Applause Award Quotes

And that’s when things get messy. When people begin moving beyond charity and toward justice and solidarity with the poor and oppressed, as Jesus did, they get in trouble. Once we are actually friends with the folks in struggle, we start to ask why people are poor, which is never as popular as giving to charity. One of my friends has a shirt marked with the words of late Catholic bishop Dom Helder Camara: “When I fed the hungry, they called me a saint. When I asked why people are hungry, they called me a communist.” Charity wins awards and applause but joining the poor gets you killed. People do not get crucified for living out of love that disrupts the social order that calls forth a new world. People are not crucified for helping poor people. People are crucified for joining them.

Men do not know why they award fame to one work of art rather than another. Without being in the faintest connoisseurs, they think to justify the warmth of their commendations by discovering it in a hundred virtues, whereas the real ground of their applause is inexplicable--it is sumpathy.

Awards and ceremonies are all an applause of discipline.

A high five is a two-person applause. Me and my clone will be excited to clap for you after we present you with the Julius Caesar Author of the Year Award. Keep up the great writing!

You'll never see a U-Haul behind a hearse,' Denzel Washington often said as we worked together on 'Fences.' 'I don't care how much money you have or what level of notoriety you've achieved, you can't take any of it with you.' There is a cap on earthly success, a ceiling on the amount of joy that possessions and awards can bring before disillusionment sets in. Our appearance, our prosperity, the applause: all of it is so fleeting. But a life of true significance has unlimited impact. It is measured in how well we've loved those around us, how much we've given away, how many seeds we've sown along our path. During her ninety-six years, Ms. [Cicely] Tyson has discovered the potent elixir: she has lived a life of that is bigger than she is, an existence grounded in purpose and flourishing in service to others. That is her defining masterpiece. That is her enduring gift to us all. [Viola Davis, Foreword]

Men do not know why they award fame to one work of art rather than another. Without being in the faintest connoisseurs, they think to justify the warmth of their commendations by discovering it in a hundred virtues, whereas the real ground of their applause is inexplicable-it is sympathy.

She will not believe me if I tell her love is all anyone ever needs. Everything else – the fast cars, the private aeroplanes, the mansions, the diamonds, the watches, the fancy clothes, the perfect bodies, the publicity, the awards, the applause – all are ways of filling the emptiness created by the lack of love.

A brick could be used as a trophy at your company’s annual award ceremony. It’s a way to save money while making pride and applause at the same time.


I've a long time trying to love a brother whose only way of touching me is pain. A long time escaping into music. Practice, lessons, rehearsals that protect me from the hurting parts of life. I've been winning awards, applause, acclaim for my trumpets since I was in grade school. But love? The word catches in my throat. Do I love anything? Have i forgotten how?

Even people who are immensely praised and have made an enormous amount of money, who have awards, success, and applause, can be deeply depressed. If you get closer and you prick the balloon, you realize they are just as insecure as everyone else. Underneath all that wealth, all that success, and all that praise, they are still a little person who asks, “Do you love me?” Nouwen, Henri J. M.. Following Jesus (p. 53). The Crown Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

At any rate, Clark was not given to notoriety, public acclaim and applause for the event, nor for any other - though he and his family figured large in central Oregon's history - as was Howard Maupin, who never tired of receiving credit that was nor was not his, commencing with his distinguished career in the Army. Who but he would have claimed he stormed Monterey and was awarded a Henry rifle by General George Crook for his service in the Mexican War when he had never left Missouri?

Jacob smiled from ear to ear when he shook the man’s hand on stage. The man then handed him a trophy. "Tell the audience about your book." My little brother confidently walked up to a microphone his height and beamed to the crowd. "I wrote about the person I love the most, my older brother, Noah. We don’t live together so I wrote what I imagine he does when we’re not together." "And what is that?" prodded the stout man. "He’s a superhero who saves people in danger, because he saved me and my brother from dying in a fire a couple of years ago. Noah is better than Batman." The crowd chuckled. "I love you, too, lil’ bro." I couldn’t help it. To see him standing there, still worshipping me like he did when he was five … it was too much. Jacob’s smile reached a whole new level of excitement. "Noah!" He pointed right to me. "That’s Noah. That’s my brother, Noah!" Ignoring his foster parents, Jacob flew off the stage and ran down the middle aisle. Joe lowered his head and Carrie rubbed her eyes. Jacob raced into my arms and the crowd erupted into applause. "I’ve missed you, Noah." Jacob’s voice broke, bringing tears to my eyes. I couldn’t cry. Not in front of Jacob and not in front of Mrs. Collins. I needed to be a man and stay strong. "I’ve missed you, too, bro. I’m so proud of you."

After that, we don’t talk, instead we get hammered. Shot after shot we down, chasing each one with a Little Debbie snack. Before we know it, we’re hanging on to the bar counter floating around in a sugar and alcohol coma, just the way I like it. “There’s my girl,” Racer shouts as he topples off his stool and onto the floor, laughing hysterically. Georgie stops in her tracks and looks over at Emma, who’s standing next to her, both holding two boxes of Little Debbie snacks each. “Emmmmmmmma,” Tucker drags out, waving his glass in the air. “You brought the snacks.” “Oh, Jesus,” Emma mutters as she approaches us. I point to my mouth and say, “Feed me. Daddy needs sugar.” Racer is beside me, tangled in the pegs of his bar stool, still laughing. “Did you bring Oatmeal Pies, George? Please tell me you have the pies.” “Uh, I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” she says, looking down at her boyfriend. “Never!” Racer struggles to get up and finally knocks the chair over to free himself. “Fucking bitch chair, digging into me with its claws.” Talking to the stool directly he says, “I’m taken, warm someone else’s ass.” “He’s going to propose, chair, leave him alone,” Tucker announces, causing me to cringe. “Dude, don’t say it out loud.” I punch Tucker in the shoulder. “Georgie is right there.” All three of us turn to Georgie, who’s shaking her head in humor. Hopefully. “I’ll take Aaron,” Emma tells Georgie. “Seems like Racer is more of a handful.” “Hell yeah, I am.” Racer stumbles while cupping his crotch. “A giant handful.” Georgie rolls her eyes. “And that’s our cue to leave.” “But we didn’t eat our snacks.” “Seems like you had enough.” Georgie grabs Racer by the hand. “Come on.” As they walk away, Racer asks, “Want to have sex in the car?” “Not even a little.” “Here, you two, you can have your boxes of snacks.” Emma hands Tucker and me both a box of Oatmeal Pies that we clutch to our chests. “You’re the best,” I admit. “She is, isn’t she?” Tucker says. “I love her so fucking hard. Best wife ever.” She pulls on both of our hands to get us moving. “She wins wife of the year award,” I announce. “Best wife goes to Emma. Can we get a round of applause?” Tucker breaks open his Oatmeal Pies and starts spraying them like confetti. “Emma. Emma. Emma.” He chants, getting the three other patrons in the bar to join in. I pump my fist as well, forgetting everything from earlier. I knew I could count on my guys. “Emma. Emma. Emma . . .” And then, everything fades to black. Emotions and feelings are non-existent as I pass out, just the way I like it. Just the way I need it.

Applause Dies, Awards Are Tarnished and Achievements Are Forgotten!! Life is a journey... NOT a guided tour.

The whole idea is that we want to empower our children to be themselves and have overwhelming confidence in who they were made to be. We want these little human beings to go into the world, not feeling the pressure to people-please or fearing setting boundaries. We want them to tell the world who they are and make sure it knows that those words weren’t a suggestion. We want them to feel comfortable trying new things even if they are the only ones trying them. We want them to feel purpose in whether they fail or succeed, knowing that the silver lining is always in the lesson. We want them to know that all emotions are okay and that it’s what we do with those emotions that matter. We want them to accept the awards and applause but understand that those things don’t give them their power. We want them to be proud of who they are and who they are becoming, not because we said so, but because they determined it was a moment worth applauding on their own.

First- to Mr. Ronald Weasley..." Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn. "... for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!" At last there was silence again. "Second- to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves- they were a hundred points up. "Third- to Mr. Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points- exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup- if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point. Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent. "There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom." Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him. "Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration." He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts. It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would never, ever forget tonight.

I thought I was alone in this, but about seven out of ten people feel like they’re faking their way through the world, like their accomplishments are tainted.16 And the more the success, the greater the pressure to measure up to the applause. All the trophies and medals and awards get spun on a stick, announcing a version of you that’s mostly spin.

One particular game sticks in my mind: in March 2007 we went to Middlesbrough during a three-month period when we had the Swedish striker, Henrik Larsson, on loan from Helsingborgs. I could not have asked more from him when, under real pressure, he abandoned his attacking position and fell back into midfield just to help dig out the result. When Henrik appeared in the dressing room at the end of the game, all the players and staff stood up and spontaneously broke into applause for the immense effort he had made in his unaccustomed role. At the end of the season we requested an extra Premier League winners’ medal for Henrik, even though he had not played the ten games that at the time were required to obtain the award.

Mission over Recognition (The Sonnet) Let me show you what is action without expectation! What is it to do your duty, without regard for recognition! Quite often I lose count of my works, Yet I've never had a fancy book launch. I write in silence, I release in silence, I have no relation to praise and applause. I am the peak of humanitarian literature, All without an ounce of support or award. I am not a writer, I am world reformer, My first concern is an integrated world. Whatever happens next, know that it had nothing to do with the making of a mission. It's easy to bask in the glory of the sun, not so much to fuel solar combustion.

Quite often I lose count of my works, Yet I've never had a fancy book launch. I write in silence, I release in silence, I have no relation to praise and applause. I am the peak of humanitarian literature, All without an ounce of support or award. I am not a writer, I am world reformer, My first concern is an integrated world.