Quotes About Workplace

I found that the nicer and more helpful I was to people I worked with, whether I was 'somebody' or 'nobody' on set, the more fun I had.

Jane Lynch is the nicest person I've ever worked with.

I always laugh at these companies that have these rules saying, 'You're only allowed to have this or that on your desk.' It's no fun to work at a place like that.

I walk into the office at Southwark Bridge every morning, and I have no idea what's going to happen.

Whatever else it was about, the feminist movement had no interest in exploding the myth of the mysterious and wonderful world of business; it simply wanted in on it.

In tech-land, no one cares what kind of car you drive, and frankly, they're not going to find out anyway. You're not going to go to lunch together, because you're going to be sitting in your cube with a brown bag eating lunch.

When someone gets angry during a training session but then does their job, there's no problem; it's fine.

he was glad that he'd never had to live near people who pushed paper for a living and weren't comfortable if the temperature at work wasn't exactly seventy-two degrees.

Abelardo, my manager, emerged from a stall. "What do you think, Howie?" he said; it was his standard greeting —one I was fond of. "Abe, I don't know what to think," I said; my standard response.

I was impressed by people like Les who had the bravery to brush their teeth (before lunch, even!) at work, since the act was so powerfully unbusinesslike;

Por cada ejecutivo que cometía un error, una subrayadora a la que echar la culpa. Pero estábamos muy a principios de los sesenta, demasiado pronto para que yo me fijara en esas cosas y, además, empezaba a ver que probablemente nunca ascendería a redactora en Newsweek.

With hindsight, of course, I can see how brilliantly institutionalized the sexism was at Newsweek. For every man, an inferior woman. For every male writer, a female drone. For every flamboyant inventor of a meaningless-but-unknown detail, a young drudge who could be counted on to fill it in.

I didn't get fired. You didn't punch your boss and get fired from the Tribune? That's what I heard. I punched what could loosely be called a colleague for cribbing my notes on a story and since the editor–who happened to be the asshole's uncle–took his word over mine, I quit. To write books. Is it fun? I guess it is. I bet you killed the asshole in the first one you wrote. You'd be right. Beat him to death with a shovel. Very satisfying.

Welcome to my dungeon. It's not much, Linc said as he cleaned off a chair for her. But… it's not much. He dumped the files and books on the floor. The nice thing about starting at the bottom is, you can't get any lower. If I'm a good boy, I'll get my own stapler

No. This would be better as a team. She dragged her top drawer open, rooted out her aspirin. I should have fired her weeks ago. You were right about that. I was wrong. I need to write this down. Can I borrow a pencil? Shut up. Grateful that his easy calm steadied her, she heaved a breath, then twisted open a bottle of water. Tell me straight out, Ty, what you think of the centennial campaign

Workshop leaders working with business men and women also need to develop the inner empowerment to inquire deeply into corporate values. Mindfulness courses need to expand the vision to address institution problems not just personal stress in the workplace. There is the sickness of greed and aggression in capitalism. Have courses, workshop and programmes become another marketable product to avoid challenging business ethics and policies?

An author I know once explained why writing became so much more difficult in the twenty-first century: "The biggest problem in my life," he said, "is that my work machine is also my pornography delivery machine.

Until today, it really pissed me off that I'd become this totally centered Zen Master, and nobody had noticed. Still, i'm doing the little FAX thing. I write little HAIKU things and FAX them around to everyone. When i pass people in the hall at work, I get toally ZEN right in everyone's hostile little FACE.

Por entonces yo llevaba un tiempo con un ojo morado, souvenir de una pelea a puñetazos durante las vacaciones de verano. Ninguno de mis compañeros de trabajo me había preguntado nunca por ello, asi que supuse que uno podía hacer cualquier cosa en su vida privada con tal de que te dejara tantos moretones que nadie quisiera conocer los detalles.

The door to my boss's office is always closed now, and we haven't traded more than two words any day since he found the fight club rules in the copy machine and I maybe implied I might gut him with a shotgun blast. Just me clowning around, again.

But if anyone believes that he is working harder but is being paid less than another person, it would be like transplanting cancer into this company.

Mr Chubb did not so much mind his subordinates being impertinent–that was, after all, a form of acknowledging inferiority; what he dreaded was that any of them might say something really funny without his recognising it.

She is alone with an unattended desk light whose electricity is an expenditure waiting to be itemized and eliminated in the next budget of Lift magazine, Covering the Elevator Industry for Thirty Years.

Why not remove his desk, bring in a treadmill, hang a carrot from the ceiling and stop all pretense already.