Sentences with phrase «out of guilt after»

Steven has also taken an awkward teenager named Martin (Barry Keoghan) into his care, probably out of guilt after Barry's father died under Steven's knife during an operation; he's educating the young man in the ways of the world, which in Steven's eyes mostly involves owning expensive watches.

I mean, who doesn't love the idea of a brownie that both tastes amazing and doesn't make you feel the need to run ten miles out of guilt after eating it?

Not exact matches

To find out the researchers rounded up a group of 500 Swiss and German study subjects and presented them with a series of questions about how much they worked, how exhausted they felt, and how much guilt they experienced after indulging in some couch potato time.

Early in the narrative, after he has sought out a trusted priest to hear his confession, despite the risk entailed in the journey, Brossard thinks of absolution, a stay against his fear and guilt:

Then it turned out so much better without an after taste or guilt of oil.

So much that after I made it, I ate way too many spoonfuls and then worked out 30 minutes later because of pure guilt.

A federal jury voted Tuesday to convict Joe Percoco, former senior aide to Gov. Andrew Cuomo, on three out of six charges of bribery and honest services fraud, but found two executives accused of bribing him not guilty of most of the charges, and remain deadlocked over the guilt of a third executive, after more than a week of deliberation.

To find out, they asked people from a sample of 987 diverse participants recruited through Amazon's Mechanical Turk platform to think about either the pride they would feel after taking pro-environmental actions or the guilt they would feel for not doing so, just before making a series of decisions related to the environment.

Sneha: Their commitment to using only natural ingredients makes me feel zero guilt for adding more chemicals after a day of running around in makeup, and I know that there will be no breaks out or problems with these products since they are just oh - so - natural!

Just about any film that explores the question that all of us ponder about what happens to us after we die already starts with built - in intrigue, and while Flatliners eventually becomes a relatively standard «Twilight Zone» - esque story about dealing with the guilt and remorse of one's past to resolve one's future, it's certainly a movie that stands out as quite different in style and, to some extent, subject matter than most anything that Hollywood had churned out before.

Kobe Bryant was given a standing ovation despite facing a sex - assault charge in 2003 (which was dropped after the accuser refused to testify — a civil case was later settled out of court with Bryant apologising to the plaintiff without admitting guilt).

The novel, set in Cape Town, South Africa, follows Lindanathi, wracked with guilt after the sudden death of his brother, and his friends as they sell anti-retroviral drugs to HIV - positive people and drift in and out of a seedy party scene.

Sentencing occurs after the facts have been read out and there's been a finding of guilt made by the judge.

The initial recent court proceeding, of which I was a material witness / party, has resulted thus far in the judge, after a full day of in court proceedings, seemingly accepting the guilt of the defendant by way of suggesting the parties again privately engage in negotiating how much the defendant should pay the plaintiff over and above a previous (pre trial) defendant - offered amount to settle out of court.

It went something like this: hotel check - in, locate room, locate wifi service, attempt connection to wifi, wonder why the connection is taking so long, try again, locate phone, call front desk, get told «the internet is broken for a while», decide to hot - spot the mobile phone because some emails really needed to be sent, go «la la la» about the roaming costs, locate iron, wonder why iron temperature dial just spins around and around, swear as iron spews water instead of steam, find reading glasses, curse middle - aged need for reading glasses, realise iron temperature dial is indecipherably in Chinese, decide ironing front of shirt is good enough when wearing jacket, order room service lunch, start shower, realise can't read impossible small toiletry bottle labels, damply retrieve glasses from near iron and successfully avoid shampooing hair with body lotion, change (into slightly damp shirt), retrieve glasses from shower, start teleconference, eat lunch, remember to mute phone, meet colleague in lobby at 1 pm, continue teleconference, get in taxi, endure 75 stop - start minutes to a inconveniently located client, watch unread emails climb over 150, continue to ignore roaming costs, regret tuna panini lunch choice as taxi warmth, stop - start juddering, jet - lag, guilt about unread emails and traffic fumes combine in a very unpleasant way, stumble out of over-warm taxi and almost catch hypothermia while trying to locate a very small client office in a very large anonymous business park, almost hug client with relief when they appear to escort us the last 50 metres, surprisingly have very positive client meeting (i.e. didn't throw up in the meeting), almost catch hypothermia again waiting for taxi which despite having two functioning GPS devices can't locate us on a main road, understand why as within 30 seconds we are almost rendered unconscious by the in - car exhaust fumes, discover that the taxi ride back to the CBD is even slower and more juddering at peak hour (and no, that was not a carbon monoxide induced hallucination), rescheduled the second client from 5 pm to 5.30, to 6 pm and finally 6.30 pm, killed time by drafting this guest blog (possibly carbon monoxide induced), watch unread emails climb higher, exit taxi and inhale relatively fresher air from kamikaze motor scooters, enter office and grumpily work with client until 9 pm, decline client's gracious offer of expensive dinner, noting it is already midnight my time, observe client fail to correctly set office alarm and endure high decibel «warning, warning» sounds that are clearly designed to send security rushing... soon... any second now... develop new form of nausea and headache from piercing, screeching, sounds - like - a-wailing-baby-please-please-make-it-stop-alarm, note the client is relishing the extra (free) time with us and is still talking about work, admire the client's ability to focus under extreme aural pressure, decide the client may be a little too work focussed, realise that I probably am too given I have just finished work at 9 pm... but then remember the 200 unread emails in my inbox and decide I can resolve that incongruency later (in a quieter space), become sure that there are only two possibilities — there are no security staff or they are deaf — while my colleague frantically tries to call someone who knows what to do, conclude after three calls that no - one does, and then finally someone finally does and... it stops.