series of messages was enough to convict her of being a co-conspirator. Because of the severity of the threat, the sixteen-year-old girl was tried as an adult and sentenced to twenty-five years to life in prison.

Chi-Lin couldn’t speak or nod but his eyes conveyed a mulish agreement. “Good. It is not wise to shoot the messenger. Especially when the messenger is a daughter of the Fae, yes?” The tableau froze. Sevana, deeming it safe enough to resume her seat, did so and studied their faintly horrified expressions that were mixed with disbelief and a sort of trepidation, as if they had stuck their hands into a hole expecting treasure only to encounter a den of vipers instead.

we often condemn bearers of bad news, since we automatically associate them with the message’s content (otherwise known as shoot-the-messenger syndrome). Sometimes, CEOs and investors (unconsciously) steer clear of these harbingers, meaning the only news that reaches the upper echelons is positive, thus creating a distorted view of the real situation. If you lead a group of people, and don’t want to fall prey to false connections, direct your staff to tell you only the bad news – and fast. With this, you overcompensate for the shoot-the-messenger syndrome and, believe me, you will still hear enough positive news.

Besides, Foster,” Keefe said, waiting for her to look at him, “when are you going to realize that you could wrap yourself in neon green feathers and start walking around roaring like a dinosaur, and we’d still hang out with you? Shoot—I’d join in.

Nobody would joke about the tooth fairy had they met the terrifying origin of that myth.

Under normal circumstances, the cytokines—soluble, hormonelike proteins—acted as messengers among the cells of the immune system, helping to target microbial infections like viruses, bacteria, parasites, and fungi, and directing the antibodies and killer cells to attack them. But with the Spanish flu, the whole system went into overdrive, the cytokines targeting everything in sight, the antibodies sticking like glue to anything they came into contact with, the killer cells blasting everything in range. It was like a wild shoot ’em up, devastating every cell in the body, compromising every defense mechanism, until the victim ultimately drowned in an overwhelming tide of his own mucus and virus-choked blood.

She flicked a glance down his body with what might’ve been appreciation from someone else, but since it was Simone, he labeled the look as “disdain.” She picked up a bottle of barbecue sauce. “Naked Heat.” She blew a raspberry. Definitely disdain. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Sex calls.” She arched a single brow, and something in him coiled tight. “Guess it depends on who’s selling it.

Bunny, and my parents aren’t here either, but you’d like to make it about them. Don’t shit a shitter. The higher-ups aren’t wild about me returning to work because, while Assistant Commissioner Fintan O’Rourke was as dodgy as a three euro note, he was still one of the chosen and having me knocking about is an unhappy reminder of a rather big embarrassment for the force. 'Tis classic Garda logic – we take a PR black eye when it comes out that the second most powerful peaked cap in the country has been in the pocket of the self-styled godfather of Irish crime, Gerry Fallon, for several decades, and the solution is to shoot the messenger.

Medication, surgery, and radiation are the weapons with which conventional medicine foolishly shoots the messengers called symptoms.

Healing is often if not usually caused not by the medication but by the belief with which the patient has left the hospital or pharmacy.

This body is a guesthouse each morning someone new arrives. Welcome them all for they may be messengers from the invisible. Do not feel burdened by them or they may go back to non-existence. Each time a thought enters your heart treat it as an honored guest, your worth is shown by the thoughts you entertain. Embrace sorrowful thoughts for they sweep the house of your heart clean, scatter the withered leaves, and pull out the twisted roots, preparing the ground for the new shoots of joy. What sorrow takes away from the heart it replaces with something better. Without the fury of thunder and lightning the plants will be scorched by the sun. Be grateful for all you receive, good and bad alike, for it may be a gift from the treasury of Spirit that will bring the fulfillment of your most secret desire.