I used to envy people who had written books, the way I think women envy other women who've had babies. I was resentful, shy, and inhibited around people who had written books. They'd done things I wanted to do.
The Forsytes were resentful of something, not individually, but as a family; this resentment expressed itself in an added perfection of raiment, an exuberance of family cordiality, an exaggeration of family importance, and the sniff. Danger so indispensable in bringing out the fundamental quality of any society, group, or individual was what the Forsytes scented; the premonition of danger put a burnish on their armour. For the first time, as a family, they appeared to have an instinct of being in contact, with some strange and unsafe thing.
When employees don't really care about the work they do and they take no pride in being in the specific organization where they work, they bring no enthusiasm, energy or passion to what they're doing. If, in addition, they feel abused, resentful, insignificant, betrayed, or taken advantage of...they want out. Naturally.
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