Well Wisher Quotes

America... goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy. She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all.

You will never accept gratitude as a solution to your problems, until you have reached the last stage of grief--acceptance.

Let every American, every lover of liberty, every well wisher to his posterity, swear by the blood of the Revolution, never to violate in the least particular, the laws of the country; and never to tolerate their violation by others.

We can’t continuously be a society of well-wishers. We must take action to bring those wishes to fruition.

Good people won’t do bad to you if you hurt them. They’ll just be neutral and walk away, with experience and a lesson; and you’ll be left with well-wishers less one.

জীবনে আমরা যাদের সবচাইতে ভালবাসি, যারা আমাদের চলার পথ সুগম করে দেয়, সুদিনে আমরা তাদেরকেই ভুলে থাকি।

I am not, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, a good-natured man; that is, many things annoy me besides what interferes with my own ease and interest. I hate a lie; a piece of injustice wounds me to the quick, though nothing but the report of it reach me. Therefore I have made many enemies and few friends; for the public know nothing of well-wishers, and keep a wary eye on those who would reform them.

Speak so polite with people that your ill wishers become your well wishers.

I hope you defy the odds of most dreams and actually accomplish yours

Hater you can find in a moment, but it takes an eternity to find a true well-wisher.

Parents are the great well wishers of their child, no one else more than them.

Not everyone around you are your friends or well wishers, Just be conscious.

A true well-wisher follows you like a shadow.

The yogi who looks with the same eye upon saints or sinners, relatives or strangers, friends or foes, well-wishers or even those wishing harm is indeed supreme.

Most people have very little control over what sort of day they’re going to have. For instance, when one person says, “Have a nice day,” the other may well be thinking, “I’ve just been diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, and I’m also coughing up thick black stuff.” In this case the well-wisher’s words will fall on deaf ears.

A lot can be changed in a span of a year. A thousand lives can be moulded, a lot many lessons can be learnt and life can show its unpredictability. Even so, one year is enough to prove to yourself that you are worth the struggle that you undertake just to reap a momentary fruit of that labour. If fighting a new fight keeps us motivated each year, so be it. Here is wishing every fighter, struggling to make a break and succeed in life a memorable New Year. Do what you do best and don't trade your passion for fame but rather earn the fame through your passion. May your fight be fruitful this year and your name engraved in hearts of horde in the form of your work. A Happy New Year to all my well wishers, peers, friends, colleagues, acquaintances and readers. May your year be blessed with good fortune and health with added wealth. My message this New Year is that in a world full of possibilities never limit yourself to the sky for what is sky when there is endless darkness beyond to lighten up. Take care.

Just remember, though you may have an ample set of well-wishers who would pray for you, there would always be an extra set of prayer called out for you in some part of the world.

Damen was swept away by servants, by well-wishers. The last thing he heard was Laurent saying, ‘See to my Captain. Tonight he is to have anything that he asks for.’ *

Honour'd Sir— Look to your Wife if you do love her as much as she do love you. For she is sore put to by an Enemy in the shape of a Friend. Sir, there is one near her who ought to be Away. A woman should not be try'd beyond her Strength, and continual dropping will wear away a Stone—ay, more—a Diamond.                                              From Two Well-Wishers

The story that you wanted to write will never be pen down that way, The chapters of incidences will variate, The entrance and exit of characters will alter, The starting of pages might be different, The ending of pages might be unclear, The attractive introduction, The charming ending, Considering the facts in your mind, Concluding with ideas in your heart, The end product will be something else, The same goes with your life, This person is going to be my lover, friend, helper, and well-wisher, or in case some of you decide an enemy, We’re breathing humans, Our thoughts, our minds, our hearts, and our souls, everything works according to our moods, likes, dislikes, etc., There’s a problem with us, There’s a fault in ourselves, When we think that they’ll be there for us, No, they wouldn’t be, Why should they be? They have a different story to live, It’s not their duty to make your story happening, So be delighted with your tale, And enjoy whatever comes your way.

Bouncer, recognizing a well-wisher, got up, and thrust his cold, wet nose under her hand, assuming as he did so the soulful expression of a dog who takes but a benevolent interest in cats, livestock, and stray visitors.

Although I had savored my solitude, there was a big difference between enjoying time to myself and feeling lonely. I had no reason to feel lonely because Lord Krishna, my friend and ever well-wisher, was with me the entire time.

Today we are less likely to speak of humanitarianism, with its overtones of paternalistic generosity, and more likely to speak of human rights. The basic freedoms in life are not seen as gifts to be doled out by benevolent well-wishers, but as Casement said at his trial, as those rights to which all human beings are entitled from birth. It is this spirit which underlies organizations like Amnesty International, with its belief that putting someone in prison solely for his or her opinion is a crime, whether it happens in China or Turkey or Argentina and Medecins Sans Frontieres, with its belief that a sick child is entitled to medical care, whether in Rwanda or Honduras or the South Bronx.

The gender binary is like a party guest who shows up before you get the chance to set the table. Before a baby is even born, well-meaning well-wishers will often ask, “Is it a boy or a girl?” The baby only becomes real to most people once they know the gender. But there are so many more important questions to be asked when a child is born, such as: “How’s your baby doing?” or “How can I support you during this time?” or “Why is it so expensive to raise kids?” Or maybe even “Where can I donate to help?

...you needs uh man.” Janie laughed at all these well-wishers because she knew that they knew plenty of women alone; that she was not the first one they had ever seen. But most of the others were poor. Besides she liked being lonesome for a change. This freedom feeling was fine. These men didn’t represent a thing she wanted to know about. She had already experienced them...

Satan is never your well-wisher. Get the pleasure of making him annoyed on you by doing good deeds

As a child of God, please recognize that God is the strength of your life. Not your husband, children, job, friends, loved ones, or well-wishers. God should be the strength of your life, the source of your joy.

Charles had climbed on a bench and was calling out that he had something to say, creating a racket that quickly got the attention of the room. Everyone looked immensely surprised, including Tessa and Will. Sona frowned, clearly thinking Charles was very rude. She didn’t know the half of it, Cordelia thought darkly. “Let me be the first to raise a glass to the happy couple!” said Charles, doing just that. “To James Herondale and Cordelia Carstairs. I wish to add personally that James, my brother’s parabatai, has always been like a younger brother to me.” “A younger brother he accused of vandalizing greenhouses across our fair nation,” muttered Will. “As for Cordelia Carstairs—how to describe her?” Charles went on. “Especially when one has not bothered to get to know her at all,” murmured James. “She is both beautiful and fair,” said Charles, leaving Cordelia to wonder what the difference was, “as well as being brave. I am sure she will make James as happy as my lovely Grace makes me.” He smiled at Grace, who stood quietly near him, her face a mask. “That’s right. I am formally announcing my intention to wed Grace Blackthorn. You will all be invited, of course.” Cordelia glanced over at Alastair; he was expressionless, but his hands, jammed into his pockets, were fists. James had narrowed his eyes. Charles went on merrily. “And lastly, my thanks go out to the folk of the Enclave, who supported my actions as acting Consul through our recent troubles. I am young to have borne so much responsibility, but what could I say when duty called? Only this. I am honored by the trust of my mother, the love of my bride-to-be, and the belief of my people—” “Thank you, Charles!” James had appeared at Charles’s side and done something rather ingenious with his feet that caused the bench Charles had been standing on to tip over. He caught Charles around the shoulder as he slid to the floor, clapping him on the back. Cordelia doubted most people in the room had noticed anything amiss. “What an excellent speech!” Magnus Bane, looking fiendishly amused, snapped his fingers. The loops of golden ribbons dangling from the chandeliers formed the shapes of soaring herons while “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” began to play in ghostly fashion on the unmanned piano. James hustled Charles away from the bench he had clambered onto and into a crowd of well-wishers. The room, as a whole, seemed relieved. “We have raised a fine son, my darling,” Will said, kissing Tessa on the cheek.

The odd group of well-wishers slowly moved down the hallway as Moshe’s sobs cascaded up and down the walls, bouncing from one side to the other. The discourse on Doc Roberts was forgotten now as the group tromped forward, a ragtag assortment of travelers moving fifteen feet as if it were fifteen thousand miles, slow travelers all, arrivals from different lands, making a low trek through a country that claimed to be so high, a country that gave them so much yet demanded so much more. They moved slowly, like fusgeyers, wanderers seeking a home in Europe, or erú West African tribesmen herded off a ship on a Virginia shore to peer back across the Atlantic in the direction of their homeland one last time, moving toward a common destiny, all of them—Isaac, Nate, and the rest—into a future of American nothing. It was a future they couldn’t quite see, where the richness of all they had brought to the great land of promise would one day be zapped into nothing, the glorious tapestry of their history boiled down to a series of ten-second TV commercials, empty holidays, and sports games filled with the patriotic fluff of red, white, and blue, the celebrants cheering the accompanying dazzle without any idea of the horrible struggles and proud pasts of their forebears who had made their lives so easy. The collective history of this sad troupe moving down the hospital corridor would become tiny blots in an American future that would one day scramble their proud histories like eggs, scattering them among the population while feeding mental junk to the populace on devices that would become as common and small as the hot dog that the dying woman thought she smelled; for in death, Chona had smelled not a hot dog but the future, a future in which devices that fit in one’s pocket and went zip, zap, and zilch delivered a danger far more seductive and powerful than any hot dog, a device that children of the future would clamor for and become addicted to, a device that fed them their oppression disguised as free thought. Had the group of stragglers moping down the hallway seen that future, they would have all turned en masse and rushed from the hospital out into the open air and collapsed onto the lawn and sobbed like children. As it was, they moved like turtles toward Chona’s room as Moshe’s howl rang out. They were in no hurry. The journey ahead was long. There was no promise ahead. There was no need to rush now.

Being able to identify your tribe of well-wishers is an incredibly powerful tool. You will learn to stop vying for the attention of people who, frankly, don’t deserve your time, and you will start embracing the cheerleaders who are already around you.

Every person you meet has been assigned to play a role in your story as you are assigned to play one in someone else’s. I often say that the people we come across can be one of the four kinds. They can be like pebbles, fountains, quagmire or bridges. Pebbles are those who you meet commonly and in abundance. They do not facilitate anything great but they help you continue walking on this journey of life. Everyone you cross in life without really connecting with them are pebbles. Then there are fountains – who spring water of happiness on you. They bring positivity and joy; they nourish your soul and irrigate the seeds of good thoughts. Your friends, well-wishers are all fountains. Then, on the other end of the spectrum, you have quagmires. These are the people who cause you pain. Now, even some pebbles may have caused you pain as it happens if you tread on a barbed pebble but the difference is that quagmires do that on purpose. They pull you down, induce fear and negativity by discouraging you and worrying you. They will not let you move on – that’s why they keep you bogged down in your failures. Finally, the rarest ones are the bridges – they connect you to unchartered ground that you wouldn’t have reached on your own. They unite you to your destiny. With them, your plane of consciousness expands, you see things you have not seen before; your life becomes more aware, more enlightened. Your parents, your teachers and anyone who touches your life and transcends it into something more beautiful – they are all bridges.

Life—How Did It Get Here?, with no named author but published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society in sixteen languages and eleven million copies, is obviously a firm favourite because no fewer than six of those eleven million copies have been sent to me as unsolicited gifts by well-wishers from around the world.

She had other favourite lines. Our gas oven blew up. The repairman came out and said he didn't like the look of it, which was unsurprising as the oven and the wall were black. Mrs Winterson replied, 'It's a fault to heaven, a fault against the dead, and a fault to nature.' That is a heavy load for a gas oven to bear. She liked that phrase and it was more than once used towards me; when some well-wisher asked how I was, Mrs W looked down and sighed, 'She's a fault to heaven, a fault against the dead, and a fault to nature.' This was even worse for me than it had been for the gas oven. I was particularly worried about the 'dead' part, and wondered which buried and unfortunate relative I had so offended.

I am the goal at the end of all paths. I am the landlord of all creation. I am the inner witness in every human. I am your only lasting shelter; all beings dwell in Me. I am your best friend who lives in your heart as your conscience. I am the beginning of creation, the well-wisher of it, and the dissolution of it. I am the storehouse into which all life returns when creation dissolves — and I am the everlasting, imperishable seed from which it again springs. I give the heat of the sun. I let loose the food-giving rain, and I withhold it. I am both immortality and death (doled out based on the fruits of one’s actions). I am both being and nonbeing. In My visible form I am the cosmos; in My invisible form I am the germ that lies hidden.

160Any change makes me apprehensive, even if it offers the greatest promise of improving my condition, and I am persuaded by this natural instinct of mine that I must take heed if I wish that the threads which the Fates spin so thin and weak in my case to be spun to any length. My great thanks, to my well-wishers and friends, who think so kindly of me as to undertake my welfare, but at the same time a most humble request to protect me in my current condition from any disturbance.

Cinderella winced in the silence and was about to whisper to the minster to move on when Friedrich touched her arm. When she met his gaze, he tilted his head toward the courtyard. When Cinderella looked, a resounding, almost deafening, “WE DO,” blasted in through the open windows. Cinderella broke ranks and hurried to the banister—Friedrich at her side. There, standing in the courtyard with the rest of the well-wishers, was every servant of Aveyron. They were headed by Gilbert and Jeanne, and all of them—from the head butler to the youngest chicken girl—wore bracelets or bands of scarlet red silk tied around their foreheads and the arms of their coats. They carried flags with the Aveyron crest, and bowed and curtsied when they saw that Cinderella looked down at them. “They couldn’t all have possibly fit in the cathedral, so they asked to be outside where they might all stand together as your witness,” Friedrich said, speaking directly into Cinderella’s ear. Now

Well-wisher With the cold, wet walls around me and the courage finally pulled from guts like an impossibly-lodged burr, I drag my remaining fingers against the stone. I wish the sky would open up and swallow me whole and you partly. Fingernails flutter about, little angels! Bereft of heart. Now that you’ve gone and I’m left lacking both your body and love I myself held marble like statue or marble like meat? Fat and bone. The only thing tying me to anyone is borrowed books and the black clouds circle above like vultures, the rain whistles. A terrible tune.

goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy,” he admonished the House of Representatives in a speech of his own on July 4, 1821: She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. She is the champion and vindicator only of her own. . . . She well knows that by once enlisting under other banners, . . . she would involve herself beyond the power of extrication, in all the wars of interest and intrigue, of individual avarice, envy, and ambition, which assume the colors and usurp the standard of freedom. The fundamental maxims of her policy would insensibly change from liberty to force. . . . She might become the dictatress of the world. She would be no longer the ruler of her own spirit.

Let every American, every lover of liberty, every well-wisher to his posterity, swear by the blood of the Revolution never to violate in the least particular the laws of the country, and never to tolerate their violation by others. As the patriots of seventy-six did to the support of the Declaration of Independence, so to the support of the Constitution and the Laws let every American pledge his life, his property, and his sacred honour; let every man remember that to violate the law is to trample on the blood of his father, and to tear the charter of his own and his children's liberty. Let reverence for the laws be breathed by every American mother to the lisping babe that prattles on her lap. Let it be taught in schools, in seminaries, and in colleges. Let it be written in primers, spelling-books, and in almanacs. Let it be preached from the pulpit, proclaimed in legislative halls, and enforced in courts of justice. And, in short, let it become the political religion of the nation. When

I am the father, mother, and grandfather of this universe. I am the one who dispenses the fruits of people’s actions, their karma. I am the one thing worth knowing, and I am the enabler of all knowing. As water gets purified by filtering through earth, and other things get purified by being washed in water, mankind gets purified by contact with Me. I am the syllable Om, the very sound of Divinity. I am all the scriptures ever written. I am the goal at the end of all paths. I am the landlord of all creation. I am the inner witness in every human. I am your only lasting shelter; all beings dwell in Me. I am your best friend who lives in your heart as your conscience. I am the beginning of creation, the well-wisher of it, and the dissolution of it. I am the storehouse into which all life returns when creation dissolves — and I am the everlasting, imperishable seed from which it again springs. I give the heat of the sun. I let loose the food-giving rain, and I withhold it. I am both immortality and death (doled out based on the fruits of one’s actions). I am both being and nonbeing. In My visible form I am the cosmos; in My invisible form I am the germ that lies hidden.

He conjured a spotlight, which travelled down along the balcony, and rested on her face. ‘Your hair,’ he said. ‘All of the lights land in it.’ (All of the lights land in it: an excellent line. While I try to deny it, there were times – when I was younger – when this would have impressed me, too.) ‘Is this how you usually spend your Saturday nights?’ Mother asked. ‘No. Sometimes. I like the technology, you see. And I like to help out.’ Mother leaned against the railing alongside him. She let her hair fall against his arm. ‘I’ve never had company before,’ Father said, and smiled. ‘This makes things much more interesting.’ ‘I’m not that interesting at all,’ Mother said. ‘I mean, I’m pretty boring. Actually.’ ‘I don’t believe you. What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you?’ ‘What?’ ‘Tell me the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Nobody’s boring when they tell you the best thing that’s ever happened. Go.’ Mother thought of her princess dress, and the faces of the villagers watching the Harvest Festival. In her mind, they multiplied, so that she led the parade through a crowd of hundreds – thousands – of well-wishers. ‘Fine,’ she said. She knew exactly how she would tell it. ‘See,’ Father said, at the end. ‘That wasn’t boring. But it wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to you, either.’ ‘It wasn’t?’ ‘Of course not,’ Father said. He concentrated on the fuse box, passing it from one great palm to the other. He was smiling, close to laughter. ‘That’s tonight.

His mother left the room; then, moved by insupportable regret, I just murmured the words “Dr. Bretton.” He looked up from his book; his eyes were not cold or malevolent, his mouth was not cynical; he was ready and willing to hear what I might have to say: his spirit was of vintage too mellow and generous to sour in one thunder-clap. “Dr. Bretton, forgive my hasty words: do, do forgive them.” He smiled that moment I spoke. “Perhaps I deserved them, Lucy. If you don’t respect me, I am sure it is because I am not respectable. I fear, I am an awkward fool: I must manage badly in some way, for where I wish to please, it seems I don’t please.” “Of that you cannot be sure; and even if such be the case, is it the fault of your character, or of another’s perceptions? But now, let me unsay what I said in anger. In one thing, and in all things, I deeply respect you. If you think scarcely enough of yourself, and too much of others, what is that but an excellence?” “Can I think too much of Ginevra?” “I believe you may; you believe you can’t. Let us agree to differ. Let me be pardoned; that is what I ask.” “Do you think I cherish ill-will for one warm word?” “I see you do not and cannot; but just say, ‘Lucy, I forgive you!’ Say that, to ease me of the heart-ache.” “Put away your heart-ache, as I will put away mine; for you wounded me a little, Lucy. Now, when the pain is gone, I more than forgive: I feel grateful, as to a sincere well-wisher.” “I am your sincere well-wisher: you are right.” Thus our quarrel ended.

The odd group of well-wishers slowly moved down the hallway as Moshe’s sobs cascaded up and down the walls, bouncing from one side to the other. The discourse on Doc Roberts was forgotten now as the group tromped forward, a ragtag assortment of travelers moving fifteen feet as if it were fifteen thousand miles, slow travelers all, arrivals from different lands, making a low trek through a country that claimed to be so high, a country that gave them so much yet demanded so much more. They moved slowly, like fusgeyers, wanderers seeking a home in Europe, or erú West African tribesmen herded off a ship on a Virginia shore to peer back across the Atlantic in the direction of their homeland one last time, moving toward a common destiny, all of them—Isaac, Nate, and the rest—into a future of American nothing. It was a future they couldn’t quite see, where the richness of all they had brought to the great land of promise would one day be zapped into nothing, the glorious tapestry of their history boiled down to a series of ten-second TV commercials, empty holidays, and sports games filled with the patriotic fluff of red, white, and blue, the celebrants cheering the accompanying dazzle without any idea of the horrible struggles and proud pasts of their forebears who had made their lives so easy. The collective history of this sad troupe moving down the hospital corridor would become tiny blots in an American future that would one day scramble their proud histories like eggs, scattering them among the population while feeding mental junk to the populace on devices that would become as common and small as the hot dog that the dying woman thought she smelled; for in death, Chona had smelled not a hot dog but the future, a future in which devices that fit in one’s pocket and went zip, zap, and zilch delivered a danger far more seductive and powerful than any hot dog, a device that children of the future would clamor for and become addicted to, a device that fed them their oppression disguised as free thought.

Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October. “Dear Sir,— “The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.—’There, Mrs. Bennet.’—My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends—but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o’clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se’nnight following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.—I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend, “William Collins

He drank no hard liquor but loved wine, taking perhaps three glasses a day.42 He did not smoke. When he received gifts of Havana cigars from well-wishers, he passed them along to friends.43

When it occurs in literary texts šár = 3,600 is conventionally understood as no more than a conveniently large round number. This is evident when a well-wisher writes in a letter, ‘may the Sun God for my sake keep you well for 3,600 years’, or a battle-flushed Assyrian king claims to have ‘blinded 4 × 3,600 survivors’. Assyriologists therefore often translate šár as ‘myriad’, as conveying the right sort of mythological size and feel, although of course the Greek decimal myriad literally means ‘10,000’, whereas Mesopotamians naturally thought in sixties, one ŠÁR being 60 × 60. What is truly surprising in the Ark Tablet calculations is that this sign 3,600 does not function just as a large round number but is to be taken literally.

Suffer all things and strive to please Christ. Your well-wisher and servant, Tychon, Bishop of Voronezh September 1773.

As the great Begum of London was clearly not as familiar with the delicate etiquette of these matters as she should have been, Ghalib made himself a little more explicit in his covering letter. The truly great rulers of history, he reminded Queen Victoria, ‘rewarded their poets and well wishers by filling their mouths with pearls, weighing them in gold, and granting them villages and recompense’. In the same way it was the duty of ‘the exalted Queen to bestow upon Ghalib, the petitioner, the title of Mihr-Khwan, and present him with the robe of honour and a few crumbs from her bounteous table – that is, in plain English, a “pension

It was at that moment Stephanie became acutely aware of the paradox of the police wife. She must be humble and grateful; she had a role to play for Jason and his profession. Although what she was feeling inside was contrary to what was expected, in a way she belonged to society as a movie star belongs to their fans. She stood for hours shaking hands and hugging well-wishers, hearing generic statements that were meant to ease her pain but couldn’t, making decisions to appease the people who wanted to grieve with her, and all the while the line of mourners kept getting longer. Stephanie wasn’t ungrateful. She was numb. When you live your life simply and are suddenly thrown into the spotlight, it becomes difficult to manage, understand, and cope. Being the center of attention because of a death brings a chaos that most people will never experience. Stephanie shared her husband, her grief, and her family with the public at the most private moment of her life. She knew that it was her responsibility as the wife of a public servant. For that, they thanked her.

Gould finally resorted to a printed message that couldn’t be misunderstood—or ignored. He had a little notice typed up and posted it to his dressing room door whenever he gave a concert. Occasionally he handed copies to fellow musicians and well-wishers after his performances. It read: YOUR COOPERATION WILL BE APPRECIATED A pianist’s hands are sometimes injured in ways which cannot be predicted. Needless to say, this could be quite serious. Therefore—I will very much appreciate it if handshaking can be avoided. This will eliminate embarrassment all around. Rest assured that there is no intent to be discourteous—the aim is simply to prevent any possibility of injury. Thank you. GLENN GOULD Gould

Next was the foursome I had been bracing myself to face all along: Tamara, Savona, the newly met Lady Elenet, and the Marquis of Shevraeth. Very conscious of Olervec’s pale eyes following me, I forced myself to greet the Marquis first: “Good morning,” I said, as if we’d been talking just the day before. “How much I wish to thank you for putting me in the way of finding the proper books for my project.” Again that laughter was evident in his glance as he sketched a bow. “If you have any further questions,” he said, “it would be my pleasure to accommodate you.” “I’d be honored.” I curtsied, my hands making the fan gesture of Unalloyed Gratitude. The shadow of humor in the corners of his mouth deepened. Then I turned to the others. Savona grinned at me, one hand moving slightly in the fencer’s salute of a good hit. I fought the urge to blush as Tamara murmured, “You’ll be in the race tomorrow?” “Of course,” I said, lifting my hands. “I have to prove whether my wins last time were luck, skill--or the kindness of well-wishers.” Tamara smiled a little. “And once you’ve proved which it is?” “Why then I either celebrate, commiserate--or fulminate!” They all laughed at that, even the quiet Elenet, though her laughter was so soft I scarcely heard it. I turned to Shevraeth and said, “Will you be there?” “I hope to be,” he said. “Riding your gray?” “Is that a challenge?” he replied with a hint of a smile. I opened my mouth, then a stray memory brought back our private wager before we reached Athanarel and nothing could prevent the heat that burned up my neck into my face; so I quickly bent over, making a business of ordering one of the flounces on my gown. After I had straightened up I’d have an excuse for a red face, or at least enough of one to pass the notice of the three who (presumably) knew nothing of that unpaid wager. “I think,” I said, retying a ribbon and patting it into place, then unbending with what I hoped was an expression of nonchalance, “I’d better find out if my luck is due to skill or kindness before I make any pledges.” “Very well,” he said. “A friendly race will suffice.” When the conversation came to a natural close, I retreated to Nee’s side and finished the rest of the picnic with her and Bran.

You’ll be in the race tomorrow?” “Of course,” I said, lifting my hands. “I have to prove whether my wins last time were luck, skill--or the kindness of well-wishers.” Tamara smiled a little. “And once you’ve proved which it is?” “Why then I either celebrate, commiserate--or fulminate!

What enables us to put fantasy behind us and grow to maturity is the capacity to doubt. When a child of six or seven begins to doubt Saint Nick’s ability to get down the chimney or to be in so many different places at once, then he or she begins to doubt the objective reality of this mysterious person. The same capacity to doubt emerges during the often turbulent period of adolescence. We first doubt and then challenge the validity of our parent’s authority. We come to recognise that these once authoritative and almost divine figures are quite human and fallible after all. The perplexing process of alternating between doubt and trust, rebellion and obedience, is essential for our growth to mature adulthood. Persons of fifty who still rely on their parents for guidance in everyday matters are clearly suffering from stunted growth. And so it is with the evolution of culturally defined opinions. Without the capacity to doubt, we cannot grow from childish beliefs to the maturity of faith. Doubt is not the enemy of faith, but of false beliefs. Indeed, our entire catalogue of assumptions and beliefs should be continually subjected to critical examination, and those found to be false or inadequate should be replaced by those we find convincing within our cultural context. Yet expressing or even entertaining doubt sometimes takes so much courage that we may say it takes real faith to doubt. Thirty years ago an anonymous well-wisher sent me through the post a little book entitled The Faith to Doubt by the American scholar Homes Hartshorne. I found it an exciting text and have treasured it ever since. Among other things it says, “People today are not in need of assurances about the truth of doubtful beliefs. They need the faith to doubt. They need the faith by which to reject idols. The churches cannot preach to this age if they stand outside of it, living in the illusory security of yesterday’s beliefs. These [already] lie about us broken, and we cannot by taking thought raise them from the dead”. Far from demonstrating a lack of faith, the very act of discarding outworn beliefs may in fact do just the opposite by opening the door for genuine faith to operate again. Indeed the assertion that one needs to believe a particular creed or set of doctrines in order to have faith is an invitation to credulity rather than to faith— and childlike faith is vastly different from childish credulity

ALL SAY I AM SWEET, SINCE I NEVER CHEAT, I DO THINGS NEAT, WHETHER IT IS TO EAT, FOR WELL-WISHERS I HAVE A TREAT, TODAY I STAND ON MY FEET.

Sometimes You need to remain Silent and let your Loved Ones realise who their TRUE Well- Wishers are and Who are the Ones taking advantage of them and looking for the nearest Well to push them in.

I’ve recently heard that 2020 is the start of a new cycle, a new decade, a new era. If that’s so, then a lot of ‘cleansing’ is especially in order. If you have abandonment, trust, co-dependency issues, heal them. If you are the type to be overly sensitive and have a habit of overthinking 10 000 improbable scenarios instead of having resolve, quit. Get out of your head; don’t you know what they say about it? It’s the Devil’s Workshop in there. Quit sublimating your insecurities, inner fears and projecting those outside. Quit blaming, hurting yourself. You are not a victim. You are a survivor-You came a long way and you are precious so, treasure yourself. Also…quit buying the bullshit of so-called well-wishers. Bottom feeding vultures are always on guard circling around waiting to suck lives out. If you are in toxic relationships that are weighing down on you, be the bigger and smarter person. Be wiser. Those who know their worth know better. You don’t deserve to be gas lighted. If you have objectives to achieve, be diligent and patient. Work in ways where Success comes to you with a Bang for the World to shudder a little whenever they hear your name. Out of sheer respect of course. Cheers.

Granuaile had a slightly wild yet glazed look to her eyes, the look that graduates and brides get when they are congratulated by an endless train of well-wishers. Having your hand kissed by gods and your cheek kissed by godesses can set one's heart aflutter, but I think she bore it well. She didn't go all Fangirl on anyone, but I suspect that's only because none of them bore the slightest resemblance to Nathan Fillion.

In an 1821 Independence Day speech, John Quincy Adams declared, “[America] goes not abroad in search of monsters to destroy. She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. She is the champion and vindicator only of her own.

The knowledgeable human body is the temple of the Lord; atmosphere of this temple is by its very nature filled with compassion and kind for good beings. When there is balance between the mind, heart, conciousness, intellect, soul, super soul and viewer sou resolution then nothing is impossible for viewer knowledge. If you think about to give up the results of all activities is called renunciation (tyaga) by the wise. And that state is called the renounced order of life (sannyasa) and I love some of you be Sannyasa and expand my knowledge. For my true well thinkers, Sanyasas, knowledge expanders and well wishers and thinkers I truly and very honestly protect them from diseases, death and troubles- Shreeom

while their relatives and well-wishers stood by the sidelines and cheered—and who emerged bright-eyed, in brave uniforms stiff with starch, half of a yellow sun gleaming on their sleeves. He

Don't ever prove your achievements to anyone. Let them hear from others. From that, you'll know who's your well wisher and who's not.

Well-wishers will tell you that wounds heal over time. Don’t believe them. The

ADRY  (ADRY')   adv.[from a and dry.]Athirst; thirsty; in want of drink. He never told any of them, that he was his humble servant, but his well-wisher; and would rather be thought a malecontent, than drink the king’s health when he was not adry.Spect.

Rousseau alienated his aristocratic patrons; he quarrelled with most of his friends and well-wishers, including Hume and Diderot, many of whom also ended up deriding him as a madman. But he disagreed most violently – and productively – with Voltaire.

Well-wishers will tell you that wounds heal over time. Don't believe them. The only thing time heals is other people's memories. Surprisingly soon, they forget about your tragedy. They move on. They forget that your pain is as constant as your heartbeat. Gift it time, they say. Things will get easier, they say. I can't remember how many times a well-intentioned family friend or a sincerely concerned observer assured me of this so-called "fact"> You'll get over it. You have a future. You'll be okay. It's all a lie.

I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier,” Delia said in a whisper loud enough to be heard…well, almost two stories up on a rope ladder anyway, making Kerry wince a little. “We really do like him. We’re happy for you.” Kerry wanted to hiss who’s we? but refrained. As far as she could tell, Cooper had spent the past three days befriending every man, woman, and lobster in Blueberry Cove. And every single one of them had managed to find a moment to tell her so. She was happy--truly--that everyone liked him but not surprised. He was a likeable guy. And she was equally happy folks were happy for her. Now she just wished they’d butt out and let her get on with being happy with Cooper. She managed to give Delia a little salute with half of one hand while still clutching the rope, and Delia gave her another enthusiastic wave, eyes sparkling. Kerry waited until Delia had scooted on back toward the café before turning her attention to the trapdoor. And almost had her second heart attack when she looked up, only to find Cooper staring down at her, his chin propped on folded arms, meaning he was lying flat on the balcony deck. He smiled and lifted his fingers in a little wave. “Nice of you to drop up,” he said, a smile curving his lips but the glittering light in his blue eyes telling a different story. His voice was deep and just a shade rough, which made her skin tingle in delicious anticipation. “I got waylaid by another of your throng of supporters and well-wishers so you only have yourself to blame.” “So I heard,” he said. “I’ll be sure to thank her later and tip double the usual when we order breakfast in tomorrow morning.” “Awfully sure of yourself, mister.” “Finish climbing that ladder and I’ll be happy to explain the source of my confidence.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or, better yet, I’ll show you.” “Well, if I’d known there was going to be show and tell, I’d have gotten up here sooner.

I got waylaid by another of your throng of supporters and well-wishers so you only have yourself to blame.” “So I heard,” he said. “I’ll be sure to thank her later and tip double the usual when we order breakfast in tomorrow morning.” “Awfully sure of yourself, mister.” “Finish climbing that ladder and I’ll be happy to explain the source of my confidence.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or, better yet, I’ll show you.” “Well, if I’d known there was going to be show and tell, I’d have gotten up here sooner.

I got waylaid by another of your throng of supporters and well-wishers so you only have yourself to blame.” “So I heard,” he said. “I’ll be sure to thank her later and tip double the usual when we order breakfast in tomorrow morning.” “Awfully sure of yourself, mister.” “Finish climbing that ladder and I’ll be happy to explain the source of my confidence.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or, better yet, I’ll show you.” “Well, if I’d known there was going to be show and tell, I’d have gotten up here sooner.” She finished her climb and took hold of Cooper’s hand as he levered himself off the balcony deck and pulled her all but bodily up through the trapdoor and into his arms. “My, my,” she said, as he hauled her up against him, feet dangling off the floor, and held her there as he walked her into the room, using his elbow to hit the button to close the screens and turn them opaque. “The invitation didn’t say clothing optional,” she said, running her sandaled feet up the back of his bare legs. Which matched the rest of him. She let out a little laugh as he tossed her gently on the bed. “That’s because I wanted to peel your clothes off you,” he said, following her down. “Well,” she said, stretching her arms up over her head, “if you must.

I hate working days that are made into holidays! It gets on my nerves when everything stops, when nothing is open and you have no place to go, and well-wishers, who spent the whole day devouring the bodies of tortured and slaughtered animals, occupy our phone.

Never forget to your parents, If there is anyone who loves you really more than theirself its Only parents. Respect their feelings and emotion. They are most well wisher of their child.

Another powerful minister Pramod Mahajan and Deputy Prime Minister L K Advani was also the well-wishers of NDTV, while it was unceremoniously and unethically attacking their colleague Narendra Modi. Many Cabinet Ministers competed in sending or leaking Simple Messaging Service (SMS) about Cabinet Agenda and decisions to Barkha Dutt.

In case the police do not register complaints properly without investigation or else close the complaints too soon, the following strategies can be used by senior citizens and their well-wishers: • Approach senior citizen cells, if available in their city • File Right to Information Requests (RTIs) to the inspectors or higher up police officers, to get the police to act on their specific complaints of abuse • Always file written complaints to the police rather than verbal • If possible, collect evidence of abuse, such as video or audio clips, hospital reports of injuries from a government hospital

Defining a true friend, Chanakya says that for a person going abroad, education is his true friend and for the family, a loyal wife is a true friend. For a sick person, his medicine is a true friend. Since after death only a person's acts and religious beliefs count, so religion is his true well-wisher. Therefore, a man should perform good deeds while living, so that he does not face hardships after death.

Empathy always leads to human bonding. This changes your status from a sales person to a wellwisher. And who doesn’t like to listen to recommendations by a well-wisher?

As soon as he stepped foot in Rome, he was greeted by throngs of supporters and well-wishers.

The “Bring Newton Home” social media accounts had evidently gone into meltdown when the news of his recover had filtered through—well-wishers from all around the world had posted photos of themselves jumping for joy and holding NEWTON IS HOME!!! posters—and it seemed the little dog had become something of a celebrity, both at home and abroad.

It's ok to be friends with old enemies, but never be friends with someone who claims to be your well-wisher but disrespects you. Avoid such friends like a poison pot with milk on its rim (near the mouth of the pot).

YOU write your examination, not your well-wishers.

How many well-wishers have told you, “Time heals all wounds?”  I used to feel that way before suffering taught me a lesson or two.  This is another cliché’ I refuse to agree with just because it has worked for others.  It hasn’t worked for me.  I don’t anticipate it will work for me.

Many are ill-wishers in the name of well-wishers

Though Caesar was from the beginning a professed champion of the democracy, yet the manner in which he treated those whose support he sought, showed that his designs were selfish; that he wished to make the people instruments of his ambition. A man who will flatter the mass; use false, yet captivating arguments with them; appeal to their prejudices; fall in with their currents of feeling and opinion, even though they may be wrong, may profess democracy, but he is at heart an aristocrat: he has no true love for the people; no confidence in them; he really despises them, and looks upon them but as the despicable tools of his ambition. Such was Caesar, and such is always the popular demagogue. While nothing is more noble than a true democrat—a true well-wisher of the people—and one who honestly seeks to vindicate their rights, enlighten their minds, and elevate them in the scale of society; so nothing is more base than a selfish desire to govern them, hidden beneath the cloak of pretended democracy.

I remembered, suddenly, strangely, the wishing well on the concourse, the coins at the bottom. All those little faces staring up at the wishers, as if to say, Wish away, but this is where we all end up...

Those who do not listen the advice of their well-wishers meet their end.

The greatest support you can get from a well-wisher is one question, “do you THINK you can do it"?

I love myself, believe in myself, believe in god, believe in humanity, father, mother, brother, sisters, true relatives, true friends and all the well wishers and they loves and believes in me back too.

A real-life store of a woman Name is Pariniti. Last 2 days to pre-book and avail Rs: 50 off on you order of paperback version of my book, "The Mystery Within You" I welcome my friends, family, and well-wishers to be a part of this new voyage. A Real-life store of a woman Name is Pariniti. Just like you, she is a daughter, wife, mother, and woman who explored her inner realms of the human body. During the lockdown, Pariniti learned all the different ways to heal herself. Before she started the journey of her soul blueprint, she had no idea about healing (thought she had heard about it before) and how it works and help in our life. But during the lockdown, she started doing a lot of meditation and she had no idea that she was tapping into her subconscious mind and she started remembering her past life who she was, and who she wants to be. She also explores who I am and still exploring it. she wants people to read about her, get motivated and start doing meditation. So they too can heal themselves with the help of all the different ways the universe has provided.

For an unrelated reason, I was fortunate to be in London to witness a set of extraordinary festivities commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Elizabeth II’s accession to the throne of England. Although the queen had been traveling the globe for months to Commonwealth nations hosting Golden Jubilee events in her name, the celebrations peaked on June 4, 2002, with a program on the Mall in London that drew over a million well-wishers from around Britain and the world. The marked adulation surprised many in the national press who’d predicted the Jubilee would be a fizzle, demonstrating the modern-day irrelevance of the British monarchy in general and of Her Royal Highness in particular. The opposite proved to be the case. In the several weeks’ run-up to June 4, throngs within the United Kingdom flocked to dedications, parades, concerts, and special proceedings honoring the queen, which she honored in turn with her presence. Especially coveted were invitations to small parties where it was sometimes possible to be addressed personally by the queen in a receiving line. Of course, the opportunity to meet Elizabeth II under any circumstances would be considered exceptional; but the chance to meet her amid the pomp and pageantry of the Golden Jubilee added even more significance to such occasions, which were widely reported by the media. One report stood out from all the others for me. A young woman moving through a reception line at one of the small fêtes experienced the horror of hearing the cell phone in her purse begin to ring just as she met the queen. Flustered and frozen with embarrassment as her phone pealed insistently, she stared helplessly into the royal eyes that had become fixed on her bag. Finally, Elizabeth leaned forward and advised, “You should answer that, dear. It might be someone important.

As the historian David Bellos has concluded: ‘About one third of all Jews resident in France were deported and murdered … but only one Jewish child in ten perished in the years of German occupation and that was very largely because of the courage and skill of people like Hélène Berr and the kindness and generosity of a vast network of French well-wishers who took Jewish children and hid them.’ Notwithstanding, 11,400 French children died.

well-wishers assured me that “time heals all wounds,” but the reality is grief does not possess an expiration date, and my anguish is ever present, an internal jagged scar that will never fade away.

Everything blurred the days following Avery's passing. Their home in Georgetown filled with mourners and well-wishers before they even had a chance to make it home from the hospital. Avery had been well-loved and highly-respected by most everyone he came in contact with.

Hamilton cast himself as “a warm advocate for limited monarchy and an unfeigned well-wisher to the present royal family.

At one point, we went to Arizona for a quick getaway, and he was mobbed by well-wishers there. This for me felt like a true and odd measure of his fame: Even white people were recognizing him now.

Actually, I hardly feel constrained to try to make head or tail of this condition of the world. On this planet a great number of civilizations have perished in blood and thunder. Naturally, one must wish for the planet that one day it will experience a civilization that has abandoned blood and horror, in fact, I am . . . inclined to assume that our planet is waiting for this. But it is terribly doubtful whether we can bring such a present to its hundred—or four-hundred-millionth birthday party. And if we don’t, the planet will finally punish us, its unthoughtful well-wishers, by presenting us with the Last Judgment.

This was an extraordinary exercise of judicial power, to say the least. Apart from the meager settlement of the civil claim, criminal proceedings arising out of the disaster, wherever they may be pending, would stand quashed. What was surprising was that five Supreme Court judges, the learned attorney general of India, others taking daily interest in the litigation, and the press, which gets terribly hot under the collar about lesser matters, did not object to this unusual settlement reeking of corruption. This settlement, agreed upon without consulting either the victims, the NGOs working for their welfare, or their well wishers has been characterized by Prof. Upen Baxi, India’s best scholar jurist, as an ‘unconscionable settlement’ by an unscrupulous Congress government.

The Wishers…. They told the tales sometimes at gatherings. The Tuath Stories remembered the fates of the Wishers well. Thousands of years ago, the sovereigns of the Fae lands issued a decree: The Wishers would die. The Wish Fae had managed to hide their powers for eons. But all secrets were eventually told, and it was so for this one as well. When the sovereigns were made aware of the abilities of the Wishers, they grew frightened. Powerful magicks were called forth, and in an act never before or since accomplished, both light and dark, both Seelie and Unseelie gathered together in their courts and combined their powers. The Wishers were annihilated. However... speculation caused rumors, which spread in whispers and eventually became legends that told how the strongest and most fortunate few managed to escape and hide themselves amongst humans in the mortal realm. But thousands of years passed with no sign of these legendary Wishers. In time, the sovereigns who had issued their massacre were overthrown. Under new rule, the truth of this terrible tragedy was well taught and lamented. The fae kingdoms had destroyed something precious. The Wishers were declared extinct. And in its rareness, in its extinctness, the lost, most powerful class of the fae, in fact became sacred.

Hours after that confrontation the Princess flew by helicopter to Merseyside for a visit to a hospice, her first official engagement since Diana: Her True Story hit the headlines. It proved to be an emotional meeting between Diana and her public. She was so touched by the show of affection from waiting well-wishers that she burst into tears, overcome by the distressing echoes of her morning meeting with Palace officials, and by the underlying strain of the decision she and Prince Charles had taken. As she later told a friend: ‘An old lady in the crowd stroked my face and that triggered something inside me. I simply couldn’t stop myself crying.’ The public tears did not surprise her close friends, who knew only too well the private anguish of her lonely position, the strain she had borne for 18 months. As one remarked: ‘She is a brilliant actress who has disguised her private sorrow.