Inspirational quotes with mortified.
The sound of thunder awake me, and when I got up, my feet sank into muddy water up to my ankles. Mother took Buster and Helen to high ground to pray, but I stayed behind with Apache and Lupe. We barricaded the door with the rug and started bailing water out the window. Mother came back and begged us to go pray with her on the hilltop. "To heck with praying!" I shouted. "Bail, dammit, bail!"Mom look mortified. I could tell she thought I'd probably doomed us all with my blasphemy, and I was a little shocked at it myself, but with the water rising so fast, the situation was dire. We had lit the kerosene lamp, and we could see the walls of the dugout were beginning to sag inward. If Mom had pitched in and helped, there was a chance we might have been able to save the dugout - not a good chance, but a fighting chance. Apache and Lupe and I couldn't do it on our own, though, and when the ceiling started to cave, we grabbed Mom's walnut headboard and pulled it through the door just as the dugout collapsed in on itself, burying everything.Afterward, I was pretty aggravated with Mom. She kept saying that the flood was God's will and we had to submit to it. But I didn't see things that way. Submitting seemed to me a lot like giving up. If God gave us the strength to bail - the gumption to try to save ourselves - isn't that what he wanted us to do?
Isobel moved farther into the kitchen, not knowing whether to be relieved that her mother hadn't had an atomic meltdown, or mortified that she'd taken it upon herself to play head chef with the nearest thing Trenton High had to a Dark Lord.
Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you´d utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions.“Good book?” he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, “A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad,” out loud.But life did not come with a trapdoor.
Franklin, I was absolutely terrified of having a child. Before I got pregnant, my visions of child rearing- reading stories about cabooses with smiley faces at bedtime, feeding glop into slack mouths- all seemed like pictures of someone else. I dreaded confrontation with what could prove a closed, stony nature, my own selfishness and lack of generosity, the thick tarry powers of my own resentment. However intrigued by a “turn of the page,” I was mortified by the prospect of becoming hopelessly trapped in someone else’s story. And I believe that this terror is precisely what must have snagged me, the way a ledge will tempt one to jump off. The very surmountability of the task, its very unattractiveness , was in the end what attracted me to it. (32)
I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.
I was mortified that I could spend a lifetime with someone and not know them at all—that I could love someone so blindly and never question who they really were. Was it stupidity? Or is that merely what love actually is—to see the good, to love the good and wonderful and ignore the rest? I think that is what I used to believe…I don’t believe that anymore.Love is seeing every damn rotten thing about someone and loving them anyway. It’s not being too afraid to look deep inside another person and still being able to see all the good messed up in with the bad. Love is accepting the shit as well as the roses. I think I failed to ever smell the bullshit. I only smelled the roses and never realized that it is the shit that makes the roses bloom.
I looked to the sitting room then and gaped at Alec's body lying across my sofa making it look smaller than it was. He was reading something.A book."What are you readin'?" I curiously asked."That porn book we were talking about earlier at my house. This dude is my God! He just fucked this Ana chick while she was on her period.""Stop it!" I screeched. "Stop readin' and put the bloody book down!"He was reading Fifty Shades of Grey.I was both horrified and mortified.Alec got up from the sofa, placed the book on the coffee table and turned in my direction."Why are you blushing?"Him noticing my embarrassment only caused my already red cheeks to heat up even more."Oh damn, your cheeks are so flushed," Alec said and took a step towards me.
I felt Alec's glare so I turned to look at him and smiled when I found him all but drilling holes into me with his eyes."If looks could kill, I'd be dead," I joked."My pretty eyes won't harm you, don't worry."Conceited much?"Did you just call your own eyes pretty?"Alec devilishly grinned then and it made me slightly uneasy."No, you said I have pretty eyes."Was he high?"Are you in your right mind? I have never said you have pretty eyes-""Yes, you have. Right before you fell asleep. You said I have pretty eyes."I felt my face heat up.It was the shite he gave me to knock me out that said that, not me!"Did I say anythin' else?" I murmured.Alec leaned in close to me and whispered is a slow, seductive voice, "You said you like my voice, my abs, and my ass."I audibly gasped. "I did not!"Alec snickered. "You did."I was mortified, absolutely mortified!"I hate you right now.
- I didn't seduce her! OK, I didn't know exactly what I was doing. It seemed like fun and then... well, THAT happened. - said Ronnie. - It wasn't intentional. I did it for shits and giggles, alright? We never had sex. She was mortified at the thought of losing her job, but I told her that I wouldn't tell anyone. - Well... you just did. - said Tyler. - You two aren't just "anyone". That's the difference. - said Ronnie and resumed his task... until his ears caught a disturbing row of cries for help. - What kind of language is that? - Tyler asked. - It's... Hindi. Urdu, to be specific. - Ronnie answered. - How the fuck do you know? - Tyler asked. - Just found it out. - answered Ronnie. - Well, where does that lead us? - asked Tyler once again. - Pakistan. - said Garret. - We're not going there saving Muslims from the clutches of radical Islam and fighting for human rights, are we? - said Tyler. - No, obviously. But if their lives are in danger, we'll help. Not because some non-governmental organisation is obsessed with political correctness and equal rights, but because they don't deserve to die just because some delusional maniac decided to play God with their fate. - said Ronnie.
The real difference in the believer who follows Christ and has mortified his will and died after the old man in Christ, is that he is more clearly aware than other men of the rebelliousness and perennial pride of the flesh, he is conscious of his sloth and self-indulgence and knows that his arrogance must be eradicated. Hence there is a need for daily self-discipline.
I was mortified by the prospect of becoming hopelessly trapped in someone else's story.
He almost said to himself that he did not like her, before their conversation ended; he tried so hard to compensate himself for the mortified feeling, that while he looked upon her with an admiration he could not repress, she looked at him with proud indifference, taking him, he thought, for what, in his irritation, he told himself - was a great fellow, with not a grace or a refinement about him.
If there is a country in the world where concord, according to common calculation, would be least expected, it is America. Made up as it is of people from different nations, accustomed to different forms and habits of government, speaking different languages, and more different in their modes of worship, it would appear that the union of such a people was impracticable; but by the simple operation of constructing government on the principles of society and the rights of man, every difficulty retires, and all the parts are brought into cordial unison. There the poor are not oppressed, the rich are not privileged. Industry is not mortified by the splendid extravagance of a court rioting at its expense. Their taxes are few, because their government is just: and as there is nothing to render them wretched, there is nothing to engender riots and tumults.
All the way, Zoe kept her chin up and pretended she wasn’t mortified, but his sour expression stayed with her. She wasn’t good at making American friends. She changed her language, conduct, and clothing, but it didn’t seem to matter. Whether she wore modest Middle-Eastern clothing or cute Western fashions, everyone knew she didn’t belong.
The girl arrived; I thought her handsome; and as I doubted not that you would be mortified by my absence, I did most sincerely hope that she would be able to dissipate something of your ennui: for it is the fidelity of the heart alone that I value.
She is a mess, her dress once pulled together long and fresh, now drooping and awkwardly weighted to one side of her head. "What happened? Are you okay?" The women clamor around her.Nick walks out in perfect order and perfect swagger, passing her with a downward glance. "You forgot your panties". He said tossing her underwear onto the table in front of her. After being embarrassingly ignored by the group of debutants, the nearby college boys feel justified by the turn of events and break into hysterics. Slinking out the side door, the mortified women exit without another word.
The iron has entered my soul,' announced George Knox impressively. 'Let me tell you, my dear Laura, that when I lay here weak and ill, unable to raise a hand in my own defence, I begged for a nurse, a hireling who would do her day-labour as a machine, and not worry a sick, ageing man.But even this was denied. Miss Grey, all kindness and sympathy and, I must say, Laura, an infernal bore, insisted on nursing me herself. Degrading enough in any case but the worst you have not heard. Could I ask my secretary to shave me? No.As a matter of fact, I did, but she wouldn't, or couldn't. Imagine me, Laura, becoming more like a pard day by day prickly and revolting to myself, mortified beyond words to be seen in this this condition, but helpless.''Why didn't you get the gardener to do it? Or use a safety razor?''My dear Laura,' said George Knox in a hurt voice, 'you do not seem to realise how weak I was, how very weak. For two days my temperature had been over a hundred, and when the fever had left me I lay powerless, as a new-born babe, and the woman triumphed over me. She would not let me shave, she fed me on slops, she would not even give me clean pyjamas till the third day.
If it weren't for me, she wouldn't have to take jobs like this. She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar. I felt my guilt like a brand.... I had seen girls clamor for new clothes and complain about what their mothers made for dinner. I was always mortified. Didn't they know they were tying their mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?
You would fare far better with a lover who makes you laugh than one who makes you curse - and cry," he added, stepping to the cone of colored light.Beyond mortified, Phoebe dashed a quick hand across her damp eyes, hoping he might at least miss that much of her shame. "Sir, you should have made your presence known."One dark brow arched upward, "I believe I am doing just that.
At the end of the week, you told me that you were going on a long trip, but someday you would come back and marry me.”Arianna giggled. “Did I really say that?” she asked, mortified at her bold younger self.“Yes, but I suppose it doesn’t count if you don’t remember. Oh yeah, not to mention the fact you told two of the butlers, three maids, and your favorite cook you wanted to marry them also
The spurned diagnosisShame"By shame, I have in mind the terrible, at times unfathomable, feeling of being outcast from human society, of being shunned and spurned, of being wanted by no one, and having no one who empathizes with you (Lynd 1958). Part of this experience of shame is the focus on the inadequacies of oneself in the eyes of others and oneself, and of feeling mortified, wanting to disappear, to hide inside a crack in the wall (Lewis 1971).
Day had come for him. He’d only missed one meeting at work and his partner…his friend, had come for him. God had barely made it to the bathroom to puke after he lay in bed for hours trying to muster the strength to get up. When he fell to the floor after retching everything out of his stomach, including some of the lining, he couldn’t get off the floor. He’d never been so happy and so mortified at one time to see Leonidis Day.
I was always mortified.Didn't they know they were tying thier mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?
I am mortified to be told that in the United States of America the sale of a book can become a subject of inquiry and of criminal inquiry too.
Feel free to write to us if you have any questions. But before you do so, please take a look on our page with Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) and even our sitemap to get a full overview of the content on our site.