Awkward Inspirational Quotes

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To see and feel one's beloved naked for the first time is one of life's pure, irreducible epiphanies. If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include that truth of contact or be forever hollow. To make love to the one true person who deserves that love is one of the few absolute rewards of being a human being, balancing all of the pain, loss, awkwardness, loneliness, idiocy, compromise, and clumsiness that go with the human condition. To make love to the right person makes up for a lot of mistakes.
Dan Simmons (The Rise of Endymion (Hyperion Cantos, #4))
Dont ever be impressed with goal setting; be impressed with goal getting. Reaching new goals and moving to a higher level of performance always requires change, and change feels awkward. But take comfort in the knowledge that if a change doesn't feel uncomfortable, then it's propably not really a change.
John C. Maxwell (Thinking for a Change: 11 Ways Highly Successful People Approach Life and Work)
Don't step backward toward nothing, step forward toward something, better awkward steps forward, than coward steps backward.
Victoria Addino
It's like an emotional dance party: Some dances will be your favorites -- others more awkward or difficult to learn. Some will be boring or make you mad. some you will wish you never needed to do again. But AHA! You think. I will dance all the dances I can.
SARK (Glad No Matter What: Transforming Loss and Change into Gift and Opportunity)
Love, he realized, was like the daggers he made in his forge: When you first got one it was shiny and new and the blade glinted bright in the light. Holding it against your palm, you were full of optimism for what it would be like in the field, and you couldn't wait to try it out. Except those first couple of nights out were usually awkward as you got used to it and it got used to you. Over time, the steel lost its brand-new gleam, and the hilt became stained, and maybe you nicked the shit out of the thing a couple of times. What you got in return, however, saved your life: Once the pair of you were well acquainted, it became such a part of you that it was an extension of your own arm. It protected you and gave you a means to protect your brothers; it provided you with the confidnece and the power to face whatever came out of the night; and wherever you went, it stayed with you, right over your heart, always there when you needed it. You had to keep the blade up, however. And rewrap the hilt from time to time. And double-check the weight. Funny...all of that was well, duh when it came to weapons. Why hadn't it dawned on him that matings were the same? (From the thoughts of Vishous)
J.R. Ward (Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #9))
In the most beautiful relationships, silence is never awkward, for it’s in the silence that we come closer together.
Steven P. Aitchison
You guys know about vampires? . . . You know, vampires have no reflections in a mirror? There’s this idea that monsters don’t have reflections in a mirror. And what I’ve always thought isn’t that monsters don’t have reflections in a mirror. It’s that if you want to make a human being into a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of themselves. And growing up, I felt like a monster in some ways. I didn’t see myself reflected at all. I was like, “Yo is something wrong with me? That the whole society seems to think that people like me don’t exist?” And part of what inspired me, was this deep desire that before I died, I would make a couple of mirrors. That I would make some mirrors so that kids like me might see themselves reflected back and might not feel so monstrous for it.
Issa Rae (The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl)
Everybody has a soul." I turn to Pelly. "And that means you, too." "I'm not so sure of that," he says. "What does it feel like?" "Having a soul?" I look at Maxine, but she only shrugs. "I don't know," I tell Pelly. "I don't have anything to compare it to- you know, what not having a sould would feel like." We fall into a kind of awkward silence. I don't know about the others, but I'm working on what a soul is and not coming up with a whole lot. I mean, I just always thought of it as me- what I feel like being me. But surely Pelly feels like himself, so that means he's got a soul right? But if that's not your soul, then what is? It's weird and not something you really think about, is it?
Charles de Lint (The Blue Girl (Newford, #15))
We think ourselves possessed, or at least we boast that we are so, of liberty of conscience on all subjects and of the right of free inquiry and private judgment in all cases, and yet how far are we from these exalted privileges in fact. There exists, I believe, throughout the whole Christian world, a law which makes it blasphemy to deny, or to doubt the divine inspiration of all the books of the Old and New Testaments, from Genesis to Revelations. In most countries of Europe it is punished by fire at the stake, or the rack, or the wheel. In England itself, it is punished by boring through the tongue with a red-hot poker. In America it is not much better; even in our Massachusetts, which, I believe, upon the whole, is as temperate and moderate in religious zeal as most of the States, a law was made in the latter end of the last century, repealing the cruel punishments of the former laws, but substituting fine and imprisonment upon all those blasphemies upon any book of the Old Testament or New. Now, what free inquiry, when a writer must surely encounter the risk of fine or imprisonment for adducing any arguments for investigation into the divine authority of those books? Who would run the risk of translating Volney's Recherches Nouvelles? Who would run the risk of translating Dupuis? But I cannot enlarge upon this subject, though I have it much at heart. I think such laws a great embarrassment, great obstructions to the improvement of the human mind. Books that cannot bear examination, certainly ought not to be established as divine inspiration by penal laws... but as long as they continue in force as laws, the human mind must make an awkward and clumsy progress in its investigations. I wish they were repealed. {Letter to Thomas Jefferson, January 23, 1825}
John Adams (The Adams-Jefferson Letters: The Complete Correspondence Between Thomas Jefferson & Abigail & John Adams)
That everything you want to happen, will happen, if you decide you want it enough. That every time you think a sad thought, you can think a happy one instead. That you control that completely. That the people who make you laugh are more beautiful than beautiful people. That you laugh more than you cry. That crying is good for you. That the people you hate wish you would stop and you do too. That your friends are reflections of the best parts of you. That you are more than the sum total of the things you know and how you react to them. That dancing is sometimes more important than listening to the music. That the most embarrassing, awkward moments of your life are only remembered by you and no one else
Iain S. Thomas (I Wrote This For You (I Wrote This For You #4))
[God] loves us because He is filled with an infinite measure of holy, pure, and indescribable love. We are important to God not because of our résumé but because we are His children. He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken. God's love is so great that He loves even the proud, the selfish, the arrogant, and the wicked. What this means is that, regardless of our current state, there is hope for us. No matter our distress, no matter our sorrow, no matter our mistakes, our infinitely compassionate Heavenly Father desires that we draw near to Him so that He can draw near to us.
Dieter F. Uchtdorf
We artists are often counted as awkward by people who know nothing of how it feels to have another spirit live within you - the muse... Even some artists don't understand us, the mused ones, as our muses have faces and clearly appear to us, while all they have is the inspiration and not the muse. But ancient people knew of them... They said muses were goddesses and ruled upon the arts... It is true. When a muse forms into your mind and splits your spirit in two, you are already seized by it, controlled by it, and so you are bound to serve it and create masterpieces... It is not just we who create muses. They create us too. They form us into who we are.
Tamuna Tsertsvadze (Zodiac Circle)
This is something about your father?' 'This is something about you." Frank put his hand on my shoulder and he looked me in the eye. The effect was dismaying. Frank meant to inspire camaraderie, but his head looked to me like a bizarre little owl, blinded by light and perched on a tall white post. 'Maybe you'd better come to the point.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (Cat’s Cradle)
But what if I say something and you don't like it?' 'Well, that happens between people all the time. And sometimes it turns them awkward with each other, and sometimes it makes them angry, but unless they tell the truth it's all just guessing and mistakes anyway.
Sharon Shinn (Reader and Raelynx (Twelve Houses, #4))
For what can give a finer example of that frankness and manly self- confidence which our great public schools, and none of them so much as Eton, are supposed to inspire, of that buoyant ease in holding up one's head, speaking out what is in one's mind, and flinging off all sheepishness and awkwardness, than to see an Eton assistant-master offering in fact himself as evidence that to combine boarding-house- keeping with teaching is a good thing, and his brother as evidence that to train and race little boys for competitive examinations is a good thing?
Matthew Arnold (Culture and Anarchy)
Authenticity and honesty can be awkward and uncomfortable.
Kim Ha Campbell (Inner Peace Outer Abundance)
Humor makes a lasting impression of great moments; awkward or pleasant
Val Uchendu
I always felt awkward and unfinished, unworthy of love, suspicious of affection offered. My mother's absence became a great presence in my life.
Marilyn Sewell (Raw Faith: Following the Thread)
It might be awkward and difficult at first, but if you're willing to take the risk, the rewards are beyond your wildest dreams
Nadine Jolie Courtney (All-American Muslim Girl)
of course the edges of the wound struggle to close up and the clock wants to be set going (how awkward to be pointing permanently to half past one) amputated limbs feel phantom pain
Katarina Mazetti (Benny & Shrimp)
You see, none of these conflicts are about things that people only sort of like. It is always about love. You may think me blasphemous to use the Passion of the Christ as an example of drama, but not so: this is the one true story, the greatest story ever told, the tale of tales even as Christ is the King of Kings, and all truly inspired fairy tales and fiction have to contain some echo or reflection of the One True Tale, or else it is no tale of any power at all, merely a pastime. The most powerful and potent tales, even when they are told awkwardly and without grace or poetry or craft, are stories of paradise lost and paradise regained; sacrifice, selfless love, forgiveness and salvation; stories of a man who learns better.
John C. Wright (Transhuman and Subhuman: Essays on Science Fiction and Awful Truth)
Doing our imperfect best means accepting that there will often be mistakes, flaws, and rough edges. These mistakes, flaws, and rough edges add to the beauty of who we are and provide us with the power to connect with others.
Jason W. Freeman (Awkwardly Awesome: Embracing My Imperfect Best)
It had not occurred to him how he must appear to an outsider, to the world. For a moment he saw himself as he must thus appear; and what Edith said was part of what he saw. He had a glimpse of a figure that flitted through smoking-room anecdotes, and through the pages of cheap fiction—a pitiable fellow going into his middle-age, misunderstood by his wife, seeking to renew his youth, taking up with a girl years younger than himself, awkwardly and apishly reaching for the youth he could not have, a fatuous, garishly got-up clown at whom the world laughed out of discomfort, pity, and contempt. He looked at this figure as closely as he could; but the longer he looked, the less familiar it became. It was not himself that he saw, and he knew suddenly that it was no one.
John Williams (Stoner)
What isn’t scary can do you in. Snacking doesn’t intimidate anybody. Neither does watching TV. Or sitting in a movie with a large drink and so much popcorn that it comes in a tub. Driving to work and parking in the garage doesn’t upset any applecarts, but riding your bike and asking for a place to lock it up just might. Suggesting to your boyfriend that you’d like to go to the soup-and-salad place instead of the he-man chuck-wagon could be awkward…[but] you are committed to living fully. You are going to take care of you, no matter who suggests that you’re selfish or full of yourself. Living well will give you the emotional energy you need to fulfill your destiny.
Victoria Moran (Fat, Broke & Lonely No More: Your Personal Solution to Overeating, Overspending, and Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places)
In general, people find it easier to accept flattery or false praise than genuine admiration and love, because a build-up does not threaten their negative beliefs about themselves. It is not uncommon for people to dismiss a genuine compliment from someone who really admires them and appreciates their personal qualities. they feel awkward and uncomfortable because this experience causes anxiety, self-consciousness, and guilt about standing out.
Robert W. Firestone
I cried then, the great sobs wracking my whole body. I remembered the last time that I had wept, and how the little boy in my embrace had reached up awkwardly , and yet tenderly to brush away my tears " you did good, Teacher," he had whispered. And now the small boy had passed beyond- so young to journey on alone. But then I remembered that he hadn't traveled alone- not one step of the way, for as soon as the loving hands had released him there, another Hand had reached out to gently take him. I tried to visualize him entering the new Land , the excitement and eagerness shining forth on his face, the cheers rising from the shrill little voice. There would be no pain twisting his face now, no need to hold his head and rock back and forth. Joy and happiness would surround him. I could almost hear his words as he looked at the glories of heaven and gave the Father his jubilant ovation-" You did good, God; You did real good!
Janette Oke (When Calls the Heart (Canadian West, #1))
All right, now that the weirdness between us has caused actual physical damage, I think it’s time we talked it out, don’t you?” He gave a half smile and then turned back to the path. “We don’t need to be weird,” he said. “These past few days, since the thing with Elodie, I’ve been thinking.” He took a deep breath, and I knew that this was one of those rare occasions when Cal was about to say a lot of words at once. “I like you, Sophie. A lot. For a while, I thought it might be more than that. But you love Cross.” He said it matter-of-factly, but I still caught the way his ears reddened. “I know I’ve said some pretty awful stuff about him, but…I was wrong. He’s a good guy. So, I guess what I’m saying is that as the guy who’s betrothed to you, I wish we could be more than friends.” He stopped, turning around to face me. “But as your friend, I want you to be happy. And if Cross is who you want, then I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.” “I’m the worst fiancé ever, aren’t I?” Cal lifted one shoulder. “Nah. This one warlock I knew, his betrothed set him on fire.” Laughing so I wouldn’t cry, I tentatively lifted my arms to hug him. He folded me against his chest, and there was no awkwardness between us, and I knew the warmth in the pit of my stomach was love. Just a different kind. Sniffling, I pulled back and rubbed at my nose. “Okay, now that the hard part’s over, let’s go tackle the Underworld.” “Got room for two more?” Startled, I turned to see Jenna and Archer standing on the path, Jenna’s hand clutching Archer’s sleeve as she tried to stay on her feet. “What?” was all I could say. Archer took a few careful steps forward. “Hey, this has been a group effort so far. No reason to stop now.” “You guys can’t go into the Underworld with me,” I told them. “You heard Dad, I’m the only one with-“ “With powers strong enough. Yeah, we got that,” Jenna said. “But how are you supposed to carry a whole bunch of demonglass out of that place? It’ll burn you. And hey, maybe your powers will be strong enough to get all of us in, too.” She gestured to herself and the boys. “Plus it’s not like we don’t have powers of our own.” I knew I should tell them to go back. But having the three of them there made me feel a whole lot better and whole lot less terrified. So in the end, I gave an exaggerated sign and said, “Okay, fine. But just so you know, following me into hell means you’re all definitely the sidekicks.” “Darn, I was hoping to be the rakishly charming love interest,” Archer said, taking my hand. “Cal, any role you want?” I asked him, and he looked ruefully at the craggy rock looming over us. As he did, there was the grinding sound of stone against stone. We all stared at the opening that appeared. “I’m just hoping to be the Not Dead Guy,” Cal muttered. We faced the entrance. “Between the four of us, we fought ghouls, survived attacks by demons and L’Occhio di Dio, and practically raised the dead,” I said. “We can do this.” “See, inspiring speeches like that are why you get to be the leader,” Archer said, and he squeezed my hand. And then, moving almost as one, we stepped into the rock.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
West couldn't simply leave the man like this, he didn't have it in him. "Goodman Heath," he said as he approached, and the peasant looked up at him, surprised. He fumbled for his hat and made to rise, muttering apologies. "No, please, don't get up." West sat down on the bench. He stared at his feet, unable to look the man in the eye. There was an awkward silence. "I have a friend who sits on the Commission for Land and Agriculture. There might be something he can do for you…" He trailed off, embarrassed, squinting up the corridor. The farmer gave a sad smile. "I'd be right grateful for anything you could do." "Yes, yes, of course, I'll do what I can." It would do no good whatsoever, and they both knew it. West grimaced and bit his lip. "You'd better take this," and he pressed his purse into the peasant's limp, calloused fingers. Heath looked at him, mouth slightly open. West gave a quick, awkward smile then got to his feet. He was very keen to be off. "Sir!" called Goodman Heath after him, but West was already hurrying down the corridor, and he didn't look back.
Joe Abercrombie (The Blade Itself (The First Law, #1))
I want you to know that life will try to crack you like an egg and your silence will eventually break. Someday you will spill some of those painful secrets and taste a modicum of much-needed freedom. You will lose a great deal as a result but the gains will outweigh every loss. You will love and be loved by a beautiful man in a place where your mutual passion won’t be a marker of shame but pride. You will be awkward and alone and alien for a long time but you will transform these qualities, which is to say yourself, into a work of art. You will wear your awkwardness, your aloneness and your alienness in your hair like gold thread. You will adorn your wonkiness on your wrist like a charm bracelet studded with stars.
Diriye Osman
Some of the most unrecognized ministries are my favorite kind. Like the ministry of playing video games with awkward adolescent boys. The ministry of bringing takeout food to people whose baby is very sick in the hospital. The ministry of picking up empty chip wrappers at the park. The ministry of sending postcards. The ministry of sitting in silence with someone in the psych ward. The ministry of sending hilarious and inspirational text messages. The ministry of washing dishes without being asked. The ministry of flower gardening. The ministry of not laughing at teenagers when they talk about their relationship crises. The ministry of making an excellent cup of coffee. The ministry of drinking a terrible cup of coffee with a bright smile. The ministry of noticing beauty everywhere - in fabrics, in art, and in the wilderness.
D.L. Mayfield (Assimilate or Go Home: Notes from a Failed Missionary on Rediscovering Faith)
the sociologist Sun Liping from Beijing’s Tsinghua University identified three techniques for “mind control.”33 One central technique is the control of news sources: “The meal you cook can never be better than the rice you cook it with.” The system successfully blocks information from outside and replaces it with “patriotic education.” Hence, for example, the ubiquitous narrative in which China’s “special national circumstances” have made the country into a unique place unlike anywhere else in the world, and which requires the Party to rule in the precise way China’s subjects are currently experiencing. Second, the system starts building the parameters for your thought when you’re very young, changing the way in which you ask questions and steering you into predetermined channels. Once you have swallowed and internalized what the Party has fed you, says Sun Liping, you can’t even ask certain questions: they lie outside your realm of experience and powers of imagination. And third, the system inspires the kind of fear that suppresses awkward questions: “If you don’t swallow all this, you’ll be punished.
Kai Strittmatter (We Have Been Harmonized: Life in China's Surveillance State)
Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl. Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.
Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl)
Their Graces bought me, you know. They’d acquired my brother Devlin the year before, and my mother, inspired by this development, threatened to publish all manner of lurid memoirs regarding His Grace.” Acquired her brother? As if he were a promising yearling colt or an attractive patch of ground? “You are going to burden me with the details of your family past, I take it?” “You are the man who glories in details.” Without the least rude inflection, she made it sound like a failing. “My point is that my mother sold me. She could just as easily have sold me to a brothel. It’s done all the time. Unlike your sisters, Mr. Hazlit, I do not take for granted the propriety with which I was raised. You may ignore it if you please; I will not.” She had such a lovely voice. Light, soft, lilting with a hint of something Gaelic or Celtic… exotic. The sound of her voice was so pretty, it almost disguised the ugliness of her words. “How old were you?” “Five, possibly six. It depends on whether I am truly Moreland’s by-blow or just a result of my mother’s schemes in his direction.” Six years old and sold to a brothel? The food he’d eaten threatened to rebel. “I’m… sorry.” For calling her a dollymop, for making her repeat this miserable tale, for what he was about to suggest. She turned her head to regard him, the slight sheen in her eyes making him sorrier still. Sorrier than he could recall being about anything in a long, long time. Not just guilty and ashamed, but full of regret—for her. The way he’d been full of regret for his sisters and powerless to do anything but support them in their solitary struggles. He shoved that thought aside, along with the odd notion that he should take Magdalene Windham’s hand in some laughable gesture of comfort. He passed her his handkerchief instead. “This makes the stated purpose of my call somewhat awkward.” “It makes just about everything somewhat awkward,” she said quietly. “Try a few years at finishing school when you’re the daughter of not just a courtesan—there are some of those, after all—but a courtesan who sells her offspring. I realized fairly early that my mother’s great failing was not a lack of virtue, but rather that she was greedy in her fall from grace.” “She exploited a child,” Hazlit said. “That is an order of magnitude different from parlaying with an adult male in a transaction of mutual benefit.” “Do you think so?” She laid his handkerchief out in her lap, her fingers running over his monogrammed initials. “Some might say she was protecting me, providing for me and holding the duke accountable for his youthful indiscretions.” Despite her mild tone, Hazlit didn’t think Miss Windham would reach those conclusions. She might long to, but she wouldn’t. By the age of six a child usually had the measure of her caretakers. And to think of Maggie Windham at six… big innocent green eyes, masses of red hair, perfect skin… in a brothel. “I
Grace Burrowes (Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal (The Duke's Daughters, #2; Windham, #5))
I’m the kind of patriot whom people on the Acela corridor laugh at. I choke up when I hear Lee Greenwood’s cheesy anthem “Proud to Be an American.” When I was sixteen, I vowed that every time I met a veteran, I would go out of my way to shake his or her hand, even if I had to awkwardly interject to do so. To this day, I refuse to watch Saving Private Ryan around anyone but my closest friends, because I can’t stop from crying during the final scene. Mamaw and Papaw taught me that we live in the best and greatest country on earth. This fact gave meaning to my childhood. Whenever times were tough—when I felt overwhelmed by the drama and the tumult of my youth—I knew that better days were ahead because I lived in a country that allowed me to make the good choices that others hadn’t. When I think today about my life and how genuinely incredible it is—a gorgeous, kind, brilliant life partner; the financial security that I dreamed about as a child; great friends and exciting new experiences—I feel overwhelming appreciation for these United States. I know it’s corny, but it’s the way I feel. If Mamaw’s second God was the United States of America, then many people in my community were losing something akin to a religion. The tie that bound them to their neighbors, that inspired them in the way my patriotism had always inspired me, had seemingly vanished. The symptoms are all around us. Significant percentages of white conservative voters—about one-third—believe that Barack Obama is a Muslim. In one poll, 32 percent of conservatives said that they believed Obama was foreign-born and another 19 percent said they were unsure—which means that a majority of white conservatives aren’t certain that Obama is even an American. I regularly hear from acquaintances or distant family members that Obama has ties to Islamic extremists, or is a traitor, or was born in some far-flung corner of the world. Many of my new friends blame racism for this perception of the president. But the president feels like an alien to many Middletonians for reasons that have nothing to do with skin color. Recall that not a single one of my high school classmates attended an Ivy League school. Barack Obama attended two of them and excelled at both. He is brilliant, wealthy, and speaks like a constitutional law professor—which, of course, he is. Nothing about him bears any resemblance to the people I admired growing up: His accent—clean, perfect, neutral—is foreign; his credentials are so impressive that they’re frightening; he made his life in Chicago, a dense metropolis; and he conducts himself with a confidence that comes from knowing that the modern American meritocracy was built for him. Of course, Obama overcame adversity in his own right—adversity familiar to many of us—but that was long before any of us knew him. President Obama came on the scene right as so many people in my community began to believe that the modern American meritocracy was not built for them. We know we’re not doing well. We see it every day: in the obituaries for teenage kids that conspicuously omit the cause of death (reading between the lines: overdose), in the deadbeats we watch our daughters waste their time with. Barack Obama strikes at the heart of our deepest insecurities. He is a good father while many of us aren’t. He wears suits to his job while we wear overalls, if we’re lucky enough to have a job at all. His wife tells us that we shouldn’t be feeding our children certain foods, and we hate her for it—not because we think she’s wrong but because we know she’s right.
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
Fascism rested not upon the truth of its doctrine but upon the leader’s mystical union with the historic destiny of his people, a notion related to romanticist ideas of national historic flowering and of individual artistic or spiritual genius, though fascism otherwise denied romanticism’s exaltation of unfettered personal creativity. The fascist leader wanted to bring his people into a higher realm of politics that they would experience sensually: the warmth of belonging to a race now fully aware of its identity, historic destiny, and power; the excitement of participating in a vast collective enterprise; the gratification of submerging oneself in a wave of shared feelings, and of sacrificing one’s petty concerns for the group’s good; and the thrill of domination. Fascism’s deliberate replacement of reasoned debate with immediate sensual experience transformed politics, as the exiled German cultural critic Walter Benjamin was the first to point out, into aesthetics. And the ultimate fascist aesthetic experience, Benjamin warned in 1936, was war. Fascist leaders made no secret of having no program. Mussolini exulted in that absence. “The Fasci di Combattimento,” Mussolini wrote in the “Postulates of the Fascist Program” of May 1920, “. . . do not feel tied to any particular doctrinal form.” A few months before he became prime minister of Italy, he replied truculently to a critic who demanded to know what his program was: “The democrats of Il Mondo want to know our program? It is to break the bones of the democrats of Il Mondo. And the sooner the better.” “The fist,” asserted a Fascist militant in 1920, “is the synthesis of our theory.” Mussolini liked to declare that he himself was the definition of Fascism. The will and leadership of a Duce was what a modern people needed, not a doctrine. Only in 1932, after he had been in power for ten years, and when he wanted to “normalize” his regime, did Mussolini expound Fascist doctrine, in an article (partly ghostwritten by the philosopher Giovanni Gentile) for the new Enciclopedia italiana. Power came first, then doctrine. Hannah Arendt observed that Mussolini “was probably the first party leader who consciously rejected a formal program and replaced it with inspired leadership and action alone.” Hitler did present a program (the 25 Points of February 1920), but he pronounced it immutable while ignoring many of its provisions. Though its anniversaries were celebrated, it was less a guide to action than a signal that debate had ceased within the party. In his first public address as chancellor, Hitler ridiculed those who say “show us the details of your program. I have refused ever to step before this Volk and make cheap promises.” Several consequences flowed from fascism’s special relationship to doctrine. It was the unquestioning zeal of the faithful that counted, more than his or her reasoned assent. Programs were casually fluid. The relationship between intellectuals and a movement that despised thought was even more awkward than the notoriously prickly relationship of intellectual fellow travelers with communism. Many intellectuals associated with fascism’s early days dropped away or even went into opposition as successful fascist movements made the compromises necessary to gain allies and power, or, alternatively, revealed its brutal anti-intellectualism. We will meet some of these intellectual dropouts as we go along. Fascism’s radical instrumentalization of truth explains why fascists never bothered to write any casuistical literature when they changed their program, as they did often and without compunction. Stalin was forever writing to prove that his policies accorded somehow with the principles of Marx and Lenin; Hitler and Mussolini never bothered with any such theoretical justification. Das Blut or la razza would determine who was right.
Robert O. Paxton (The Anatomy of Fascism)
Success is not served in a tray, To achieve it we have to make our own way, I would like to end by saying that opportunity is within, To fall down on our journey is not a sin, But our failure should not hold our steps forward, And for our dreams, we should never feel awkward
Merlin Thomas
I enjoyed that awkward 3 minutes of silence.
Shebani
In high school, I developed a new love: acting. I went to a predominantly black and Latino school in Compton and, outside of television, this was my first true immersion in black culture. I had an inspiring drama teacher, a Jewish man who found the most amazing, hidden plays of color. There was On Striver’s Row, a play about an upper-middle-class black family in Harlem. Maricela de la Luz Lights the World, a fanciful and mystical Latino drama by José Rivera. And so much more. Every year for four years I was introduced to new diverse works, all while working with a multicultural cast. I only wish Hollywood could take a lesson from Compton. The
Issa Rae (The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl)
I dare you to…” He pauses, and I want him to say it. I want him to want a kiss, because I realize I’d do it so fast it’d make his head spin. “I dare you to do your happy dance,” he says instead. “Happy dance?” “Come on, everyone has a happy dance.” “But… I have to be extremely happy to do a happy dance. It’s not something I can just, you know, jump into.” “How about I give you some inspiration.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses a few buttons. A song with an upbeat keyboard begins, and Logan stands up. The happy lyrics say something about a birdhouse and a bee. He waves his hand at me to follow. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he looks at me expectantly. I stand up to face him and try to sway a little. He shakes his head as he turns the volume up. “I just can’t, I’m not happy enough.” “Pretend like the Natchitoches Central Chiefs just won the Super Bowl.” He bounces a little more enthusiastically. “That’s good, I guess.” My sway becomes a little more pronounced. A smile takes hold, not because of the thought of the Chiefs winning the Super Bowl, but because Logan is such an awkward dancer. He’s gone from bouncing to alternating snaps of his fingers as he bobs his head. Plus, he’s a little off rhythm. “There’s a Tangled marathon on in two minutes!” He has to yell over the music now. “That’s better.” I start nodding my head to the beat. “It’s Christmas! You just got your Hogwarts acceptance letter, a copy ofAction Comics #1, and a brand new car that runs on water!” “Hell yeah!” I scream and let go.
Leah Rae Miller (The Summer I Became a Nerd (Nerd, #1))
He was a very private man, a true loner, who lacked the instinctive affability and gregariousness of most successful politicians. One thought of him more easily as a strategist than a candidate. He hated meeting ordinary people, shaking their hands, and making small talk with them. He was always awkward at the clubby male bonding of Congress. When he succeeded it was because he worked harder and thought something out more shrewdly than an opponent and, above all, because he was someone who always wanted it more. Nixon had to win. To lose a race meant losing everything—so much was at stake, and it was all so personal. Taft, if not exactly jolly and extroverted, won the admiration of his peers because he was intellectually sterling. Ike inspired other men because of his looks, his athletic ability, his natural charm. Nixon was always the outsider; his television adviser in his successful 1968 presidential campaign, Roger Ailes, once said of him that he had the least control of atmosphere of any politician that Ailes had ever met. By that Ailes meant charisma, the capacity to walk into a room and hold the attention of those assembled there. Even success did not really bring him confidence.
David Halberstam (The Fifties)
Showing up is being willing to engage with something uncomfortable when you’d rather back off and say, “NOPE!” When you show up, you allow yourself to feel scared and awkward and out of your element. But you also feel inspired! You dig deep, do the work, and feel brave all at the same time. That’s what it means to show up.
Andrea Owen (How to Stop Feeling Like Sh*t: 14 Habits that Are Holding You Back from Happiness)
It was our first time really talking to one another. We talked about the weather. Now, I dont like surface conversations about the weather. It seems to just be a way to have a polite conversation because there isn't really much else to say. Sometimes it's a way to buffer an awkward situation, or light enough of a topic to carry in passing and quickly abandon without anything left hanging. But this particular weather discussion was far from that. It was so eloquent. We talked about how the weather can inspire certain longings. It was laced with romantic intonations. You could sense the magnitude of how powerful this energy transfer between us in the climate we were existing in, already was and could be.
Kayko Tamaki
There was nothing to be said, only the happiness she had dreamed now to be seized. But the hurt was too fresh. She brandished the broadsheet. “I admit, my lord, that your theory about Christmas gifts chosen to suit the recipient for greatest effect has merit.” “Only if the effect is to inspire mercy,” he replied quietly. She could not bear the confusion. She dipped her gaze. “When?” she whispered. “At the chateau.” Her eyes came up. “At first?” “I was intrigued. I had never known a woman like you.” His throat moved awkwardly. “I came to understand that there are no others.” The page crinkled between her fingers. “Why did you do it?” “Because I wanted you, and I think I didn’t know how to have you otherwise. Jacqueline, I have been a great fool, but I never wished to hurt you. I beg of you, if you can someday forgive m—” Her palm upon his chest stayed his words. Then she leaned forward, released a shaking breath, and buried her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms about her and held her tight. “I assume from this response that you will not, after all, be marrying Tarleton?” he said into her hair. “I will not. I could not.” Tears of joy arose in her eyes and soaked his shoulder. He stroked her hair. “Then perhaps you might consider marrying me instead? If you don’t, you know, you will never live this down, embracing a man with a hundred people looking on.” “Are they looking?” “Yes. I think they’re all eager to hear you sing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.’ I know I am.” “Is there perhaps a black veil lying anywhere about?” “No, but I could remove my coat and you could throw that over your head. No one would recognize you, I’m certain.” She laughed and he held her tighter yet. “My darling,” he whispered close. “My love.” -Jacqueline & Cam
Katharine Ashe (Kisses, She Wrote (The Prince Catchers, #1.5))
Entering someone else’s world is sometimes awkward, but the results can be eternal. — Sharron K. Cosby —
Gary Chapman (Love Is a Verb Devotional: 365 Daily Inspirations to Bring Love Alive)
The effort of religions to inspire a sense of community does not stop at introducing us to one other. Religions have also been clever at solving some of what goes wrong inside groups once they are formed. It has been the particular insight of Judaism to focus on anger: how easy it is to feel it, how hard it is to express it and how frightening and awkward it is to appease it in others. We can see this especially clearly in the Jewish Day of Atonement, one of the most psychologically effective mechanisms ever devised for the resolution of social conflict. Falling on the tenth day of Tishrei, shortly after the beginning of the Jewish new year, the Day of Atonement (or Yom Kippur) is a solemn and critical event in the Hebrew calendar. Leviticus instructs that on this date, Jews must set aside their usual domestic and commercial activities and mentally review their actions over the preceding year, identifying all those whom they have hurt or behaved unjustly towards. Together in synagogue, they must repeat in prayer: ‘We have sinned, we have acted treacherously, we have robbed, we have spoken slander. We have acted perversely, we have acted wickedly, we have acted presumptuously, we have been violent, we have framed lies.’ They must then seek out those whom they have frustrated, angered, discarded casually or otherwise betrayed and offer them their fullest contrition. This is God’s will, and a rare opportunity for blanket forgiveness. ‘All the people are in fault,’ says the evening prayer, and so ‘may all the people of Israel be forgiven, including all the strangers who live in their midst’.
Alain de Botton (Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer's Guide to the Uses of Religion)
If I ignored you at some stupid party it wasn't on purpose. I was a ____ing idiot when I was a teenager Saint. My priorities we locked firmly in my pants. If a girl was a sure thing back then you think any 18 year old guy was going to turn her down? But I heard that next week Nash, I saw you with my own eyes. It was a long time ago but my memory is clear. If it was just a case of boys being boys, it still really really hurt. I never even thought that about you Saint. So there is no way I would have said it. I thought you were shy and yeah maybe pretty awkward and a little to studious for my taste, but I always thought you were pretty. Why do you think I said hi to you everyday, try to engage you. I thought your smile was beautiful, and when you finally loosened to give it to me on a regular basis I was stoked. Your hair is awesome and wild I love that ____, and your eyes, your eyes could inspire men to go to war, to paint works of art, to rip their goddam heart out of their chests and to offer it you without a second thought. Then and now. None of that has changed over the years.
Jay Crownover
You see, when we allow God’s love to shine from us, we have the blessing and joy of seeing the awkward duckling turn into the beautiful swan.
Gary Chapman (Love Is a Verb Devotional: 365 Daily Inspirations to Bring Love Alive)
While I certainly do not believe that my having written this will inspire any sort of immediate rapprochement in the world of race relations, maybe it will get a few people talking about things if I am lucky. Even better, perhaps it will take down the walls we have of actually holding meaningful discussions about this with people of other races. I can only speak for myself, but broaching this subject in mixed company can seem awkward at best. To me, that is part of the problem. How can we really make any headway in a problem if we can’t even talk about it? And if we think that the “Powers That Be” have any care or concern about really making changes here, then we are being delusional. There has to be a change down here at the human level. It has to come from each of us every single day.
T.W. Brown (UnCivil War: A Modern Day Race War in the United States)
broken praise job Lyrics from Music Inspired by The Story If one more person takes my hand And tries to say they understand, Tells me there's a bigger plan that I'm not meant to see. If one more person dares suggest That I held something unconfessed, Tries to make the dots connect from righteousness to easy street… Well I, I won't deny that I've relied on some assumptions. A man's honest life entitles him to something, But who am I to make demands of the God of Abraham? And who are you that you would choose to answer me with mercy new? How many more will wander past To find me here among the ashes? Will you hold me? Will you stay So I can raise this broken praise to you? Who else will see my suffering As one more opportunity To educate; to help me see all my flawed theology? If one more well-intentioned friend tries to tie up my loose ends Hoping to, with rug and broom, sweep awkward moments from the room… But I, I can't forget that I have begged just like a madman For my chance to die and never have to face the morning. But you were the One who filled my cup And you were the One who let it spill. So blessed be your holy name if you never fill it up again. If this is where my story ends, just give me one more breath to say hallelujah.
NICHOLE (Love Story: The Hand That Holds Us From The Garden To The Gate)
From the standpoint of karma, being present is all about trust—trusting vulnerability. Being vulnerable doesn’t always feel like seeing an inspiring painting or taking a walk in nature. It is often a much more painful and awkward experience, the
Ethan Nichtern (The Road Home: A Contemporary Exploration of the Buddhist Path)
The curious fact is that biology tells us nothing about desire. And, when you think about it, culture -- novels, movies, opera, and quite a lot of painting -- is about desire, how we manage desire, how we suffer from it, and how it brings us joy when we get things right. A story without desire -- and that means without the insistence of desire -- will be empty, dry, and more or less aimless. That is one reason we read novels, to see how people fall into awkward moral situations and then try to extricate themselves. This is why there is so much anguish in the world: frustrated desire is every bit as miserable as poverty, because desire is no respecter of one’s position in life: everyone goes through it.
Peter Watson
I’m going to guess that in our seventeen years together, Joe and I have eaten an average of at least one meal out a week—plus at least one or two weeks a year when we are on vacation and we get to enjoy twenty-one restaurant meals. Using this rough calculation, I have heard my husband utter that exact line approximately one thousand four hundred times. If I didn’t madly love the man, or I had years of bitter resentment born of unmet needs and unheard desires festering in me, I can see where this might make me want to stick something sharp into his eye socket and twist it around a few dozen times for good measure. But I do and I don’t, respectively, so his attempted joke is actually endearing. It’s one of his things that I’d miss tragically if it went away. It would be that “Yeah, I hated it” line—not his dashing good looks or prowess with power tools or skills on the basketball court or anything else the rest of the world can plainly see—that I’d get most choked up on if I were delivering his eulogy today. There was a breakthrough, pivotal scene in the epically good movie Good Will Hunting, where Robin Williams plays a therapist reminiscing about his dead wife with his patient (Matt Damon). “She used to fart in her sleep,” Williams tells the clueless Damon character during an otherwise unproductive therapy session. “One night it was so loud it woke the dog up . . . She’s been dead two years, and that’s the shit I remember . . . little things like that, those are the things I miss the most. Those little idiosyncrasies that only I knew about; that’s what made her my wife. People call these things imperfections, but they’re not. No, that’s the good stuff.” That.
Jenna McCarthy (I've Still Got It...I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It: Awkwardly True Tales from the Far Side of Forty)
It’s a blessing and a curse, being in this place of comfortable marital security. On one hand, you’ve got someone who will come right out and tell you if you have broccoli in your teeth or if you neglected to apply enough deodorant, somebody who will lie to you and tell you that you don’t need a face-lift and that he can see the triceps muscles you’ve been working diligently to unearth, somebody who’s seen you naked on numerous occasions without laughing or cringing or running screaming into the next room. On the other hand, you also have evenings out that look like this: [Sitting at a stoplight on the way to dinner.] ME: What are you doing? JOE: I’m trying to [yank] pull out [tug] this three-inch [rip] nose hair. Where did it come from, anyway? Damn it, I can’t get it. Hey, your fingers are smaller, and you have nails. Can you grab it? ME: You want me to pull your nose hair out? JOE: Well, I can’t sit there at dinner with it just hanging out like this. You didn’t notice it before we left? ME: I was very busy trying to squeeze into these Spanx, thank you very much. I think I have manicure scissors in the glove box. [Finds scissors, hands them to Joe. The light turns green.] JOE: Hold the wheel while I do this. ME: I don’t think this is such a great idea. [Joe sticking scissors tips up his nose and snipping randomly; Jenna gripping steering wheel with white knuckles.] JOE: Shit, I can’t see it without my cheaters. You do it. ME: Honey, I would rather not stick scissors up your nose while you’re driving. I’ll do it when we get to the restaurant. And, of course, I did, because it turned out Joe forgot his reading glasses* (which always makes for a fun and romantic game of “Wait, Read Me the Entrée Specials Again” at restaurants) so he simply couldn’t. “You’re going to write about this,” Joe accused me as I stashed my manicure scissors back in the glove box. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, offended. “Of course I’m going to write about this! This shit is comedy gold right here.” Like I said, the man knows me inside and out.
Jenna McCarthy (I've Still Got It...I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It: Awkwardly True Tales from the Far Side of Forty)
It was an awkward smile, but you only really know what a smile means when you own the face behind it. Everyone else just sees the smile they expect it to be.
Nathan Filer
Change is uncomfortable and awkward at first. It has a ripping effect on those who refuse to go along with it. It is not fixed by crying, or worrying, or wallowing in self-pity and mental anguish.
Kcat Yarza (KCAT CAN: I have a pen that writes)
  Action: Bring out one of your favorite games tonight and play it with the family. No TV allowed.   Today’s Wisdom: Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. —FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON
Emilie Barnes (Walk with Me Today, Lord: Inspiring Devotions for Women)
Patience is My Power *** I stand open To every person I live far from pretentious I escape from such plays What I feel and imagine I write that The exact thought Since I honor the truth I speak the truth Whereas I am also strong To bear All the bitter and critical Conducts and attitudes Of the people I avoid the quarrel I face all awkward faces With only my glory And gifted power The patience That breaks my anger That enlightens my vision That heals, The wounds of my soul That inspires the calm That washes with the tears My heart and mind To display a smile Upon my lips I always win By holding the patience The costless Fragrance and waves Of my entity and conception.
Ehsan Sehgal
Principles are like prayers. Noble, of course, but awkward at a party.
Countess Violet Grantham, Downtown Abbey
Susan was about to add something else. She wanted to say: ‘And please do say hello to Tobey from all of us…’ but the thought didn’t quite transpire into words. And just as quickly, she assessed, it would have been a little out of character for her to say as much. For just like the matter of faith, although Susan knew it to be true, she still wasn’t quite ready to believe. And so she stood there, for a few minutes more with an awkward looking smile on her face…
Jennifer Aaron-Foster (The Baby Whisperer)
Patience is My Power *** I stand open To every person I live far from pretentious I escape from such plays What I feel and imagine I write that The exact thought Since I honor the truth I speak the truth Whereas I am also strong To bear All the bitter and critical Conducts and attitudes Of the people I avoid the quarrel I face all awkward faces With only my glory And gifted power The patience That breaks my anger That enlightens my vision That heals, The wounds of my soul That inspires the calm That washes with the tears My heart and mind To display a smile Upon my lips I always win By holding the patience The cost less Fragrance and waves Of my entity and conception.
Ehsan Sehgal
The discomfort of the awkward is the catalyst for transformation; lean into it, and uncover the strength and beauty that lies within.
Shree Shambav (Life Changing Journey - 1501 Inspirational Quotes Series – II)
Sad but sometimes clever" Difficult to describe my sadness; It broadens the vibe of madness; Yet not all proscribe of alertness; Running the bribe awkwardness; I knew people ascribe bitterness; Not good, step imbibe blindness; My mouth diatribe I do calmness; Hush feels jibe in our cleverness;
Aron Micko H.B
Amazon’s Leadership Principles6 Customer Obsession. Leaders start with the customer and work backwards. They work vigorously to earn and keep customer trust. Although leaders pay attention to competitors, they obsess over customers. Ownership. Leaders are owners. They think long term and don’t sacrifice long-term value for short-term results. They act on behalf of the entire company, beyond just their own team. They never say, “that’s not my job.” Invent and Simplify. Leaders expect and require innovation and invention from their teams and always find ways to simplify. They are externally aware, look for new ideas from everywhere, and are not limited by “not invented here.” As we do new things, we accept that we may be misunderstood for long periods of time. Are Right, A Lot. Leaders are right a lot. They have strong judgment and good instincts. They seek diverse perspectives and work to disconfirm their beliefs. Learn and Be Curious. Leaders are never done learning and always seek to improve themselves. They are curious about new possibilities and act to explore them. Hire and Develop the Best. Leaders raise the performance bar with every hire and promotion. They recognize exceptional talent, and willingly move them throughout the organization. Leaders develop leaders and take seriously their role in coaching others. We work on behalf of our people to invent mechanisms for development like Career Choice. Insist on the Highest Standards. Leaders have relentlessly high standards—many people may think these standards are unreasonably high. Leaders are continually raising the bar and drive their teams to deliver high-quality products, services, and processes. Leaders ensure that defects do not get sent down the line and that problems are fixed so they stay fixed. Think Big. Thinking small is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Leaders create and communicate a bold direction that inspires results. They think differently and look around corners for ways to serve customers. Bias for Action. Speed matters in business. Many decisions and actions are reversible and do not need extensive study. We value calculated risk-taking. Frugality. Accomplish more with less. Constraints breed resourcefulness, self-sufficiency, and invention. There are no extra points for growing headcount, budget size, or fixed expense. Earn Trust. Leaders listen attentively, speak candidly, and treat others respectfully. They are vocally self-critical, even when doing so is awkward or embarrassing. Leaders do not believe their or their team’s body odor smells of perfume. They benchmark themselves and their teams against the best.
Colin Bryar (Working Backwards: Insights, Stories, and Secrets from Inside Amazon)
Being imperfect is all right and being awkward is okay. You don't have to cheer up. I can do well today, or not. It'll be an experience either way. And that's fine.
Baek Se-hee
Awkwardness is the new adventure, and growth is our guiding star.
Sara Yahia (Quietly Sparks: Inner Power in a Loud Realm)
Then, I relaxed some of the rules. While this created an awkward situation, it allowed us to form a new kind of relationship where the house was no longer under my personal oversight. We had to discard everything we knew and start again, introducing ourselves through the exchange of new ideas.
Sara Ellie MacKenzie (Revolution (Wrapped in the Rays of the Sun, #4))
Innocent girl! There in the distance she walked, She skipped, she frolicked and with a stranger she talked, Just for a while, maybe a moment or two, Still wondering what next to do, Maybe keep talking or just keep walking, Then the stranger left, but it was her innocence that he was stalking, I followed the stranger, and he followed the young girl, She was dressed decently with her each ear adorned with a pearl, Then as she reached the edge of the park, Where it is usually cold and dark, The stranger stood before her, And then he followed her, wherever she went it seemed he was with her, The girl seemed worried and uncomfortable, And desperately looked for means to feel a bit secure and comfortable, The stranger was resolved to keep bothering her, As I wondered what pleasure from this hideous act he might incur, He was about to assault her dignity, Without any remorse, any forethought and with no sign of pity, The girl closed her eyes, And I wonder in that moment what she felt about herself and about the inaction of the skies, It was then I decided to come forward, And I asked her if there was anything making her feel awkward, "Yes, yes," she said hurriedly, "It is him, he has been stalking me shamelessly," Then I turned toward this person, And I asked him if to justify his behaviour he had any valid reason, He shrugged his shoulders and walked away, The innocence of the young girl was saved today, But tomorrow when none of us is there, What shall she do and who will offer her strength in her moments of fear, Maybe it is time to change something forever, If we cannot do it now, then we may never, Today the stranger left, But who shall compensate the young girl for the theft, That robbed her of her freedom and innocence, Well I guess nobody can, because whenever she will be on a street, she will always feel the stranger’s presence!
Javid Ahmad Tak (They Loved in 2075!)
Still, parents felt a bit awkward. “You don’t share food, except with your children” was a very, very old and established tradition. So the inspired youngsters made it clear that they would be extremely embarrassed unless (1) their parents came to Heroes Day, and (2) each mother and father brought two fish as the cost of admission. As soon as a few parents relented, announcing that they would be bringing fish, others decided they must also. Social pressure works as well in penguin colonies as in human colonies.
John P. Kotter (Our Iceberg Is Melting: Changing and Succeeding Under Any Conditions)
Are you afraid, son?" the count asked, more gently. "Y-yes, Father. I wouldn't lie to you, even about that." The count reached out and with an odd, awkward gesture touched Alain on the cheek, a brush more than a caress, almost as he would pat one of his beloved hounds. "There's no shame in being afraid, Alain. There's only shame if you let your fear cloud your good judgement.
Kate Elliott (Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars, #2))
In a sharp sickness of a few days or weeks, all good and kind people act and speak much alike; are busy and ingenious in hastening the recovery, and providing relief meantime. It is when death is not to be looked for, nor yet health, that the test is applied ; that, on either hand, the genius and the awkwardness of consolation present themselves, with a vast gradation between these extremes. It is easy and pleasant to be grateful for all, and to appreciate the love and pity which inspire them ; but it is impossible to relish all equally, or to give the same admiration to that which flows forth fully and freely, and that sympathy which is suppressed, restricted, or in any way changed before it reaches its object. O ! what a heavenly solace to the soul is free sympathy in its hour of need !
Harriet Martineau (Life in the Sick Room - Essays)
I wasn’t great. My stump speech was stiff, heavy on policy speak, short on inspiration and humor. I also found it awkward to talk about myself. As an organizer, I’d been trained to always stay in the background.
Barack Obama (A Promised Land)
What is it about Will Patterson that brings out the inspirational speeches in him? “I’d have screwed you,” he adds, just to make it less awkward.
Leta Blake (Will & Patrick Meet the Family (Wake Up Married, #2))
I’ve been trying to write the perfect book since high school. e results are in a large Rubbermaid tub in my closet. I don’t know what all is in there, but I do know that the tub makes a great stepping stool when I want to organize my socks on the top shelf of my closet.
Jason W. Freeman (Awkwardly Awesome: Embracing My Imperfect Best)
I notice that I don’t experience much self-doubt when I’m talking about the weather.
Jason W. Freeman (Awkwardly Awesome: Embracing My Imperfect Best)
Dr. G, a sixteen foot, aging giraffe was sprawled awkwardly on a couch half his size. Cat and Tort sat on a love seat waiting anxiously for the Doctor to start. The towering Doctor started with… “Can we begin?” The giraffe paused and cocked his massive head towards the wall that displayed his numerous degrees. “Of course we can begin. I’m the damned Shrink here.
John J. Parrino (Prejudice and the Progeny: Six Lessons for Slaying Intolerance)
 When St. Kari of the Blade Met Luke Skywalker, Star Wars Jedi Knight  “What’s that?” Kari asked pointing to the silvery object attached to Luke’s waist. “It’s my lightsaber,” Luke said cautiously, not knowing where this was going. “It’s like your sword, only many years advanced.” “I see me thinks,” grinned Kari, “although I cannot see how such a short object labors as a sword. Can you show me how? Here, block my blade.” Kari pull-whipped her sharp, simple straight edge fast and held it so that its steel shaft was stationed off Lukes left shoulder. “I don’t want to ruin your sword,” Luke said with a slight grinning shrug. “It will cut your blade in half.” “No it shan’t. C’mon and try” quipped Kari, her violet-grey eyes dancing with mirth. Luke felt compelled just a little bit to teach the seemingly uncomplicated girl a lesson in advanced blade-play. He struck at her sword, but to his amazement, the laser did not cut through Kari’s antiquated, plain cross-hilt weapon, as it easily should have. She wryed and smiled. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Luke said eyes widening in surprise. “The only thing that resists a lightsaber cut is Cortosis.” “Let me try cutting at you,” Kari said, her gridelin eyes glittering in delight. As she struck Luke’s sword, the neat humming cylindrical beam of laser light that was Luke’s blade fell as one solid piece to the ground and began to eat itself inward and disappear, both ends vaporizing and fizzling, meeting in the middle and ending with a loud “pop!” “How did you do that?” Skywalker asked in amazement. “What’s your sword made of?” Kari smiled. “My sword is made of adamantine eternal belief. It both cut and resisted your blade because I shalled it to. I am she. All swordplay in the ’Halla exists on the edge of belief, something you will have to learn if you are to survive here whilst your sky-ship is being refitted and rigged out. Learn about the ’Halla, Luke.” Luke awkwardly grimaced. His lightsaber was an amazing piece of advanced technology and here this wispy backwater of a fencing lass had just “out-believed” him, making his well-ahead art of laser swordplay more primitive than the girl’s unadorned straightedge. He remembered Yoda’s words on failure and belief and felt stupid. The word Jedi was not in Kari’s vocabulary, Luke thought, but notwithstanding, she seemed more than a Jedi than he.
Douglas M. Laurent
Better to pray awkwardly than not at all.
Max Lucado (Grace for the Moment: Inspirational Thoughts for Each Day of the Year, Volume 1)
The reality is that nightclubs are nothing more than a sea of lost souls searching for something that cannot possibly be found within their confines. We go to these places for we lack other direction, momentarily appeased by distracting sounds, flashing lights, and the prospect of pleasures of the flesh. Again and again, we confuse these stimulants for something worthy of our time. We drink in these places to pretend like we aren’t individually awkward, an irony we all share.
Kenton Geer (Vicious Cycle: Whiskey, Women, and Water)
It’s very easy for people to hear all this missional talk and feel guilty about their lack of missional performance. At worst it stirs up guilt that we’re “not doing enough,” and at best it produces people who have a vague conviction that they should be “missional” at work, at school, in the neighborhood, etc, but who don’t really know how to do it in a non-weird way. So we either end up saying and doing awkward things, or we say and do nothing at all (which inspires more guilt!).
Mike Breen (Family On Mission)
The eyes are a window to the soul. Literally. Looking someone steadily in the eyes is an uncomfortable, intense experience for anyone. If you don't believe me, pick a stranger sometime, and just go up to them and stare them in the eye until that moment when there's a sudden acknowledgement of lowered barriers, that moment that inspires awkward silences and racing hearts.
Jim Butcher (Blood Rites (The Dresden Files, #6))