Discomfiting

O I am deadly ſick!—reach me that thing, boy—'tis the moſt diſcomfiting ſickness— [...]

Under ſuch diſcomfiting circumſtance as general neglect, and that too palpable to be miſunderſtood, the whole of this picture was buried in oblivion; [...]

Streaker, the housemaid, too, had an attribute of a most discomfiting nature. I am unable to say whether she was of an unusually lymphatic temperament, or what else was the matter with her, but this young woman became a mere Distillery for the production of the largest and most transparent tears I ever met with.

From the first page of this book [Dark Rosaleen (1915) by M. E. Francis] to the last this shadow of things beyond human ken, this blind acceptance of powers that it would almost be an impiety in mere mortals even to try to understand, colours and distorts the minds of all the chief protagonists in this rather terrible and discomfiting story.

Suddenly, to my eyes, my throat, my mouth there rushed tears and a cry which I stifled into a feigned cough into my handkerchief. The waiter noticed my discomfiting state and poured more tea.

Imagination, like memory, can be selective, editing out those details which are painful or discomfiting.

Like the technically astounding and spiritually hollow production numbers, however, [Emily] Blunt can’t situate the sentimental energy in a deeper foundation. Her excellence gets left in a sort of vacuum when paired with the fully extraneous train wreck of a visit with Meryl Streep as kooky Poppins cousin Topsy or some discomfiting soft shoe from a creaky Dick Van Dyke.

One post features a productless shot, a 1970s-Hockney-gone-surrealist composition involving a half-dog, half-cat collaged onto shadowy pinks and babied blues, as discomfiting and mesmerizing as anything else on Weird Instagram right now.