- Be confusing or perplexing to; cause to be unable to think clearly
- Make stupid with alcohol
Derived forms: befuddles, befuddling, befuddled
- Joe McNally – No matter how much crap you gotta plow through to stay alive as a photographer, no matter how many bad assignments, bad days, bad clients, snotty subjects, obnoxious handlers, wigged-out art directors, technical disasters, failures of the mind, body, and will, all the should as, could as, and would as that befuddle our brains and creep into our dreams, always remember to make room to shoot what you love. It’s the only way to keep your heart beating as a photographer.
- Brian Jacques – Step aside? I step aside for no beast, whether it be a hallowed hedgehog, an officious otter, a seasoned squirrel, a mutterin’ mole or a befuddled badger!
- Sherrilyn Kenyon – Nick‘s eyes widened as a total state of befuddled huh possessed him. Was he in the Twilight Zone?
- Faraaz Kazi – Beauty is the only human aspect which cannot be captured on any canvas howsoever hard an artist tries. At the most, the undaunted artist can replicate the beauty on paper but what is a replica in comparison to the original! The humbling resemblance can only be respected, not truly adored. Beauty cannot be imprisoned in the lens of a camera. The images of beauty are a moment of its essence. Beauty cannot be displayed to evoke pleasure for all on a cinema screen. Those are just its imprints, mere illusions of its existence. Beauty cannot be described by words; it cannot be written or read about. There are no suitable words in all the languages of the world, ancient or modern to hold it between a paper and a pen or a script and an eye. Beauty can only be experienced from far, its delightful aroma can only be tasted through one’s eyes and its pleasurable sight can only be felt from the soul.Beauty can only be best described at its origin through a befuddling silence, the kind that leaves one almost on the verge of a pleasurable death, just because one chooses beauty over life. There is nothing in this world to hold something so pure, so divine except a loving heart. And it is the only manner through which love recognises love; the language of love has no alphabet, no words.
- Stephenie Meyer – What are you thinking?” he asked curiously. I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.”I’m trying to figure out what you are.
- Cristiane Serruya – One can say that Javert is our conscience. The ever lurking presence of the law and our own condemnation. The tension between who we were and who we are and who we can be. Javert represents that inescapable, shameful past that forever haunts and persues one’s conscience. Javert is the man of the law, and there are no surprises with the law. The principle of retribution is simple and monotonous, like Euclidean logic. It’s closed to all alternatives and shut up against divine or human intervention. Indeed, Javert represents the merciless application of the law, the blind Justice that in the end is befuddled by hope and the possibility of redemption without punishment.
- Toni Morrison – If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. The hauntedness would irritate him the love would move him to fury. How dare she love him? Hadn’t she any sense at all? What was he supposed to do about that? Return it? How? What could his calloused hands produce to make her smile? What of his knowledge of the world and of life could be useful to her? What could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love?
- Jack Kerouac – I couldn’t take my eyes off the little dark girl and the way, like a queen, she walked around and was even reduced by the sullen bartender to menial tasks such as bringing us drinks and sweeping the back. Of all the girls in there she needed the money most; maybe her mother had come to get money from her for her little infant/ sisters and brothers. It never, never occurred to me just to approach her and give her some money. I have a feeling she would have taken it with a degree of scorn, and scorn from the likes of her made me flinch. In my madness I was actually in love with her for the few hours it all lasted; it was the same unmistakable ache and stab across the mind, the same sighs, the same pain, and above all the same reluctance and fear to approach. Strange that Neal and Frank also failed to approach her; her unimpeachable dignity was the thing that made her poor in a wild old whorehouse, and think of that. At one point I saw Neal leaning like a statue toward her, ready to fly, and befuddlement cross his face as she glanced coolly and imperiously his way and he stopped rubbing his belly and gaped and finally bowed his head. For she was the queen.
- Samantha Young – He stared at Wolfe. “When you attack me you have to make it look real.” Wolfe’s face tightened. Kir sighed heavily, his lip curling up almost condescendingly. “I mean it, Wolfe.”I wasn’t surprised when Wolfe made no response. Clearly, he didn’t want Kir to get hurt.Coming to the same conclusion I had drawn, Kir pulled back his shoulders, his own expression determined. There was a dark, mischievousness in his eyes, I didn’t trust. “Fine.” He shook his head, throwing Wolfe a warning look. “Then I guess I’ll have to make you want to.”When his long arm came out and caught me around the waist I squawked in undignified surprise and instinctively pushed against his hard chest as he crushed me to him, his other hand winding into my hair to bring my lips against his in a hard, punishing kiss. Quite abruptly that muffled exclamation was given free reign as his body was wrenched from mine, soaring across the room and straight through the door.That’s right. Straight through the door. Not the doorway. The door. I gaped in befuddlement at Kir collapsed around the wooden splinters of the door in the hall, groaning as he drew himself up into a sitting position.”Come on.” I blinked down at the large familiar hand wrapped around my wrist and then up at its owner. Wolfe. A really angry Wolfe.
- Joseph O’Neill – There was, apparently, a nuclear reactor at a place called Indian Point, just thirty miles away in Westchester County. If something bad happened there, we were constantly being informed, the ‘radioactive debris’, whatever this might be, was liable to rain down on us. (Indian Point: the earliest, most incurable apprehensions stirred in its very name.) Then there was the question of dirty bombs. Apparently any fool could build a dirty bomb and explode it in Manhattan. How likely was this? Nobody knew. Very little about anything seemed intelligible or certain, and New York itself that ideal source of the metropolitan diversion that serves as a response to the largest futilities took on a fearsome, monstrous nature whose reality might have befuddled Plato himself. We were trying, as I irreverently analysed it, to avoid what might be termed a historic mistake. We were trying to understand, that is, whether we were in a pre-apocalyptic situation, like the European Jews in the thirties or the last citizens of Pompeii, or whether our situation was merely near-apocalyptic, like that of the Cold War inhabitants of New York, London, Washington and, for that matter, Moscow. In my anxiety I phoned Rachel’s father, Charles Bolton, and asked him how he’d dealt with the threat of nuclear annihilation. I wanted to believe that this episode of history, like those old cataclysms that deposit a geologically telling layer of dust on the floors of seas, had sooted its survivors with special information.
- Piper leaned toward [Jason], her caramel braid falling over her shoulder. Her multicolored eyes made it hard for him to think straight.“And where is this place?” she asked.“A . . . uh, a town called Split.”“Split.” She smelled really good—like blooming honeysuckle.“Um, yeah.” Jason wondered if Piper was working some sort of Aphrodite magic on him—like maybe every time he mentioned Reyna’s name, she would befuddle him so much he couldn’t think about anything but Piper. He supposed it wasn’t the worst sort of revenge.
- An hour or so ago, they were in a heated discussion over whether or not Shane would’ve been a better father than Rick on The Walking Dead. Somehow that had digressed into Daemon arguing that the governor, sociopathic tendencies aside, was a better father figure. The fact that Archer had never eaten at Olive Garden but knew about The Walking Dead absolutely befuddled me.
- Her life had taken on the shape of a terrible mistake. She hadn’t been given the proper tools to make a real life with, she decided, that was it. She’d been given a can of gravy and a hair-brush and told, “There you go.” She’d stood there for years, blinking and befuddled, brushing the can with the brush.
- I feel like a pink worm in the core of this green room, as though I have eaten my way in and should be working on becoming a butterfly, or something. I’m not real awake, here, at the moment. I hear somebody coughing. I hear my heart beating and the high-pitched sound which is my nervous system doing its thing. Oh, God, let today be a normal day. Let me be normally befuddled, normally nervous; get me to the church on time, in time. Let me not startle anyone, especially myself. Let me get through our wedding day as best I can, with no special effects. Deliver Clare from unpleasant scenes. Amen.
- I truly believe I am not afraid of death. What I shrink from, I believe, is the shame of dying as stupid and befuddled as I am.
- You baffle me, addle me, drive me insane. You muddle, befuddle, and rattle my brain. My senses are mad, Skewed judgment to blame.You drive me half stark-raving bonkers!(But the truly crazy thing is how I love it.)
- Okay, this is a fictional character,” Lily began. “And he’s like a human.””What?” Adam asked her, looking befuddled. “What the fuck does that mean? He’s like a human?” He shook his head and scowled at her.”He wears clothes!” she said frantically. I had a feeling that this game had Lily on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”He wears clothes. Great. Well, that narrows it down.” The sands of the hourglass were pouring away and Braden, Cam, Jess and I, were laughing our asses off this exchange already.”And he walks upright!” she added waving her hands frantically. “I would hope that most of the people in this game walk upright! Give me a real fucking clue already!” Adam had that homicidal look again.”Duh huh!” she said desperately.”Hey! All you’ve told me is that he’s a fictional character who wears clothes and walks upright. Don’t duh huh me!” he spit out angrily. “No! No! he says that!” Suddenly she started making barking noises. “Are you okay?” he asked looking at her like she was nuts.”Has a place in Florida.” She looked seriously stressed out. I was starting to worry.”He’s retired?” Adam asked, still looking confused.”He wears bright colored clothes. He tells jokes.””It sounds like you’re describing my Uncle Murray,” Adam was shaking his head.”Time!” I yelled, almost peeing myself I was laughing so hard.”Goofy! The answer was Goofy!” Lily said with disgust.”Goofy?! That was the best you could come up with for Goofy?!
- It was the sound of her name being called that brought Shanna into full wakefulness. “Shanna! Shanna! Don’t go!”It seemed a call of distress, lonely in the silence of night, and she could not mistake the voice. She flew from her bed and out onto the balcony, not pausing for her robe, and entered Ruark’s room.”Are you really there, Shanna? Or does my dream befuddle my sight?” His fingers closed lightly around her wrist and brought it against his lips. Kissing her soft skin, he murmured, “No maiden of my dreams could taste as sweet. Shanna, Shanna,” he sighed. “I thought I had lost you.”She bent low to press her trembling mouth upon his. “Oh, Ruark,” she breathed against his lips. “I thought I had lost you.”He laid an arm about her nape and pulled her down beside him, searching her eyes in the meager glow.”I’ll hurt your leg!” Shanna protested in concern.”Come here!” he commanded. “I would know if this is a dream or more heady stuff.
- Jeremy fixed her with a dark look, full of reproach. A hot blush singed the tips of her opal-adorned ears. For a moment, Lucy felt as though she were sitting in the breakfast room wearing only her nightgown—or less. But if he meant to shame her, he would be sorely disappointed. Her lips tingled, and she slowly wet them with her tongue before flashing him a bold grin. He quickly looked away. Oh, what fun it was to vex him. He made it so easy to do. Hunting and fishing were all well and good, but truly, Jemmy-baiting had always been her favorite autumn sport. Lucy viewed his staid countenance as an unending challenge. A smooth, thick-shelled egg that begged to be cracked. Any rearrangement of his features constituted a victory, be it a wince, a scowl, or that rarest of expressions—a smile. A smile that showed teeth counted double.Last night had shown her an entirely new way to bedevil Jeremy Trescott. Not with girlish pranks, but with womanly wiles. Oh, yes. She‟d cracked the egg last night, but good. His expression of befuddled desire was far more amusing than a wince or a scowl, or even a smile that showed teeth. That last kiss had to count at least ten.She lifted her cup of chocolate to her lips. Closing her eyes, she pressed her tongue against the cool china rim, remembering the power of a proper kiss. Drinking in the hot, sweet richness, feeling delicious warmth spread down her throat and pool in her belly. And lower.She sighed into the cup. If Jeremy‟s kiss could rival chocolate, Lucy shivered to imagine how it would be to kiss.
- The people of that age were phrase slaves. The abjectness of their servitude is incomprehensible to us. There was a magic in words greater than the conjurer’s art. So befuddled and chaotic were their minds that the utterance of a single word could negative the generalizations of a lifetime of serious research and thought. Such a word was the adjective UTOPIAN. The mere utterance of it could damn any scheme, no matter how sanely conceived, of economic amelioration or regeneration.
- As explained above, those who believe in the theory of evolution think that a few atoms and molecules thrown into a huge vat could produce thinking, reasoning professors and university students; such scientists as Einstein and Galileo; such artists as Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra and Luciano Pavarotti; as well as antelopes, lemon trees,and carnations. Moreover, as the scientists and professors who believe in this nonsense are educated people, it is quite justifiable to speak of this theory as “the most potent spell in history.” Never before has any other belief or idea so taken away peoples’ powers of reason, refused to allow them to think intelligently and logically, and hidden the truth from them as if they had been blindfolded. This is an even worse and unbelievable blindness than the totem worship in some parts of Africa, the people of Saba worshiping the Sun, the tribe of Prophet Ibrahim (as) worshiping idols they had made with their own hands, or the people of Prophet Musa (as) worshiping the Golden Calf. In fact, Allah has pointed to this lack of reason in the Qur’an. In many verses, He reveals that some peoples’minds will be closed and that they will be powerless to seethe truth. Some of these verses are as follows:As for those who do not believe, it makes no difference to them whether you warn them or do not warn them,they will not believe. Allah has sealed up their hearts and hearing and over their eyes is a blindfold. They will have a terrible punishment. They have hearts with which they do not understand.They have eyes with which they do not see.They have ears with which they do not hear. Such people are like cattle. No, they are even further astray!They are the unaware. Even if We opened up to them a door into heaven, and they spent the day ascending through it, they would only say: “Our eyesight is befuddled! Or rather we have been put under a spell!”
- The woods were full of peril—rattlesnakes and water moccasins and nests of copperheads; bobcats, bears, coyotes, wolves, and wild boar; loony hillbillies destabilized by gross quantities of impure corn liquor and generations of profoundly unbiblical sex; rabies-crazed skunks, raccoons, and squirrels; merciless fire ants and ravening blackfly; poison ivy, poison sumac, poison oak, and poison salamanders; even a scattering of moose lethally deranged by a parasitic worm that burrows a nest in their brains and befuddles them into chasing hapless hikers through remote, sunny meadows and into glacial lakes.
- They need only to look at him, hear his name, and the last of reason goes up in smoke. They sink into a state of befuddlement.
- As amused as I may be, I must inquire upon the particular context of this particular irony as I find myslef slightly befuddled.
- As amused as I may be, I must inquire upon the particular contex of this particular irony as I find myself slighting befuddled.
- I drank through the buzz of befuddlement into perfect clarity and out again into the blissful confusion of true intoxication.
- A rattle of dishes warned of a servant’s entry into the hall, but Christopher was incensed, and half turning with a growl, he gestured Paine back. “Get out of here, man!” “Christopher!” Erienne gasped and took two halting steps to follow the befuddled servant, but Christopher came around to face her with a glare. “Stay where you are, madam! I am not finished with you.” “You have no right to give orders here,” she protested, her own ire growing. “This is my husband’s house!” “I’ll give orders when and where I damn well please, and for once, you will stand and listen until I’m through!” More than a trifle outraged herself, Erienne hurled back her answer. “You may command the men on your ship to your will, Mister Seton, but you have no such authority here! Good day to you!” Catching up her skirts, she whirled and stalked toward the tower until she heard the sound of rapid footsteps coming behind her, then a sudden panic seized her that he would make such a scene that she would not be able to face the servants… or her husband. She raced into the entry, stepping over the puddle, and took to the stairs, forcing every bit of strength she could into her limbs. She had barely gained the fourth step when she heard sliding feet, a loud thump, and then a painful grunt followed by an angry curse. When she whirled, Christopher was just coming to rest in a heap against the wall after sliding across the floor, partway on his back. For a moment she stared aghast at the dignified man sprawled in a most undignified manner, but when he raised his head to look at her with barely contained rage, she was struck by the humor of it all. Bubbling laughter broke forth, winning from him a dark scowl of exasperation. “Are you hurt, Christopher?” she asked sweetly. “Aye! My pride has been mightily bruised!” “Oh, that will mend, sir,” she chuckled, spreading her skirts to perch primly on the step above him. Her eyes danced with a lively light that was simply dazzling to behold. “But you should take care. If such a modest spot of water can bring you down so abruptly, I would not advise sailing beyond these shores.” “ Tis not a spot of water that’s brought me down, but a waspish wench who sets her barbs against me at every turn.” “You dare accuse me when you come in here huffing and snorting like a raging bull?” She gave a throaty, skeptical laugh. “Really, Christopher, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You frightened Paine and nearly made me swallow my heart.” “That’s an impossibility, madam, for that thing is surely made of cold, hard steel.” “You’re pouting,” she chided flippantly, “because I have not fallen swooning at your feet.” “I’m angry because you continually deny the fact that you should be my wife!” he stated emphatically. Footsteps on the stairs behind Erienne made them glance up. Aggie came nonchalantly down the steps, seeming unaware of Christopher’s storm-dark frown. Excusing herself, she stepped past her mistress. Finally, on reaching level footing, she contemplated the man, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “Aren’t ye a wee bit old ter be takin’ yer leisure on the floor, sir?” He raised a brow at Erienne as that one smothered a giggle, and with a snort, got to his feet and brushed off his breeches and coat sleeve. Christopher, Erienne, and Aggie
- My Serinity,Thee, my serenity, one can not bear, Seeing thee befuddled, bereaved,Dimmed like the midnight, secluded, darkened,Thee, my serenity,A window to my eyes, A window to laughter, and peace of mind,Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,Seeing thee wail, whine, cry,Like a gloomy, mourning brume,Thee, my serenity,Soared through fervor and delight,To the crown of heavens, the Almighty Myth,One can not bear, Seeing thee prostrate, razed, demure,Upon the dimmed streets, crawling, for a sight of the lune,Thee, my birdy in love, What befall to thy song, The very chant of my life, Cut short, stopped, along with all I gasp,Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,Seeing thee, caged in thy own night, Encumbered, through thy own heart,Lean on my shoulders now,My beautiful, wonderful Lily,That thee shall not fear, the sorrow of,Of being lonely, apart, not having a peer,As I promise, to my most dear,The girl to my heart, always near,Come what may, don’t age a year,That I will be, forever here,
- Women like to make up rules to befuddle you. It’s part of living in their world. Get used to it.
- To Satan’s befuddlement, Job experienced God in a way he never had before. “My ears had heard of you,” he said, “but now my eyes have seen you” (42:5).
- This is a problem which seems to befuddle some television personalities more than others, and among the befuddled is the small-business advisor, hotel heir and presenter of Alex Polizzi: The Fixer.
- The unique versatility of the $130 million Manchester United import can befuddle defenses, but so far, it is just befuddling Manchester United.
- The mysterious sleeping sickness that has befallen dozens of villagers in a remote region of Kazakhstan continues to befuddle scientists.
- The complexity of biology can befuddle even the most sophisticated light microscopes.
- It is the scale of the transformation that continues to befuddle.
- Or how many outswingers Jimmy Anderson sent down to befuddle the Aussie openers?