Quotes About Praise

All my blessings are thanks to the Almighty.

I give the blessings to God, because you have to respect God.

The President doesn't ring people out of the blue, so you know you've done something well.

Bobby Roode is amazing.

Awards bolster your confidence in wonderful ways. But they aren't the world.

I respect Soulja Boy.

When I sit down with my team before an engagement, sometimes they are horrified as I say I don't want to read the biographical brief because I prefer to prise information out of people. It becomes like a game. The stories that come out, I could write a book about.

'Udta Punjab' has a brilliant script.

All my kids are brilliant.

It's hard to criticize someone who's hugely successful.

I'm a sucker for a compliment.

This flattery has been rather slow in coming. I think all of sudden late in life now I'm getting some credit for what I've done. Which is gratifying, but it's kind of a little late.

I don't take compliments very easily. I think most musicians suffer from low self-esteem to some extent.

The disgraces I suffer should be attributed to me, but the praises that I get go to my family and teachers. It is they who decided what I would become.

The Premier League is a competition that suits me, which is perhaps more praise to myself. It's more direct, more rhythmic than Ligue 1.

The higher the sun ariseth, the less shadow doth he cast; even so the greater is the goodness, the less doth it covet praise; yet cannot avoid its rewards in honours.

I've never seen a film get away completely unscathed like I have 'Animal Kingdom.' There's not a single bad review that I've read of it yet; all through Sundance, all it got was high praise.

And these things that keep alive on departure know that you praise them; transient, they look to us, the most transient, to be their rescue. They want us to change them completely, in our invisible hearts, into -- O endlessly -- us! Whoever, finally, we may be.

Only he whose bright lyre has sounded in shadows may, looking onward, restore his infinite praise. Only he who has eaten poppies with the dead will not lose ever again the gentlest chord. Though the image upon the pool often grows dim: Know and be still. Inside the Double World all voices become eternally mild.

It is all about praising. Created to praise, his heart is a winepress destined to break, that makes for us an eternal wine. His voice never chokes with dust when words for the sacred come through. All becomes vineyard. All becomes grape, ripening in the southland of his being. Nothing, not even the rot in royal tombs, or the shadow cast by a god, gives the lie to his praising. He is ever the messenger, venturing far through the doors of the dead, bearing a bowl of fresh-picked fruit.

But sing, when you must, of great lovers: their fame has a long way to go before it's really immortal. Those you almost envied, the unrequited, whom you found more loving than the gratified, the content— begin again and again the praise you can never fully express.

And these Things, which live by perishing, know you are praising them; transient, they look to us for deliverance: us, the most transient of all. They want us to change them, utterly, in our invisible heart, within - oh endlessly - within us! Whoever we may be at last. Earth, isn't this what you want: to arise within us, invisible? Isn't it your dream to be wholly invisible someday?

Basically, if it is good, one can't live to see it recognized: otherwise it's just half good and not reckless enough...

Between hammers pounding, the heart exists, like the tongue between the teeth—which still, however, does the praising.