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.
The best thing about being 45 is not taking myself so seriously. Do I miss the package I came in at 25? I do. Gravity is no one's friend. Yet the perspective I've gained is so worth the wear and tear. What would have mortified me at 25 is now simply fodder for a funny, relatable story. Also? I was a waitress at 25, and now I'm an author. Forty-five is definitely better.
I'm instantly mortified by my fat, uncontrollable mouth, but that's when it occurs to me that my humor is a self-defense mechanism. Even though I may come off like a stark raving asshat, being funny is the most important tool I have to stay sane. The ability to say what I think is the key to allowing me to feel in control.
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.
Ambition is frequently the only refuge which life has left to the denied or mortified affections. We chide at the grasping eye, the daring wing, the soul that seems to thirst for sovereignty only, and know not that the flight of this ambitious bird has been from a bosom or home that is filled with ashes.
William Gilmore Simms
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.
She got really mad a month ago, because she had e-mailed me a naked picture of herself - which is a nice thing to do - but then I messed up, and I accidentally forwarded that e-mail to both of my parents. Now, my girlfriend is furious, mortified, but I don't even care, 'cause now I have to call up my mother and say 'Mom, I am so sorry - that picture was just for dad.'
I have such bad memories, sitting in the back of a classroom, being told, you know, everybody is going to read a paragraph, and skipping ahead to my paragraph and being mortified and trying to read it enough times so that I wouldn't stutter and stammer, getting called on, even in high school.
I was doing the 'Vogue' fashion awards when I was 16, live on VH1. I was coming down the steps, and I'm a really hard walker. I hadn't had a mistake yet in my career. Everything had been perfect. So I come down the steps on live TV, and I slip. I didn't fall, but you could see the look on my face. I was mortified. I was devastated.
Julian was not insensible of the advantages of freedom. From his studies he had imbibed the spirit of ancient sages and heroes; his life and fortunes had depended on the caprice of a tyrant; and, when he ascended the throne, his pride was sometimes mortified by the reflection that the slaves who would not dare to censure his defects were not worthy to applaud his virtues.
Growing up, I wanted to be a musician. My mother, in typical Filipino-mom fashion, would always make me go up in front of people at parties to sing. Back then, as a kid, I was mortified. In retrospect, I see that doing that as a child helped me get over my fear of being in front of people.
Holy obedience confounds all bodily and fleshly desires and keeps the body mortified to the obedience of the spirit and to the obedience of one's brother and makes a man subject to all themen of this world and not to men alone, but also to all beasts and wild animals, so that they may do with him whatsoever they will, in so far as it may be granted to them from above by theLord.
Francis of Assisi
If I refuse to allow my leg to be amputated, its mortification and my death may prove that I was wrong; but if I let the leg go, nobody can ever prove that it would not have mortified had I been obstinate. Operation is therefore the safe side for the surgeon as well as the lucrative side.
George Bernard Shaw
Birds sing in vain to the ear, flowers bloom in vain to the eye, of mortified vanity and galled ambition. He who would know repose in retirement must carry into retirement his destiny, integral and serene, as the Caesars transported the statue of Fortune into the chamber they chose for their sleep.
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
B. Kristin McMichael
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.
There is (as I now find) no remorse for time long past, even for what may have mortified us or made us ashamed of ourselves when it was happening: there is a pleasant panoramic sense of what it all was and how it all had to be. Why, if we are not vain or snobbish, need we desire that it should have been different? The better things we missed may yet be enjoyed or attained by someone else somewhere: why isn't that just as good? And there is no regret, either, in the sense of wishing the past to return, or missing it: it is quite real enough as it is, there at its own date and place