Awards Congratulations Quotes

A true friend will be there to congratulate you when you win an Academy Award and will also be there to hold your hair back when you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stall two minutes later! So keep your eyes peeled for the hair-holding kind.

CONGRATULATIONS DL Havlin! Your entry, "There are No Lights in Naples", an unpublished short fiction - flash fiction genre category, is a finalist for the 2016 Royal Palm Literary Awards competition!

Behind the Fan cover is a hit! Congratulations to Talia’s Book Covers for placing 3rd in the E-Book Cover Design Awards. Judge quoted as stating that the cover design is, “A visually arresting image” Thank you Talia for sharing you amazing talent!

Syd's strafing run at Florennes had been a feat of strafing skill. His cine-gun footage of the radar van was perfect. It showed radar operators diving out both sides of the brown box on wheels. Instead of congratulations, the Station Commander awarded him a $25 fine and a formal reproof.

I lost my second judo tournament. I finished second, losing to a girl named Anastasia. Afterward, her coach congratulated me. "You did a great job. Don't feel bad, Anastasia is a junior national champion." I felt consoled for about a second, until I noticed the look of disgust on Mom's face. I nodded at the coach and walked away. Once we were out of earshot she lit into me. "I hope you know better than to believe what he said. You could have won that match. You had every chance to beat that girl. The fact that she is a junior national champion doesn't mean anything. That's why they have tournaments, so you can see who is better. They don't award medals based on what you won before. If you did your absolute best, if you were capable of doing nothing more, then that's enough. Then you can be content with the outcome. But if you could have done better, if you could have done more, then you should be disappointed. You should be upset you didn't win. You should go home and think about what you could have done differently and then next time do it differently. Don't you ever let anyone tell you that not doing your absolute best is good enough. You are a skinny blonde girl who lives by the beach, and unless you absolutely force them to, no one is ever going to expect anything from you in this sport. You prove them wrong.

Is that...the Looney Tunes theme?" Mer and St. Clair cock their ears. "Why,yes.I believe it is," St. Clair says. "I heard 'Love Shack' a few minutes ago," Mer says. "It's official," I say. "America has finally ruined France." "So can we go now?" St. Clair holds up a small bag. "I'm done." "Ooo,what'd you get?" Mer asks. She takes his bag and pulls out a delicate, shimmery scarf. "Is it for Ellie?" "Shite." Mer pauses. "You didn't get anything for Ellie?" "No,it's for Mum.Arrrgh." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Would you mind if we pop over to Sennelier before we go home?" Sennelier is a gorgeous little art supply sore,the kind that makes me wish I had an excuse to buy oil paints and pastels. Mer and I went with Rashmi last weekend. She bought Josh a new sketchbook for Hanukkah. "Wow.Congratulations,St. Clair," I say. "Winner of today's Sucky Boyfriend award.And I thought Steve was bad-did you see what happened in calc?" "You mean when Amanda caught him dirty-texting Nicole?" Mer asks. "I thought she was gonna stab him in the neck with her pencil." "I've been busy," St. Clair says. I glance at him. "I was just teasing." "Well,you don't have to be such a bloody git about it." "I wasn't being a git. I wasnt even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms-" "Piss off." He snatches his bag back from Mer and scowls at me. "HEY!" Mer says. "It's Christmas. Ho-ho-ho. Deck the halls. Stop fighting." "We weren't fighting," he and I say together. She shakes her head. "Come on,St. Clair's right. Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps." "I think it's pretty," I say. "Besides, I'd rather look at ribbons than dead rabbits." "Not the hares again," St. Clair says. "You're as bad as Rashmi." We wrestle through the Christmas crowds. "I can see why she was upset! The way they're hung up,like they'd died of nosebleeds. It's horrible. Poor Isis." All of the shops in Paris have outdone themselves with elaborate window displays,and the butcher is no exception. I pass the dead bunnies every time I go to the movies. "In case you hadn't noticed," he says. "Isis is perfectly alive and well on the sixth floor.

I award you 1 Frank point. Congratulations, you’re finally on the board.” “Frank point? I can’t believe you have a point system. Actually, scratch that: I totally can. How long have you been sitting on this?” “I just made it up about an hour ago. I didn’t feel like scoring you on a ten-point scale left me enough room to articulate how disappointed I am in you as a person.” “Okay, so I’ve got one point,” I said. I pointed a gun at Roly. “What about the big guy over there? What’s he at?” “Roly currently has nine thousand and fifty-six points.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Really? Roly has over nine thousand points? The bug that licks you against your will? That you met, like, hours ago?” “Sure, but Lars said that he literally ate a guy,” Frank said. “We both know you can’t compete with that. And yes, I deducted points for the licking. But at the same time, I’m also not surprised that I’m delicious, so I can’t exactly hold that against him.” I suppressed a gag. “Please don’t refer to yourself as being delicious ever again. What about Darling?” “Darling has 18,600,068 Frank points.” I sighed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” “She is currently in second place. Truly rarefied air.” “Wait, second place? Who’s winning?” “Me. I thought that would have been obvious.” “It probably should have been. I’m almost afraid to ask, but how many points do you have?” “Ninety trillion and counting. But I’m Frank, so I’m kind of untouchable when it comes to Frank points.

To keep awake at the awards ceremony the following day, I mentally thumbed through the pages of my dissertation and wondered if there was any way, here on the front line, to get it retyped. Too many trenches and sniper nests had left the pages soft and creased, and my section introducing the Pereyaslav Council had been splattered with blood when Kostia took a splinter wound across the back of his neck. He hadn’t been badly hurt—he stripped off his jacket and offered up his neck so I could stitch the cut myself, disinfecting the needle with vodka so he wouldn’t have to register at the medical battalion—but my poor dissertation, like Bogdan Khmelnitsky, had been through the wars . . . I snapped out of my musing when it came time to deliver my own (short!) speech of congratulations on behalf of 2nd Company.

hard to do. So, we are going to celebrate. You see, when you all wrote those nature poems the other day, you had all been secretly entered in”—he puts his arms up and raises his voice—“the first annual Fantastico Poetry Award.” Oh, great. Another thing for Shay to brag about. I look over at Albert and hope he will win instead. He’s hoping so, too. I can tell by how he pulls his chair in more, like he’s getting ready. I think that Suki has a good shot as well. “So,” Mr. Daniels begins, “this poem is a splendid surprise. Great work. And I am very happy to give the first annual Fantastico Poetry Award to . . .” I watch Shay out of the corner of my eye. If she wins, we’ll never hear the end of it. What she does doesn’t make sense. She shows surprise, but it’s followed by disgust. Mr. Daniels’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump. “Congratulations, Ally,” Mr. Daniels says. This can’t be. It’s too early for April Fool’s Day. I look over at Albert and Keisha, wondering if they put a poem in with my name. Mr.

There was once a time when no one really noticed me at all. When I was invisible to the world..." He smiles faintly, as if sharing a private joke with himself. As is recalling some distant memory that makes sense to him alone. My heart stutters. Stops. Could it be...? "So what changed?" My voice is hardly more than a whisper. "Getting into a good uni? Getting recognized?" He shakes his head. "No. No, on the contrary, after I got into Harvard and started winning all these awards... I felt more invisible than ever. People were complimenting me, congratulating me left and right, saying my name over and over again, but none of that really mattered. It was only when I left to teach English- to do something I genuinely cared about, that made me feel like myself- that everything started to get better." He looks over at me, his eyes crinkling. "Descartes was wrong, you know, when he said 'To live well, you must live unseen.' To live well, you must learn to see yourself first. Do you understand what I'm saying?" And I do. I do.

He’s a practical joker. He just can’t help it. He’ll put prudish guys on mailing lists for girlie magazines. Or right wingers for liberal causes. He thinks it’s a hoot. A guy in his office was climbing too fast, using everybody around him, so my husband and his pals made up letterhead stationary and sent him notification that he’d won a national award for professional achievement from some fake organization. They all congratulated him and made a big deal out of it—and even the guy’s secretary believed it and made reservations for him to go to Dallas to accept it.” —Ellen, Cleveland, OH

Jillian hung her head, “I believed that story. I was such a thunk. Are they going to award you a Nobel Prize?” “You’ve been talking to Dolly too much. You could never be a thunk.” Chris smiled, “They are going to announce in three months that I am the winner in Physics.” Jillian screamed and hugged his neck, “Congratulations! You deserve it!” Then she shook her head, “You’re wrong; I can be a thunk and I was. Thank you for giving me time to see the truth. I believed that story.

Congratulations! You win the “Most Annoying Person Ever”  award!

4.8.22 Congratulations to All of the recipients who received National Humanitarian Awards in Barbados.

Getting more into one-on-one therapy helped. It helped me to keep going, and it helped me to quit drinking. I almost feel it’s mandatory in my position. C’mon, buddy, you’ve got to get your head shrunk. Because your head gets so big, you need to shrink it. You need to go to some guy who’s going to tell you what you already know about yourself and pay attention to you for an hour straight. Which we all like. We all need a little attention. The first time I ever considered therapy was back in Boston, during my run in Richard III. I was staying at our director David Wheeler’s house for a few days, and he came into my room one morning to share some good news with me. “Hey, Al!” he said. “You just won the National Board of Review!” It was my first major film award for The Godfather. I said to him, in the softest voice I could summon up, “I was going to ask you, David, do you have the name of a psychiatrist? Because I need one.” That was my answer to him. Not that I was unhappy about winning such a prestigious award, but there were just other things on my mind. I saw a psychiatrist in Boston first, and then I went and got myself a guy in New York. I fell in love with the process, and I got to a point where I was in therapy five days a week at certain times. I highly recommend therapy if you’re at all leaning in that direction. Maybe you don’t need it five times a week, but give it a whirl. There’s an old story: A woman goes to a therapist for years. It’s her last appointment, because she feels she’s come to a great place in her life and is ready to move on. She wants to congratulate her therapist and say goodbye. So she tells him, “You’ve done so much good for me. I love my husband so much. Every day with my kids is just a joy. My work is going off the charts. I’m seeing a whole new side of life. You’ve been so wonderful. I never hear you speak. You just take it all in. Please tell me, how did you do it?” The doctor looks at her and says, “No habla inglés.” That’s an interpretation of therapy too; you need to talk and get it out. When I was living with Jill, before I ever went to therapy, I used to just sit in the bathtub alone and talk about things. I cleared my mind to myself. It’s an unusual relationship that you forge when you find a good doctor, someone you feel has that kind of commitment to you. And then they take some colossal amount of time off, and you don’t see them for the whole summer. I had one of those episodes when I couldn’t find my doctor. I might have been spared about twenty years of tsuris if I could have avoided it. It’s a good idea that when your psychiatrist goes away, you know where they are and you can call them when you’re in trouble. They need rest too. I can deal with, “Hey, my daughter’s graduating college, I’ll be out for a few days.” But going up a fucking river somewhere, to not be available for, like, six weeks? Come on, my life was capable of going right off the rails in far less time than that. I used to have recurring dreams in which I go to my psychiatrist’s office but can’t find him anywhere. He’s in the building, but he’s unavailable. I’m at the door, but there’s not even a buzzer I can press to let him know I’m there and no way to let me in. That was my dream. Now I have that feeling about my agent.

Readers' Favorite Book Reviews and Book Awards Review Rating: 5 Stars - Congratulations on your 5-star review! Reviewed by Asher Syed for Readers' Favorite The Magnificence of the 3 by Timeout A Taumua begins by looking at the connections between neuroscience, atomic structure, and biblical narratives. In it, Taumua draws parallels between the trees of knowledge in the Garden of Eden and the neurons in the human brain, speaking on the function of mirror neurons in memory and learning. Taumua discusses the significance of rhythmic radio signals from space as signs of design and the symbolic importance of the numbers three, six, and nine. He presents atomic structure as a metaphor for moral duality, with stable atoms representing balance and unstable atoms reflecting decay. He also talks at length on subjects like the interconnectedness of emotional dynamics, spiritual beliefs, and genetic factors, suggesting that desire acts as a stabilizing force in existence, guiding behavior and promoting community cohesion through practices like forgiveness and the evolution of the Sabbath. There's a huge amount of information to absorb in The Magnificence of the 3 by Timeout A Taumua, which is delivered in a thoughtful mix of scientific study with spiritual analysis. Taumua's writing style is academic, but I found it also to be accessible and was able to understand the representations of identities of the Tree of Knowledge, the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Life, and the Ark of the Covenant. It was fitting that Taumua would say, "One does not need a scientific degree to see the similarities of both the trees of knowledge and the trees of earth." As the idea of blind faith loses popularity, writers like Taumua become critically important in filling the vacuum that was once exclusively the domain of churches. Overall, this book is more than a philosophical treatise; it challenges readers to reconsider the links between knowledge, morality, and existence, making it an enlightening read for anyone interested in the fusion of science and spirituality. Very highly recommended.

Brennan’s third Academy Award for his performance in The Westerner was announced during the making of Sergeant York. To the actor’s surprise, no one on the set said anything to him when he arrived. “I didn’t expect the gang to fall all over me, but I did anticipate some congratulations,” Walter said. “When nobody said a word I was first surprised, then hurt, and finally mad.” Then he walked into his dressing room packed with flowers; a huge green 3 had been painted on his flower wreathed mirror.

February 21: Marilyn arrives on the set at 10:30 a.m. Academy Award nominations have just been announced, but her performance in Some Like It Hot has not been acknowledged. Nevertheless, Marilyn happily congratulates Simone Signoret on her nomination for Room at the Top

Thirty-one days later, in the summer of 1981, he became a full-time writer, and the feeling of liberation as he left the agency for the last time was heady and exhilarating. He shed advertising like an unwanted skin, though he continued to take a sneaky pride in his bestknown slogan, “Naughty but nice” (created for the Fresh Cream Cake Client), and in his “bubble words” campaign for Aero chocolate (IRRESISTIBUBBLE, DELECTABUBBLE, ADORABUBBLE, the billboards cried, and bus sides read TRANSPORTABUBBLE, trade advertising said PROFITABUBBLE, and storefront decals proclaimed AVAILABUBBLE HERE). Later that year, when Midnight’s Children was awarded the Booker Prize, the first telegram he received—there were these communications called “telegrams” in those days—was from his formerly puzzled boss. “Congratulations,” it read. “One of us made it.

The Sixth Sense was ultimately nominated for six Academy Awards. Completed at a cost of $35 million, it earned just under $300 million in the United States alone, the most successful live-action film in Disney’s history. David Vogel, Disney’s President of Production (recently dismissed by Michael Eisner after purchasing The Sixth Sense without permission) had been right when he told Eisner that he’d left Disney with one of its biggest pictures. Vogel hadn’t found another job and had pretty much stopped looking. He had decided he no longer wanted to rely on the Machiavellian instincts he found necessary to continue as a movie executive. A few studio people called to congratulate him on the film’s enormous success, but he heard nothing from any of the top Disney executives, including Eisner, Roth, and Schneider. Of course, Vogel was one of the few people who knew that Disney had sold off both the foreign and domestic profits to Spyglass, and would earn only a 12.5 percent distribution fee. He wondered what Eisner thought now.

How to slam haters who question you: ' I'm achieving more goals than you ever will, so congratulations, you win the middle-finger award. Other than all, get the fuck out of my way.

How to slam haters who question you: ' I'm achieving more goals than you ever will, so congratulations, you win the middle-finger award.

Legasov was treated especially poorly. On the eve of the publication of the list of rewarded people, everybody was absolutely sure he would be awarded, with other chosen ones, the high Soviet reward of Hero Star, Hero of Russia. Alexandrov, director of the Institute, congratulated Legasov in public at the Institute. And in the morning, his name wasn’t on the list. It was crossed out. There was a lot of talk and rumors about this. Then the Chernobylers decided that this was done by Gorbachev, who disliked the famous Academician. The image of the ex-president, firmly formed by people, was in absolute conformity with this action.[3]