• Too Many Hands In The Pot Saying
• Too Many Hands In The Pot Meaning
• Too Many Fingers In The Pot
• Too Many Hands In The Pot Means
• Too Many Hands In The Pot At Work

This expression alludes to each of many cooks adding something to a soup, which finally tastes awful. It was already considered a proverb in 1575 (by George Gascoigne in The Life of P. See also: broth, cook, many, spoil. The American Heritage® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. It is not only in the well-known proverb, but also in this present instance, that too many cooks spoil the broth. From Europarl Parallel Corpus - English These examples are. 'Too many hands in the pot' 1.0. The ACR is too big for its own good. There are so many layers of managers, directors, senior managers, vp's, member leadership that no one can make a decision on anything. There are meetings for the sake of meetings that get stupid. Policies not consistent across departments, strategic plan process was a joke. While this can seem smart – allowing those who are best suited to each task take it on – and can be cost effective, having too many hands in the pot can often lead to a dilution or distortion of your original vision. Think of a large family gathering during which a.

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You better ignore this.
You better staple your eyes shut
and put pot-lids over your ears
and pinch your nose with vice grips
and cement your mouth shut
with real cement and while
you're at it or in it or whatever
cut off your hands for good measure — B.J. Ward

Too Many Hands In The Pot Saying

Alma poured more Gin like it was tea; careful with two hands like to steady the pot. 'Well, it's a lovely tradition. Used to do it with my parents. Most people back then had physical mobile phones filled with apps. I used to walk around looking at all the trees and beauty and wonder why other kids my age didn't put their phones down and just take it all in... — Trevor Barton

Something deep in my guts, below my heart, has made a shift to the left and settled in a more comfortable place. It's not the Shift, but it's a shift. I picture Nia with her gorgeous face and little body and black hair and pouty lips and Aaron's hands all over her but also with her pot smoking and the pimples on her forehead and making fun of people all the time and the way she's always so proud of how she's dressed. And I picture her fading. — Ned Vizzini

I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid steams in your china cup.
Or when you're away or at work,
I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,
as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips. — Carol Ann Duffy

Too Many Hands In The Pot Meaning

Each home has been reduced to the bare essentials
to barer essentials than most primitive people would consider possible. Only one woman's hands to feed the baby, answer the telephone, turn off the gas under the pot that is boiling over, soothe the older child who has broken a toy, and open both doors at once. She is a nutritionist, a child psychologist, an engineer, a production manager, an expert buyer, all in one. Her husband sees her as free to plan her own time, and envies her; she sees him as having regular hours and envies him. — Margaret Mead

Our way was to share a fire until it burned down, ayi? To speak to each other until every person was satisfied. Younger men listened to older men. Now the Beelezi tell us the vote of a young, careless man counts the same as the vote of an elder.' In the hazy heat Tata Ndu paused to take off his hat, turn it carefully in his hands, then replace it above the high dome of his forehead. No one breathed. 'White men tell us: Vote, bantu! They tell us: You do not all have to agree, ce n'est pas necessaire! If two men vote yes and one says no, the matter is finished. A bu, even a child can see how that will end. It takes three stones in the fire to hold up the pot. Take one away, leave the other two, and what? The pot will spill into the fire. — Barbara Kingsolver

Pot put me in a position where I could walk far away from my playing and hear it in the second person. It helped me step away from myself. I stopped seeing the guitar as a thing I'm holding in my hands and started seeing it as a thing that's at one with outer space and nothingness. — John Frusciante

The pot-thrower in the hut behind the shop, hands and forearms slick with clay, dreaming, yes, of the years in which a life took shape, when each press of a fingertip sent a deep track across a once smooth surface, changing the future, reshaping the past, and was this not as much chance as design? For all that intent could score a path, that the ripples sent up and down and outward could be surmised by decades of experience, was the outcome ever truly predictable? — Steven Erikson

Lucy paused, hands full of green beans, her memory flashing back to the giant pots of crawfish on the stove. Her Mama's green eyes would squint into the steam, hair pulled back, a frown of concentration on her face. The salted water was flavored and ready to receive the 'mudbugs' out of their burlap sacks. Other than an onion or maybe an ear of corn, if it wasn't alive when you threw it in, then it shouldn't be in the pot, she'd say. Did her Mama mind that Lucy didn't cook those old family recipes? Was she turning her back on her culinary heritage as surely as Paulette was?
She snapped the ends of the beans faster, glancing at the clock. This whole dinner was breaking her Mama's cardinal rule: don't hurry. She thought if a cook was in a hurry, you might as well just make a sandwich and go on your way. — Mary Jane Hathaway

Mistress Eustacia sent me to have my bandage changed. He looked disgruntled. She adjusted the pot so that it wasn't directly over the fire then wiped her hands on her apron. He sat down impatiently on the bench against the wall. Annabel rummaged through the shelves until she found a container of honey and some bandages, smiling to herself at his reluctant compliance. Then — Melanie Dickerson

Are ya trying' to kill me, lass?'
'Kill you? No.' Maggie leaned closer, her hands drifting up and cradling his face as she rolled her hips again in one wicked pass. 'Torture you? Maybe. — Sara Humphreys

Since she seen Fortune head in that big pot Miss Lydia say that room make her feel ill, sick with the thought of boiling human broth. I wonder how she think it make me feel?
To dust the hands what use to stroke my breast; to dust the arms what hold me when I cried; to dust where his soft lips were and his chest what curved its warm against my back at night.
From the poem 'Dinah's Lament' (15) — Marilyn Nelson

Some men think that the globe is a sponge that God puts into their hands to squeeze for their own garden or flower-pot. — Henry Ward Beecher

Marian sank down on one of the kitchen chairs and braced her head in her hands. He got mad at her for sweeping up spilled sugar but dragged her outside to throw a skillet at bales of hay. She threw a pot at him and missed, so he was going to teach her how to clobber him with a skillet. Even taking into account that he was an Eyrien male, there was only one explanation for his behavior. The man was insane. — Anne Bishop

But on the other hand, if you come under circumstances where each person is entitled to a pro-rata share of the pot, to take an extreme example, or even to a low level of the pie, than the effect of that situation is that free immigration, would mean a reduction of everybody to the same, uniform level. Of course, I'm exaggerating, it wouldn't go quite that far, but it would go in that direction. And it is that perception, that leads people to adopt what at first seems like inconsistent values. — Milton Friedman

When the spill was cleaned, she reached to take the pot from Gideon's hands. He didn't release it. Reluctantly, she raised her head to see if he was angry. It wasn't anger that darkened his face, but amusement. His dark green eyes danced and his lips pursed, rising on his left side to create the most gorgeous dimple. Her insides — Misty M. Beller

He that would live clear of envy must lay his finger on his mouth, and keep his hand out of the ink-pot. — Roger L'Estrange

All the bullets and all the bombs that explode all over the world won't leave the impact, when all is said and done, of a dollar bill dropped in the Jimmy Fund pot by a warm heart and a willing hand. You should be proud and happy to know that your contribution will someday help some kid to a better life. — Ted Williams

I decided to make spaghetti for lunch again. Not that I was the least bit hungry. But I couldn't just go on sitting on the sofa, waiting for the phone to ring. I had to move my body, to begin working toward some goal. I put water in a pot, turned on the gas, and until it boiled I would make tomato sauce while listening to an FM broadcast. The radio was playing an unaccompanied violin sonata by Bach. The performance itself was excellent, but there was something annoying about it. I didn't know whether this was the fault of the violinist or of my own present state of mind, but I turned off the music and went on cooking in silence. I heated the olive oil, put garlic in the pan, and added minced onions. When these began to brown, I added the tomatoes that I had chopped and strained. It was good to be cutting things and frying things like this. It gave me a sense of accomplishment that I could feel in my hands. I liked the sounds and the smells. — Haruki Murakami

In his left hand he was holding aloft the German flag; with his right he was shaking hands in smiling effusion with a bald-headed man whose face looked like a pot of lard that has boiled over and eventually congealed in white, flabby, unhealthy drifts and folds. — H.E. Bates

All this pitting of sex against sex, of quality against quality; all this claiming of superiority and imputing of inferiority, belong to the private-school stage of human existence where there are 'sides,' and it is necessary for one side to beat another side, and of the utmost importance to walk up to a platform and receive from the hands of the Headmaster himself a highly ornamental pot. — Virginia Woolf

The bullet didn't come out. I've got to go in and get it.' 'Have you ever done that?' she asked, quickly thrusting the bottle into my hands. I guess she thought whoever possessed the bottle had to perform the surgery. 'I filled in pot holes, Jen. Not much call for field surgery in that line of work.' 'What about before that?' she grasped. 'Oh yeah sure, I left a lucrative and life-fulfilling job as a highly skilled surgeon to live the prosaic life of a road crew man. Filling holes seemed a much nobler profession.' 'Don't — Mark Tufo

After a week in front of the screen, the opportunity to work with my hands - with all my senses, in fact - is always a welcome change of pace, whether in the kitchen or in the garden. There's something about such work that seems to alter the experience of time, helps me to reoccupy the present tense. I don't want you to get the idea it's made a Buddhist of me, but in the kitchen, maybe a little bit. When stirring the pot, just stir the pot. — Michael Pollan

I closed my eyes and took more of those deep breaths Dad was so fond of, thinking that it was no wonder Prodigium were always getting their asses handed to them by humans. I mean, every time I had to do an intense spell, there was all this focusing, and relaxing, and picturing, and breathing...It wasn't exactly the most effective battle strategy against something like The Eye.
I should've known better than to think about The Eye,though. As soon as the name popped into my head, my control shattered.
And so did the terra-cotta pot.
Black soil rained down on my feet, and the purple flower drooped even further. I could have sworn it actually bobbed accusingly at me.
'Ugh,' I groaned, as Cal quickly scooped the jagged pot out of my hands. 'Sorry,but I warned you I was destructo-girl. — Rachel Hawkins

do not impose on us any aesthetic rules which shall banish from the region of Art those old women scraping carrots with their work-worn hands, those heavy clowns taking holiday in a dingy pot-house, those rounded backs and stupid weather-beaten faces that have bent over the spade and done the rough work of the world - those homes with their tin pans, their brown pitchers, their rough curs, and their clusters of onions. In — George Eliot

Too Many Fingers In The Pot

It's the camel's nose in the tent. Look at Stalin, Mussolini, Hitler, Mao Zedong, Pol Pot, Idi Amin
every one of these monsters, on seizing power, their first act was to confiscate all firearms in private hands ... — Charlton Heston

What no school prepares you for is the fact that when you finally get to enter the adult world you're just one of seven billion primates swinging from the trees, hurling your excrement at each other and fighting over the same tiny pot of job vacancies. Instead school teaches you everything that you don't need to know, hands over your exam results and tells you to fuck off into the jungle to fend for yourself. No more handouts; no more free passes. Get out there and make a miracle happen. Or die. — Rupert Dreyfus

Too Many Hands In The Pot Means

Whoever wishes to blame or attack me is entitled to do so. I regret I didn't have enough experience to totally control the movement. On the other hand, with our constant struggle, this had to be done together with others in the communist world to stop Kampuchea becoming Vietnamese. — Pol Pot

All this pitting of sex against sex... All this claiming of superiority and imparting of inferiority, belong to the private-school stage of human existence where there are 'sides', and it is... of the utmost importance to walk up to a platform and receive from the hands of the Headmaster himself a highly ornamented pot. — Virginia Woolf

Too Many Hands In The Pot At Work

The slate black sky. The middle step
of the back porch. And long ago
my mother's necklace, the beads
rolling north and south. Broken
the rose stem, water into drops, glass
knob on the bedroom door. Last summer's
pot of parsley and mint, white roots
shooting like streamers through the cracks.
Years ago the cat's tail, the bird bath,
the car hood's rusted latch. Broken
little finger on my right hand at birth--
I was pulled out too fast. What hasn't
been rent, divided, split? Broken the days into nights, the night sky
into stars, the stars into patterns
I make up as I trace them
with a broken-off blade
of grass. Possible, unthinkable,
the cricket's tiny back as I lie
on the lawn in the dark, my hart
a blue cup fallen from someone's hands. — Dorianne Laux