Umpteen Quotes

Decisions to cut aid for the terminally ill, for the elderly, for dependent children, for food stamps, even school lunches, are being made by men with full stomachs who live in comfortable houses with two cars and umpteen tax shelters. None of them go hungry to bed at night.

My fault started two decades ago, the first time I didn't vote, the umpteen times I told Jackie I was too busy to go on one of her marches or make posters or call my congressmen.

Yes, Eden was beautiful- and if I had to squeeze through corporeal keyholes to crash it- so be it. (Hasn’t it bothered you, this part of the story, my being there, I mean? What was I doing there? ‘Presume not the ways of God to scan,’ you’ve been told in umpteen variations, ‘the proper study of Mankind is Man.’ Maybe so, but what, excuse me, was the Devil doing in Eden?) I took the forms of animals. I found I could. (That’s generally my reason for doing something, by the way, because I find I can.)

Love has no number.

The modern world is full of pundits, poseurs, and mall ninjas. Preparedness is not just about accumulating a pile of stuff. You need practical skills, and those come only with study, training, and practice. Any armchair survivalist with a credit card can buy a set of stylish camouflage fatigues and an "M4gery" carbine encrusted with umpteen accessories. Style points should not be mistaken for genuine skills and practicality.

I think sometimes the bits of your life happen in the wrong order, or all at the same time and you waste time feeling angry about it, but that's the way it is, it's real life. You meet the person who you think could make you happy the rest of your life, but at the same time your ex-girlfriend who's told you umpteen times she never wants to see you again tells you you're going to be a dad.' Elle took up the story. 'And then you move to another country and then the next time you see that person, even though its like no time has passed, you sleep together and then - your mum dies' She gave a short, sad laugh. 'Yep that's rubbish timing

Why are people okay with not walking? Does Father not miss his daily walks to the shrine and his shop? What about Mother and her long walk to her parents' home? Does Bobeh not get bored now that she can't kill time watching people walk on the streets? What happened to my sister who lived her life outside; going to college with her friends, walking long distances to make umpteen visits to her tailor? I miss playing hopscotch on the streets. I miss walking in the courtyards and the run to buy kyencza. Why can't I play hide-and-seek in with Mogli's daughter in our courtyard again? Who walks in the by-lanes, on the bridges, outside the school? Who can walk to the bakeries? These are not built for walking.

Not your fault,” Lorenzo says. But it is. And my fault didn’t start when I signed Morgan’s contract on Thursday. My fault started two decades ago, the first time I didn’t vote, the umpteen times I told Jackie I was too busy to go on one of her marches or make posters or call my congressmen.

Umpteen words only shows your Solitude

UMPTEEN people jolted themselves toward the still-lifeless body stocking of a peanut butter heiress. A kind of religious fervor displayed itself on the hard-breathing senior citizens of Cape Codpiece. Twice annually, they have gathered for the last two hundred years in a display which has to be seen to be conceived. Gnashing their gums in a fit of detergent, they call upon “Almighty Greg” to “send them a Kennedy.” This localized custom comes as rather a shock to many people; still, you can’t please everyone. Each year the used underwear of a prominent citizen is worshiped. This year it is Sylvia de Bortcha’s body stocking that has risen to the occasion. “I have been chosen because of my breeding habits,” she said to a delighted group of well-diggers. “I have worn these off and on for the past year and a half,” she proclaimed, her voice reaching an octave or more. The crowd went wild. “If this

Decisions to cut aid for the terminally ill, for the elderly, for dependent children, for food stamps, even school lunches, are being made by men with full stomachs who live in comfortable houses with two cars and umpteen tax shelters.

There’s always been books. All my bedraggled life, they’ve been the only constant. Even Sutton, my closest friend, had exclaimed, “What’s with the fucking reading, man? You used to be a guard, for christsakes.” Which is Irish logic at its finest. I’d said to him then and umpteen times since, “Reading transports me.

Well O. the thing's sick. It's even sicker than 4. Was it 4? The one you said that Loach inspired, where you'd supposedly just that very day dropped out of Jesuit seminary after umpteen years of disciplined celibacy because of carno-spiritual yearnings you hadn't even been quite in touch with as carno-spiritual in nature until you just now this very moment laid eyes on the Subject? With the breviary and rented collar?’ 'That was 4, yes. 4's pretty much of a gynecopia also, but within a kind of narrower demographic psychological range of potential Subjects. Notice I never said 4 was no-miss.’ 'Well you must be a very proud young man. This is even sicker. The fake ring and fictional spouse. It's like you're inventing somebody you love just to seduce somebody else into helping you betray her. What's it like. It's like suborning somebody into helping you desecrate a tomb they don't know is empty.’ 'This is what I get for passing down priceless fruits of hard experience to somebody who still thinks it's exciting to shave.’ 'I ought to go. I have a blackhead I have to see to.’ 'You haven't asked why I called right back. Why I'm calling during high-toll hours.’ 'Plus I feel some kind of toothache starting, and it's the weekend, and I want to see Schacht before Mrs. Clarke's confectionery day in the sun tomorrow. Plus I'm naked.

She only modelled for him once,' Max said stubbornly, leaning the canvases back against the wall and replacing the sheet. 'Once, twice or umpteen times, it's proof she knew Spataro... how shall we put it?... on terms a man who loved her might resent.' 'There are lots of artists in Montparnasse, Appelby, and lots of artists' models.' 'I wouldn't like it. And I bet Sir Henry didn't like it either.' 'There was nothing between Corinne and Spataro.' 'That's the problem, isn't it?' Appelby pointed with the stem of his pipe at the shrouded paintings. 'There may have been *literally* nothing between them.

The four formed a clique, and while I wasn’t really in the clique, I hung out with them on occasion. I was Kristina’s friend, but she was the type who was friendly with everyone. If this had been high school, I would’ve given up because Kristina would’ve had thirty other friends. I was lucky. I got her the first week of college when she didn’t have umpteen friends already. Besides the other three, I knew Kristina considered me one of her closest gal pals at college. I needed it. I needed her. My other option was my stuffy roommate and her friends. I frowned. Maybe I was the problem? Nah. I shook my head and moved forward with the line. That couldn’t be the case. I oozed warmth. I drew people to me like sap to bears. Come and eat me, animals. My lip twitched. Even my own jokes were pathetic.

Mr. Bredon had been a week with Pym's Publicity, and had learnt a number of things. He learned the average number of words that can be crammed into four inches of copy; that Mr. Armstrong's fancy could be caught by an elaborately-drawn lay-out, whereas Mr. Hankin looked on art-work as waste of a copy-writer's time; that the word “pure” was dangerous, because, if lightly used, it laid the client open to prosecution by the Government inspectors, whereas the words “highest quality,” “finest ingredients,” “packed under the best conditions” had no legal meaning, and were therefore safe; that the expression “giving work to umpteen thousand British employees in our model works at so-and-so” was not by any means the same thing as “British made throughout”; that the north of England liked its butter and margarine salted, whereas the south preferred it fresh; that the Morning Star would not accept any advertisements containing the word “cure,” though there was no objection to such expressions as “relieve” or “ameliorate,” and that, further, any commodity that professed to “cure” anything might find itself compelled to register as a patent medicine and use an expensive stamp; that the most convincing copy was always written with the tongue in the cheek, a genuine conviction of the commodity's worth producing—for some reason—poverty and flatness of style; that if, by the most far-fetched stretch of ingenuity, an indecent meaning could be read into a headline, that was the meaning that the great British Public would infallibly read into it; that the great aim and object of the studio artist was to crowd the copy out of the advertisement and that, conversely, the copy-writer was a designing villain whose ambition was to cram the space with verbiage and leave no room for the sketch; that the lay-out man, a meek ass between two burdens, spent a miserable life trying to reconcile these opposing parties; and further, that all departments alike united in hatred of the client, who persisted in spoiling good lay-outs by cluttering them up with coupons, free-gift offers, lists of local agents and realistic portraits of hideous and uninteresting cartons, to the detriment of his own interests and the annoyance of everybody concerned.

Around me umpteen birds are singing umpteen marvelous melodies, whistles and warbles and chirps and quavers cutting pitches high then sweep-swooping low, the pulchritudinous swimming pool sized pond glimmering picturesque in the lazy and hazy early afternoon sun. An attractive well-groomed mother duck- followed in a flawless and disciplined line by its ducklings like fluffy automatons - plies her trade alongside a young and jubilant hominid couple who, satisfactorily fulfilled to have settled and copulated once and to never again except on birthdays or anniversaries be carnal, play with their progeniture with proficiently prepared picnics loaded with an overkill of mother's home made tarts and buns and baskets of ham and cheese sandwiches; it was all sensationally Disney and dizzying and droll and not at all what this trip desired.

Do you really believe what you do in the service of your country, for the men you fight beside, is something you need to explain to me?” My voice was just above a whisper, my face a breath from his. “You think you have to justify yourself to me? Me? Someone who’s never had to march umpteen miles with 150 pounds on her back, or been shot at, or gone days on little to no sleep? Someone who hasn’t spent the last ten years in harsh conditions, with few comforts, someone who’s never been asked to do incredibly difficult things to keep people safe?” I kissed him again, the tips of my wet fingers resting lightly on his jaw. “Where would we all be without people like you?

if he was reincarnated as a dung beetle and had to roll shit about for the next umpteen lifetimes. It was worth it just for one minute in her arms.

I would never give up on the girl I love, even if it took umpteen years.

Arriving at the hotel, like leaving it, was fraught with anxiety: there was always the question of ‘the tip’. Dad would probably have his shilling ready before he’d even signed the register, and when the porter had shown them up to their room would give it to him, as often as not misjudging the moment, not waiting till his final departure but slipping it to him while he was still demonstrating what facilities the room had to offer – the commodious wardrobe, the luxurious bathroom – so the tip came as an unwelcome interruption. Once the potentially dangerous procedure of arrival had been got through, the luggage fetched up, the porter endowed with his shilling, and the door finally closed, my parents’ apprehension gave way to huge relief – it was as if they’d bluffed their way into the enemy camp, and relief gave way to giggles as they explored the delights of the place. ‘Come look in here, Dad. It’s a spanking place – there’s umpteen towels.

Not much of a return for getting out of bed before the crack of dawn, driving umpteen miles, staggering more miles through a howling gale in the dark and then squishing around in the freezing mud.’ ‘Good for the complexion,’ I said, ‘Keep telling yourself that it’s fun, fun, fun.

the tribesmen ‘surrendered some thousands of their rifles, most of them captured or stolen from us, and were [. . .] given umpteen heavy bags of silver to induce them to go on pretending they had been defeated’.

CHAPTER - 6 HANDLING COMPLAINTS 1. What is a complaint? 32 In vigilance parlance, any source of information about a vigilance misdeed in the organization is a complaint. Para 3.1 of the Vigilance Manual (2005 Ed) defines complaint as “Receipt of information about corruption, malpractice or misconduct on the part of public servants, from whatever source, would be termed as a complaint. ” Further para 3.2.1 of the above manual gives a non-exhaustive list of what all constitute complaint.Thus, an inspection report, press clipping, property transaction reports under the Conduct Rules, etc. fall within the ambit of complaint, if they throw any light on the misdeed in the organization. Even in the complaints received from the public or the employees of the organization, there used to be umpteen instances when the author might not have intended that to be a complaint but the communication provided valuable information about an organized crime in the organization and therefore it was treated and registered as a complaint. Some such instances are:

Turned out the Founding Fathers were just men who liked to talk big all night after tying on a few, scribbling down laws and ideals that contradicted themselves every third paragraph, dreaming up an institution of freedom on a foundation built by slaves. It was all a house of cards. Smoke and mirrors. Just marks on parchment. With holes you could drive a truck through. And a talented huckster got behind the wheel of one and drove it all the way to the White House. It was reported that he had told over ten thousand lies since taking the oath of office, had broken umpteen laws. Darren would have said allegedly, but the president had either committed or admitted to many of these on live television. And no one seemed to care. Not really.