Bosses Appreciation Quotes

People leave companies for two reasons. One, they don't feel appreciated. And two, they don't get along with their boss.

Never stay with someone who doesn't appreciate you, who doesn't cherish you just the way you are. You're a great woman, and you deserve only the best.

So here I am, chugging extra-caffeinatedespresso and hoping I stay awake for my test this afternoon. Thanks, boss. Appreciate it. You are the best. Where’s Animal Control when you really need them? Better yet, get me an ax so I can cut off his head, and I don’t mean the one on his shoulders. Mood: PissedSong: “Everything About You”: Ugly Kid Joe

Look, I can appreciate this. I was young too, I felt just like you. Hated authority, hated all my bosses, thought they were full of shit. Look, it's like they say, if you're not a rebel by the age of 20, you got no heart, but if you haven't turned establishment by 30, you've got no brains. Because there are no story-book romances, no fairy-tale endings. So before you run out and change the world, ask yourself, "What do you really want?

I try not to look at him, but it’s impossible not to. His presence is totally commanding. I’ve heard that expression before, but until being around him I never really appreciated what it meant. He’s like the boss of my eyeballs or something. Do not look at his package, Candice. Do not look at his package. My eyes move of their own accord. Oh dammit , you looked at his package! And … oh my … Oh my, my, my … There’s a giant bulge! Hooray for giant bulges and the jeans that let me see them!

You cannot protect yourself from all the things that could hurt you. I can pretty much guarantee that you will be hurt again and again. But, you have had horrible break-ups and you survived. Which is a good indicator that you can trust yourself to make it through another one. So, thank your fear for trying his best to take care of you. Tell him you appreciate that he exists, but that he is only one of your many advisers, not your master. Show your fear, every time he shows up, who is boss. Tell your fear that he is welcome to tag along, but to keep his voice down to the faintest of whispers. Listen to that (by now) nearly inaudible whisper saying "Don't love again! We will get hurt!" and shout back "I LIKE HER A LOT! I WANT TO LIKE HER SOME MORE!" and then let your heart set the pace for how quickly you move into loving her. If the choice is fear or love, chose love. Make this choice again and again and again.

From the box, he withdraws a helmet. Pitted and pocked, as if with some kind of acid. But still—he raps his knuckles on it. The Mandalorians knew how to make armor, didn’t they? “Look at this,” he says, holding it up. “Mandalorian battle armor. Whole box. Complete set, by the looks of it. Been through hell and back. I think my boss will appreciate this.

Don't miss work and never be late. Your boss will appreciate it, and he will reward you by shaking your hand in gratitude after he lays you off.

Many people are caught in a knot of self-destructive behavior and are unable to see it or appreciate how they themselves have tied it. Each believes the problems lie somewhere “out there,” surrounding them but beyond them, rooted in external circumstances. They also believe that the solutions to their problems are “out there” too—the right man, the perfect woman, a more appreciative boss, a more interesting job, the right diet.

Life is short. It’s precious. We often take it for granted or forget how incredible life can be while we’re stuck in peak seasons or trying to finish a project for our bosses. Take time off to really appreciate what you have. It could all be gone in an instant.

In the early months of World War II, San Francisco's Fill-more district, or the Western Addition, experienced a visible revolution. On the surface it appeared to be totally peaceful and almost a refutation of the term “revolution.” The Yakamoto Sea Food Market quietly became Sammy's Shoe Shine Parlor and Smoke Shop. Yashigira's Hardware metamorphosed into La Salon de Beauté owned by Miss Clorinda Jackson. The Japanese shops which sold products to Nisei customers were taken over by enterprising Negro businessmen, and in less than a year became permanent homes away from home for the newly arrived Southern Blacks. Where the odors of tempura, raw fish and cha had dominated, the aroma of chitlings, greens and ham hocks now prevailed. The Asian population dwindled before my eyes. I was unable to tell the Japanese from the Chinese and as yet found no real difference in the national origin of such sounds as Ching and Chan or Moto and Kano. As the Japanese disappeared, soundlessly and without protest, the Negroes entered with their loud jukeboxes, their just-released animosities and the relief of escape from Southern bonds. The Japanese area became San Francisco's Harlem in a matter of months. A person unaware of all the factors that make up oppression might have expected sympathy or even support from the Negro newcomers for the dislodged Japanese. Especially in view of the fact that they (the Blacks) had themselves undergone concentration-camp living for centuries in slavery's plantations and later in sharecroppers' cabins. But the sensations of common relationship were missing. The Black newcomer had been recruited on the desiccated farm lands of Georgia and Mississippi by war-plant labor scouts. The chance to live in two-or three-story apartment buildings (which became instant slums), and to earn two-and even three-figured weekly checks, was blinding. For the first time he could think of himself as a Boss, a Spender. He was able to pay other people to work for him, i.e. the dry cleaners, taxi drivers, waitresses, etc. The shipyards and ammunition plants brought to booming life by the war let him know that he was needed and even appreciated. A completely alien yet very pleasant position for him to experience. Who could expect this man to share his new and dizzying importance with concern for a race that he had never known to exist? Another reason for his indifference to the Japanese removal was more subtle but was more profoundly felt. The Japanese were not whitefolks. Their eyes, language and customs belied the white skin and proved to their dark successors that since they didn't have to be feared, neither did they have to be considered. All this was decided unconsciously.

Appreciate the opportunity, embrace the challenge Yes, you heard me. Embrace and appreciate. Why? Because you will learn and grow more from a difficult boss than you ever will from a great or easy boss. A difficult boss will challenge you in more ways than you can imagine.

We are researching and developing human abilities mainly according to the immediate needs of the economic and political system, rather than according to our own long-term needs as conscious beings. My boss wants me to answer emails as quickly as possible, but he has little interest in my ability to taste and appreciate the food I am eating. Consequently, I check my emails even during meals, which means I lose the ability to pay attention to my own sensations. The economic system pressures me to expand and diversify my investment portfolio, but it gives me zero incentive to expand and diversify my compassion. So I strive to understand the mysteries of the stock exchange while making far less effort to understand the deep causes of suffering.

I wake on the fiction couch deeply hungover, my head cracking, with Rachel telling me to get up. She’s holding my eyelids open like she used to do in high school when we’d stayed up all night talking and then slept through the morning alarm. ‘Get. Up. Henry.’ ‘What time is it? I ask, batting off her hands. ‘It’s eleven. The shop’s been open for an hour. There are customers asking for books I can’t find. George is yelling at a guy called Martin Gamble who’s here to help me create the database. And as a separate issue, Amy’s waiting in the reading garden.’ ‘Amy’s here?’ I sit up and mess my hair around. ‘How do I look?’ ‘I decline to answer on the grounds that technically you’re my boss and I don’t want to start my new job by insulting you.’ ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I appreciate that.

The best bosses find the sweet spot between acting like spineless wimps who always do just as they are told (no matter how absurd) versus insubordinate rabble-rousers who challenge and ignore every order and standard operating procedure. Good bosses try to cooperate with superiors and do what is best for their organizations, but they realize that defiance can be required to protect their people and themselves – and sometimes is even ultimately appreciated by superiors.

In all of these situations, chances are you won’t literally think, “I’m not enough.” No, the sneaky thing about this model is that if you have it, it’s hard to admit you have it—or even to realize that it’s there. So instead, you bury it and create a model of reality about the person you’re seeking validation from. Your brain’s meaning-making machine goes into overdrive and you decide: My husband’s such an inconsiderate asshole sometimes. That son of mine really doesn’t appreciate me. My sister doesn’t care about her family—how awful of her. My boss is an unappreciative jerk. This is the most disempowering kind of model to have, because you’re blaming outside circumstances for what happens in your life. This model robs you of your own ability to control your life. While you can’t control what others do, you can control how you react to others. In order to be truly unfuckwithable, you need to lose your need to seek validation or love from others and to judge them when you perceive that they are not giving you what you need.

Years ago, I used to tell new leaders I hired that every person in our organization walked around with two buckets. One bucket contained water, and the other gasoline. As leaders, they would continually come across small fires, and they could pour water or gasoline on a fire. It was their choice. When you choose the water bucket and represent your boss positively, he will appreciate it. That will be especially true when the “fire” you encounter is about your boss. Anytime people work for someone who can’t or won’t lead, there is grumbling. Don’t pour gas on it. Pour water.

What are ten words your spouse or partner or friend would use to describe you?” • “What’s the most courageous thing you’ve done?” • “If you joined us and then in three to six months you were no longer here, why would that be?” Or ask the same question about five years down the line as well and see how the two answers differ. • “What did you like to do as a child?” This gets at what they really like to do, because it harks back to a time before the world started bossing them around.7 • “Did you feel appreciated at your last job? What was the biggest way in which you did not feel appreciated?

Many people take this as evidence of duplicity or cynicism. But they don’t know what it’s like to be expected to make comments, almost every working day, on things of which they have little or no reliable knowledge or about which they just don’t care. They don’t appreciate the sheer number of things on which a politician is expected to have a position. Issues on which the governor had no strong opinions, events over which he had no control, situations on which it served no useful purpose for him to comment—all required some kind of remark from our office. On a typical day Aaron might be asked to comment on the indictment of a local school board chairman, the ongoing drought in the Upstate, a dispute between a power company and the state’s environmental regulatory agency, and a study concluding that some supposedly crucial state agency had been underfunded for a decade. Then there were the things the governor actually cared about: a senate committee’s passage of a bill on land use, a decision by the state supreme court on legislation applying to only one county, a public university’s decision to raise tuition by 12 percent. Commenting on that many things is unnatural, and sometimes it was impossible to sound sincere. There was no way around it, though. Journalists would ask our office about anything having remotely to do with the governor’s sphere of authority, and you could give only so many minimalist responses before you began to sound disengaged or ignorant or dishonest. And the necessity of having to manufacture so many views on so many subjects, day after day, fosters a sense that you don’t have to believe your own words. You get comfortable with insincerity. It affected all of us, not just the boss. Sometimes I felt no more attachment to the words I was writing than a dog has to its vomit.

Then, as we ascend into the fifth and final act of the show, we can choose what we want to take back with us: a piece of our underworld self that, frankly, the cheating boyfriend may need to meet, or the boss that doesn't appreciate you, or the terrorizing Bitch at school—or maybe you're the terrorizing Bitch, maybe I am. Some fragments that took their masks off while we were on this underworld journey sometimes walk quietly with me. Only I know that after the show they will be staying with me as my figurative New Renter in my seafront condo, down the street from Pituitary Lane, behind Heart Terrace. Then again, some unmasked Beings that I see during a performance find me once I'm back in my dressing room and receive from me the “Okay you, thank you for the perspective and the vision, but in this century you can't just chop people's heads off and feed them to your cats, and I know these guys are bad guys, and thank you for the vision. So you can haunt me during the show again in Indy

Xerox’s venture capital division wanted to be part of the second round of Apple financing during the summer of 1979. Jobs made an offer: “I will let you invest a million dollars in Apple if you will open the kimono at PARC.” Xerox accepted. It agreed to show Apple its new technology and in return got to buy 100,000 shares at about $10 each. By the time Apple went public a year later, Xerox’s $1 million worth of shares were worth $17.6 million. But Apple got the better end of the bargain. Jobs and his colleagues went to see Xerox PARC’s technology in December 1979 and, when Jobs realized he hadn’t been shown enough, got an even fuller demonstration a few days later. Larry Tesler was one of the Xerox scientists called upon to do the briefings, and he was thrilled to show off the work that his bosses back east had never seemed to appreciate. But the other briefer, Adele Goldberg, was appalled that her company seemed willing to give away its crown jewels. “It was incredibly stupid, completely nuts, and I fought to prevent giving Jobs much of anything,” she recalled.

1. Value my ability to see the world from a unique perspective. (Find ways to appreciate and make the most of my strengths, even when I annoy you). 2. Remember, we need compelling problems to solve, not just chores to do. (Don't be the "big boss." I'll respect your authority more when you tell me the point). 3. Ask for my input; keep me in the informational loop. (Give me some ownership in the process and the outcome). 4. Protect our relationship - you won't get much from me without one. (Respect and value who I am, and I'll cooperate with you most of the time). 5. Smile at me more often. (Keep your sense of humor and try to smile, even when you don't like me). 6. Don't let me push you around, but don't push me around either. (Don't be afraid to stand up to me; just don't run over me). 7. Speak to me respectfully, but firmly. (Use your voice wisely; it's a powerful resource). 8. Choose your battles - don't sweat the small stuff. (Decide what's really worth it). 9. Give me some control over my own life and circumstances. (Allow me to share control with our surrendering your authority). 10. Remind me how much you love me. (Find subtle ways to keep reminding me your love will always be there).

Understand this: Once you trigger the other person’s limbic system, he or she cannot process your facts. Nor will they process the facts until after the Monkey issues have been resolved. No matter how right you are, no matter how unassailable your facts. Those are Human concerns and the Monkey trumps the Human. Had I the knowledge or the skill, all the resistance my ineptness triggered was not only avoidable but manipulable. Everything was predictable. Had I walked into the office and said, “Captain, I know I’m just a tactical guy, but I saw that memo and I had this idea. I don’t know anything about budgets but it made sense to me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at it and see if I’m completely off base. “I know I should have gone through the chain of command, but I figured you were the only one up here who wouldn’t laugh at me if I was wrong…” I know I’m just a tactical guy. In the captain’s role as protector of the future of the agency, starting by saying that I know where I belong and I’m happy there doesn’t trigger the status check. I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look…  Take a memo and tell one boss, “Sir, I have just solved all your problems” and that boss will shut you down. Take the exact same memo and tell a different boss, “Could you help me with this?” and he will be flattered. If you want the Monkey out of the way, whenever possible raise the status of the person you are dealing with.

We came to the city because we wished to live haphazardly, to reach for only the least realistic of our desires, and to see if we could not learn what our failures had to teach, and not, when we came to live, discover that we had never died. We wanted to dig deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to be overworked and reduced to our last wit. And if our bosses proved mean, why then we’d evoke their whole and genuine meanness afterward over vodka cranberries and small batch bourbons. And if our drinking companions proved to be sublime then we would stagger home at dawn over the Old City cobblestones, into hot showers and clean shirts, and press onward until dusk fell again. For the rest of the world, it seemed to us, had somewhat hastily concluded that it was the chief end of man to thank God it was Friday and pray that Netflix would never forsake them. Still we lived frantically, like hummingbirds; though our HR departments told us that our commitments were valuable and our feedback was appreciated, our raises would be held back another year. Like gnats we pestered Management— who didn’t know how to use the Internet, whose only use for us was to set up Facebook accounts so they could spy on their children, or to sync their iPhones to their Outlooks, or to explain what tweets were and more importantly, why— which even we didn’t know. Retire! we wanted to shout. We ha Get out of the way with your big thumbs and your senior moments and your nostalgia for 1976! We hated them; we wanted them to love us. We wanted to be them; we wanted to never, ever become them. Complexity, complexity, complexity! We said let our affairs be endless and convoluted; let our bank accounts be overdrawn and our benefits be reduced. Take our Social Security contributions and let it go bankrupt. We’d been bankrupt since we’d left home: we’d secure our own society. Retirement was an afterlife we didn’t believe in and that we expected yesterday. Instead of three meals a day, we’d drink coffee for breakfast and scavenge from empty conference rooms for lunch. We had plans for dinner. We’d go out and buy gummy pad thai and throat-scorching chicken vindaloo and bento boxes in chintzy, dark restaurants that were always about to go out of business. Those who were a little flush would cover those who were a little short, and we would promise them coffees in repayment. We still owed someone for a movie ticket last summer; they hadn’t forgotten. Complexity, complexity. In holiday seasons we gave each other spider plants in badly decoupaged pots and scarves we’d just learned how to knit and cuff links purchased with employee discounts. We followed the instructions on food and wine Web sites, but our soufflés sank and our baked bries burned and our basil ice creams froze solid. We called our mothers to get recipes for old favorites, but they never came out the same. We missed our families; we were sad to be rid of them. Why shouldn’t we live with such hurry and waste of life? We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to decrypt our neighbors’ Wi-Fi passwords and to never turn on the air-conditioning. We vowed to fall in love: headboard-clutching, desperate-texting, hearts-in-esophagi love. On the subways and at the park and on our fire escapes and in the break rooms, we turned pages, resolved to get to the ends of whatever we were reading. A couple of minutes were the day’s most valuable commodity. If only we could make more time, more money, more patience; have better sex, better coffee, boots that didn’t leak, umbrellas that didn’t involute at the slightest gust of wind. We were determined to make stupid bets. We were determined to be promoted or else to set the building on fire on our way out. We were determined to be out of our minds.

In 1950, a thirty-year-old scientist named Rosalind Franklin arrived at King’s College London to study the shape of DNA. She and a graduate student named Raymond Gosling created crystals of DNA, which they bombarded with X-rays. The beams bounced off the crystals and struck photographic film, creating telltale lines, spots, and curves. Other scientists had tried to take pictures of DNA, but no one had created pictures as good as Franklin had. Looking at the pictures, she suspected that DNA was a spiral-shaped molecule—a helix. But Franklin was relentlessly methodical, refusing to indulge in flights of fancy before the hard work of collecting data was done. She kept taking pictures. Two other scientists, Francis Crick and James Watson, did not want to wait. Up in Cambridge, they were toying with metal rods and clamps, searching for plausible arrangements of DNA. Based on hasty notes Watson had written during a talk by Franklin, he and Crick put together a new model. Franklin and her colleagues from King’s paid a visit to Cambridge to inspect it, and she bluntly told Crick and Watson they had gotten the chemistry all wrong. Franklin went on working on her X-ray photographs and growing increasingly unhappy with King’s. The assistant lab chief, Maurice Wilkins, was under the impression that Franklin was hired to work directly for him. She would have none of it, bruising Wilkins’s ego and leaving him to grumble to Crick about “our dark lady.” Eventually a truce was struck, with Wilkins and Franklin working separately on DNA. But Wilkins was still Franklin’s boss, which meant that he got copies of her photographs. In January 1953, he showed one particularly telling image to Watson. Now Watson could immediately see in those images how DNA was shaped. He and Crick also got hold of a summary of Franklin’s unpublished research she wrote up for the Medical Research Council, which guided them further to their solution. Neither bothered to consult Franklin about using her hard-earned pictures. The Cambridge and King’s teams then negotiated a plan to publish a set of papers in Nature on April 25, 1953. Crick and Watson unveiled their model in a paper that grabbed most of the attention. Franklin and Gosling published their X-ray data in another paper, which seemed to readers to be a “me-too” effort. Franklin died of cancer five years later, while Crick, Watson, and Wilkins went on to share the Nobel prize in 1962. In his 1968 book, The Double Helix, Watson would cruelly caricature Franklin as a belligerent, badly dressed woman who couldn’t appreciate what was in her pictures. That bitter fallout is a shame, because these scientists had together discovered something of exceptional beauty. They had found a molecular structure that could make heredity possible.

The opponent seemed to shift slightly in the seat. His index finger tapped a card, just a couple strokes. There it was the card that ruined his hand. Her hazel eyes release the player across from her to steal a glance registering the emotion of observers around the table then to her best friend. Sophie looks like a Nervous Nelly-she, always worries. She knows the girl will put too much emphasis on a lost hand. The striking man with his lusty brown eyes tries to draw Sophie closer. Now that he has folded and left the game, he is unnecessary, and the seasoned flirt easily escapes his reach. He leaves with a scowl; Sophie turns and issues knowing wink. Ell’s focus is now unfettered, freeing her again to bring down the last player. When she wins this hand, she will smile sweetly, thank the boys for their indulgence, and walk away $700 ahead. The men never suspected her; she’s no high roller. She realizes she and Sophie will have to stay just a bit. Mill around and pay homage to the boy’s egos. The real trick will be leaving this joint alone without one of them trying to tag along. Her opponent is taking his time; he is still undecided as to what card to keep—tap, tap. He may not know, but she has an idea which one he will choose. He attempts to appear nonchalant, but she knows she has him cornered. She makes a quick glance for Mr. Lusty Brown-eyes; he has found a new dame who is much more receptive than Sophie had been. Good, that small problem resolved itself for them. She returns her focuses on the cards once more and notes, her opponent’s eyes have dilated a bit. She has him, but she cannot let the gathering of onlookers know. She wants them to believe this was just a lucky night for a pretty girl. Her mirth finds her eyes as she accepts his bid. From a back table, there is a ruckus indicating the crowd’s appreciation of a well-played game as it ends. Reggie knew a table was freeing up, and just in time, he did not want to waste this evening on the painted and perfumed blonde dish vying for his attention. He glances the way of the table that slowly broke up. He recognizes most of the players and searches out the winner amongst them. He likes to take on the victor, and through the crowd, he catches a glimpse of his goal, surprised that he had not noticed her before. The women who frequent the back poker rooms in speakeasies all dress to compete – loud colors, low bodices, jewelry which flashes in the low light. This dame faded into the backdrop nicely, wearing a deep gray understated yet flirty gown. The minx deliberately blended into the room filled with dark men’s suits. He chuckles, thinking she is just as unassuming as can be playing the room as she just played those patsies at the table. He bet she had sat down all wide-eyed with some story about how she always wanted to play cards. He imagined she offered up a stake that wouldn’t be large but at the same time, substantial enough. Gauging her demeanor, she would have been bold enough to have the money tucked in her bodice. Those boys would be eager after she teased them by retrieving her stake. He smiled a slow smile; he would not mind watching that himself. He knew gamblers; this one was careful not to call in the hard players, just a couple of marks, which would keep the pit bosses off her. He wants to play her; however, before he can reach his goal, the skirt slips away again, using her gray camouflage to aid her. Hell, it is just as well, Reggie considered she would only serve as a distraction and what he really needs is the mental challenge of the game not the hot release of some dame–good or not. Off in a corner, the pit boss takes out a worn notepad, his meaty hands deftly use a stub of a pencil to enter the notation. The date and short description of the two broads quickly jotted down for his boss Mr. Deluca. He has seen the pair before, and they are winning too often for it to be accidental or to be healthy.

Jerome was more than Chanel’s assistant and she appreciated him so much, because he respected her as his boss when they were in a professional setting.

As corny as it sounds, that whole White Knight thing is based on an instinctive male response. A man needs to be needed. He wants a mate who needs and appreciates his skills, his….strength. His… courage.

Need some help?” He reached for the books in her arms before she could object. “Hey ...” She looked like a viper ready to strike, but then her pupils dilated as she stared up at him. “I’m sorry ... do I know you?” “No.” He offered her a smile, hoping to settle her nerves. He didn’t speak to many women, but when he did, he always got that same staggered expression. “But you looked as though you needed a third hand.” “I don’t think I could manage if I were an octopus.” He laughed. Beautiful and a sense of humor. Most of the women he knew were too serious. “Funny. Are you off to another lecture?” “No ... I’m late for work. I keep telling my boss not to schedule me on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but he doesn’t listen, and then — sorry. TMI. I tend to ramble on, something the professors keep fussing at me about. Thanks. I sent the message, so I can carry my books now. I’m not up on all these new gadgets.” She waved her phone. “This is my first cell phone. I can’t afford it, but I really needed it. ” She smacked her hand over her mouth and reached for her books. “See ... I never shut up.” Derrick couldn’t help but smile. She was so cute. “I’ll walk you to your car. That way if your boss replies, you can respond quickly.” Her eyes narrowed this time, a look he wasn’t accustomed to; the few women he talked to trusted him completely. Even the female professors said he had a wonderful bedside manner. “Umm ... it’s okay. I take the T.” “Would you like a lift, then, so you aren’t late?” She shook her head. “No. Thank you. I appreciate it ... but I don’t even know you.” “Derrick Ashton.” He offered her his hand. The young woman hesitantly extended her slender, creamy-skinned hand. Her hand looked so small and delicate in his larger, olive-skinned hand. “Nice to meet you, Derrick. I’m Janelle Heskin. But still ... ” Derrick released her after a second and lifted his hands in front of him. “I’m harmless, I swear. They wouldn’t have accepted me into medical school if I had a record, and I’m here because I want to help people, and you looked like you needed help.” She

Daniel also places candidate answers in a very specific framework. As the candidate tells their story, Daniel continuously asks himself: Whom is this person responding to or used to performing for? Whom do they view as important to impress? Their parents? A particular peer? High school friends? A former boss? This is revealed at moments when they disclose some angles of their past successes and failures rather than others. You might be surprised how often this information comes through in the context of an interview. For instance, a person may refer to college teachers who scorned her or did not appreciate her innovations, or a person may still be wrapped up in how he was viewed as a child by his parents. Thinking about this question can give you the context people are speaking from and, more generally, a sense of their ambitions and worldview. If they are still trying to impress their high school peers, for instance, they might have focus but they are unlikely to understand the broader picture behind your company or grasp its global ambitions. Most importantly, be alert for the distinction between those who are stuck in their past and those who learned from it but are moving forward and seeking to expand the sphere of people they can impress.

Name-calling or hurling insults can only affect you if you allow them too. Boss up and refuse to stay in an environment where you are not loved, valued, or appreciated.

need someone who appreciates the written word, you know? I want to spend my Sunday mornings arguing over who has what portion of the newspaper.” Hearing myself, my cheeks flare up again. “I know how I sound. Like a hopeless romantic.” “Are you one?” “I’m a realistic romantic,” I say.

An eighteen-year-old must be able to earn and manage money. The crutch: They don’t hold part-time jobs; they receive money from us for whatever they want or need; thus, kids don’t develop a sense of responsibility for completing job tasks, accountability to a boss who doesn’t inherently love them, or an appreciation for the cost of things and how to manage money.

Ehsan Sehgal Quotes about Media — — — * Words matter and mirror if your head is a dictionary of insight and your feelings are alive. * Sure, fake news catches and succeeds attention, but for a while; however, it embraces disregard and unreliability forever. * Media rule the incompetent minds and pointless believers. * A real journalist only states, neither collaborates nor participates. * The majority of journalists and anchors have the information only but not the sense of knowledge. * When the media encourages and highlights the wrong ones, anti-democratic figures, criminals in uniform, and dictators in a supreme authority and brilliant context, sure, such a state never survives the breakdown of prosperity and civil rights, as well as human rights. Thus, the media is accountable and responsible for this as one of the democratic pillars. *Media cannot be a football ground or a tool for anyone. It penetrates the elementary pillar of a state, it forms and represents the language of entire humanity within its perception of love, peace, respect, justice, harmony, and human rights, far from enmity and distinctions. Accordingly, it demonstrates its credibility and neutrality. * When the non-Western wrongly criticizes and abuses its culture, religion, and values, the Western media highlights that often, appreciating in all dimensions. However, if the same one even points out only such subjects, as a question about Western distinctive attitude and role, the West flies and falls at its lowest level, contradicting its principles of neutrality and freedom of press and speech, which pictures, not only double standards but also double dishonesty with itself and readers. Despite that, Western media bother not to realize and feel ignominy and moral and professional stigma. * Social Media has become the global dustbin of idiocy and acuity. It stinks now. Anyone is there to separate and recycle that. Freedom of speech doesn’t mean to constitute insulting, abusing, and harming deliberately in a distinctive and discriminative feature and context, whereas supporting such notions and attempts is a universal crime. * Social media is a place where you share your favourite poetry, quotes, songs, news, social activities, and reports. You can like something, you can comment, and you can use humour in a civilised way. It is social media, but it is not a place to love or be loved. Any lover does not exist here, and no one is serious in this regard. Just enjoy yourself and do not try to fool anyone. If you do that, it means you are making yourself a fool; it is a waste of time, and it is your defeat too. * I use social media only to devote and denote my thoughts voluntarily for the motivation of knowledge, not to earn money as greedy-minded. * One should not take seriously the Social-Media fools and idiots. * Today, on social media, how many are on duty? * Journalists voluntarily fight for human rights and freedom of speech, whereas they stay silent for their rights and journalistic freedom on the will and restrictions of the boss of the media. Indeed, it verifies that The nearer the church, the farther from god. * The abuse, insult, humiliation, and discrimination against whatever subject is not freedom of expression and writing; it is a violation and denial of global harmony and peace. * Press freedom is one significant pillar of true democracy pillars, but such democracy stays deaf, dumb, and blind, which restricts or represses the media. * Press and speech that deliberately trigger hatred and violation fall not under the freedom of press and speech since restrictions for morale and peace apply to everyone without exemption. * Real press freedom is just a dream, which nowhere in the world becomes a reality; however, journalists stay dreaming that.

Sporting a black eye, Dylan met me in the front of Cooper’s office. I looked up at where guys were redoing the roof before returning my gaze to my new boss. “As much as I appreciate this chance,” I said, “I don’t want you giving me a job just to make Cooper happy.” “Cooper’s happiness isn’t really my concern. The guy’s rich and powerful. I’m sure his happiness is pretty much a done deal.” I smirked. “Yeah, but you really need me to work for you, right?” Dylan nodded. “I had a guy who helped me manage projects, but my dad bought him off to work somewhere else. Now it’s just me. I trust my guys to do their bests, but that doesn’t mean their bests are good enough, you know? Someone needs to check on them and deal with issues that come up.” “I’ve never done any of that before.” “Cooper said you’re a smart guy. My crews are full of guys who saw you fight too. They’ll treat you with respect in a way another new guy might not get.” I sized up Dylan then grinned. “Sorry for the shiner.” “Those fuckers were going to kill you. Not even on purpose. They just had idiot written all over them.

It took me going through a bad man to appreciate the good man that I had. I thanked James everyday for fucking up and allowing me to meet my true soul mate.

As two former empires, both with distinct identities and a strong sense of national pride, there is an island mentality in Iran that feels strangely familiar, a perverse pleasure to be found in going it alone, not being bossed around. Neither nation is particularly comfortable with the idea of mucking in with its neighbours – Britain with its scepticism towards Europe and inflated sense of importance in the world; Iran, an island of Shi-ite Muslims surrounded by Sunnis, geographically in the Middle East but definitely not Arabs – always, defiantly, neither East nor West. But there were gentler similarities too; an appreciation of the absurd and a sense of humour that celebrates the subversive and the silly, a love of the outdoors and an illustrious history of mountaineering and climbing, the national penchant for picnics and a profound appreciation of nature. Even the strange formalised politeness of ta’arof reminded me of our own British rituals of insistence and refusal when passing through a doorway or our habit of apologising when bumped into by a stranger. And, of course, our mutual inability to do anything without a cup of tea.

Later, you can shoot your boss an e-mail and comment positively on the new strategy or ideas she suggested and say you are eager to implement them. She’ll appreciate

Let your boss know that you like her ideas, appreciate her support, and are excited to be in her presence. Be sincere

These qualities make a great impression on your boss, your teams, and your customers. You will be more respected, noticed, and appreciated in the process. As your own "CEO of Self," projecting this positive level of engagement furthers your own personal reputation and interests for healthy communication, networking, and positive first impressions. An added bonus is that YOU will receive great benefits from putting forth this type of effort. Whether it be self-esteem, new training, cooperation, experience, or a raise or bonus, the rewards are extensive and many.

whenever. I was a boss chick in every sense and he needed to recognize and appreciate that shit. He

Mercy said to tell you hi next time I talked to you and that she thanks you for sending her bear back.” Damn. Cat must have done that too. She’d been a busy woman the last couple of days. “Tell her I appreciated the loan.” “I will. Enjoy yourself, buddy. The company can run without you for a while. Get your marriage in order. A few months ago I wouldn’t have understood how important that is, but I do now. If she’s the one for you you need to invest time in her.” Harper knew he was right; it was just hard taking a step back. Daring to go out on a limb, he cleared his throat. “I left because of the anxiety and the paranoia. I thought I was going to hurt someone.” Silence stretched for several seconds. “But if you leave the good because you’re worried about the bad, the bad wins, right? You have a better chance of getting right in the head if you have the right foundation at home.” Harper sighed. Though he had a few years on his boss age-wise the guy had the right of it. “Yeah, I know what you’re saying is sound—it’s just hard. The worries are persistent.” “I know, but I also know you’re more persistent. You’re a damn bull. You need to find a way to keep your family together.” There

After CrowdStrike rebuilt the system, all of our staff had to learn new computers, new log-ins, new procedures, at the moment when their personal lives were being destroyed by these leaks. Then their bosses resigned because of the emails that were distributed by WikiLeaks, creating even more chaos and insecurity. All of this was on top of a contentious campaign. Our regular task force conference calls gave me a new appreciation of the dedication of our staff, who endured this incredibly stressful time.

That wasn’t very polite, Bristol.” “Neither is ogling your daughter’s boyfriend, Mom.” She shrugged, completely unphased. “I’m forty-four, honey, not dead. And dead is what I’d have to be not to appreciate the athletic specimen you’ve brought home.

We had both walked through fire to reach this moment, but those trials only made us appreciate what we’d found that much more.

Heartbreak was apart of life, and until you experienced it firsthand, you couldn’t appreciate the beauty of true love when it stared you in the face.

I want you to watch as I fuck you with my hand. I want you to witness what I already know to be the most beautiful sight on Earth—you coming on my command. Only then can you appreciate my level of restraint. Because it’s fucking addicting. And seeing it in my dreams doesn’t compare to the real thing.

Bet he wanks in front of the mirror. Bet he winks at his reflection after he comes.” “I appreciate that you’re trying to support me emotionally, but I really don’t need to think of my boss jerking off.

Heifer couldn't you have waited until yo’ boss said what she wanted to do with this dead nigga? Now yo’ energizer bunny ass done got this nigga blood on me! I should wipe this… You know what? I think you made the best decision of the night. I appreciate how you use your gun talents to kill a nigga. I think you might be one of the best shooters that Kari done put on this team,

Can we appreciate the amazing things we receive in life if we never have to deal with shit, as well?

This is a common pattern. My story about my interactions with others is driven by my intentions. I have good intentions—I’m trying to help, to guide, even to coach. I assume my good intentions lead to good impacts—they feel helped, guided, and appreciate my efforts to help them grow. Hence, people must know I’m a good person. But for those around us, our impact drives their story. Despite my best intentions, I may have a negative impact on you; you feel bossed around and micromanaged. You then assume that I’m acting purposefully, or at least that I know I’m being bossy and don’t care enough not to be. And if I have negative or negligent intentions I must be a bad person. Now you give me feedback that I’m bossy and controlling, and I’m shocked and bewildered. I discard it because it doesn’t match who I am. It’s wrong. And you conclude that I’m either oblivious to who I am or so defensive that I refuse to acknowledge what everyone knows is true.

motioned to the owner. “What do you call this dog?” she asked. “She’s a Yorkie Poo. Six weeks. She just came in yesterday, and she’ll be gone in a few days. She’ll make a wonderful pet. I always recommend female dogs for women. You probably won’t believe this, but Yorkies are great little watchdogs.” Casey nodded. The moment the dog was placed in her hands, she knew she had a friend. She was so tiny she could fit in Casey’s raincoat pocket. She cradled the dog to her cheek. She felt so warm and so alive. Holding the puppy against her cheek, she meandered down the kitten aisle until she came to the last cage, where four kittens romped with a ball of string. “That one,” she said, pointing to a yellow tiger cat. “Good choice.” The owner beamed. The Yorkie licked at the kitten, who playfully swiped at her with one tiny paw. “They’ll get along, contrary to what you may have heard about dogs and cats. The kitten is just five weeks old, so the Yorkie will be boss, you’ll see. What else will you need?” Casey shrugged helplessly. “I never had an animal before. You tell me.” “Two kennels, two beds, leashes, food, a few toys, their own blankets, litter box and litter. It’s almost like outfitting a room for a new baby,” the owner said happily. “Can you deliver?” Casey asked anxiously. “Of course. If you like, I can drive you home with the animals. I’ll close the store for a little while. Do you live close by?” “Seventy-ninth, around the corner really. I appreciate it.

Look around you. Appreciate what you have. Protect your peace. Nothing will be the same in a year. I decree and declare that amazing changes are coming your way.

8 Sam insisted they stop off at the baker’s on their way back; she had a feeling they were in for a long day. Once they arrived at the station, she told Bob to go on ahead while she hung around to speak to the desk sergeant. “Do you have anyone free, Nick?” “I can always find someone to help you out, Inspector. What do you need?” “A team of officers, actually. They need to go out to the Chatley farm in Mosser, more to the point, the surrounding area. Knock on the neighbours’ doors, see if they saw any suspicious vehicles in the area in the last few days.” “I can instigate that for you. Leave it with me.” “Good, thanks, Nick. Let me know if they come up with anything. I won’t be holding my breath. I think we have a crafty killer in our midst.” Nick tilted his head and winked. “They all slip up sooner or later, you know that as well as I do.” “How true.” She smiled, turned and tapped the number on the security keypad which released the door. Wearily, she made her way up the stairs to the incident room. She paused, wondering whether she should take a detour to the chief’s office, to keep him up to date. Her stomach rumbled which helped to make up her mind. The chief could wait. The incident room was buzzing, but it quietened down as soon as she entered the room. “Don’t let me stop you. Let’s get lunch underway and chuck around a few ideas while we eat, yes?” Bags rustled and Bob joined Sam at the drinks’ area. He added sugar to the cups. She touched his forehead. “Are you feeling all right?” He tutted. “Bugger off. I thought I’d better show willing, considering you bought the sandwiches.” “Thanks, it’s appreciated. I’m sure the rest of the team will agree.” Between them they handed around the drinks. In between bites and sips, Sam ran through what they had discovered up at the farmhouse. Crap, I wish I’d finished my lunch first. Her stomach objected and she placed half of her sandwich aside, to maybe go back to later. “That’s what we have, ladies and gents. Any suggestions?” Claire raised a hand, lettuce poking out from the corner of her mouth. She finished what she was chewing on and wiped her lips with a serviette. “Sorry about that, boss. Messy eater, I know, Scott’s always saying the same. Going back to the case, do you want me to delve into their backgrounds, the three who knew each other? Would that help?” “Anything we can find out about the three of them is going to help, Claire, so go for it. They’ve been friends for over fifty years, I seem to recall, so they might have a few skeletons in the cupboard to

There should also be another mobile evidence board in the storage room. If one of you could be a sweetheart and bring that in, I’d appreciate it.” CJ chuckled softly. Yep, same old Sam. Charming while bossing her way to what she wants. Neither of the men seemed to mind; they were eager to make Sam happy.

Appreciating Your Work Before you can write your Achievement Stories, you need to appreciate your achievements. You cannot take your work for granted. Malcolm Forbes, Forbes’ magazine’s late publisher, said: Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are. What usually happens is that if we do something, it seems commonplace, not special, just ordinary. However, when we see someone doing something we cannot do, we’re impressed. What we’re not considering is whether the person who impressed you can do what you can do. We’re also not asking ourselves: “Why did you keep your job so long?” “Why did you get raises?” “Why did you get promoted?” “Why did you receive those awards?” “Why did you get recognized as often as you did, via awards or complementary messages from your boss and others?” If you’re not getting raises, promotions, awards or complements, there could be a number of reasons. It might be that your company cannot afford to provide raises and promotions. It’s possible that a boss may think that if you get awards and compliments, you’ll ask for a raise, which her budget doesn’t permit. Unfortunately, there are also times when a boss may not want to draw attention to you because she’s afraid of you, afraid you’ll outshine her, afraid you’ll get her job. Of course, you need to be careful around someone like this. I once gave a presentation to a group of people, including my boss and her boss. After the presentation, my boss’s boss said it was excellent. All my boss did was look at me for what seemed like a long time. As long as she worked there, she never let me give another presentation.

You do need to be visible. Your boss does need to like you. This is not proof of a heartless world; it’s just human nature. Hard work doesn’t pay off if your boss doesn’t know whom to reward for it. Would you expect a great product to sell with zero marketing? Probably not. So what’s a good balance? Every Friday send your boss an email summarizing your accomplishments for the week—nothing fancy, but quickly relating the good work you’re doing. You might think they know what you’re up to, but they’re busy. They have their own problems. They’ll appreciate it and begin to associate you with the good things they’re hearing (from you, of course). And when it’s time to negotiate for that raise (or to refresh your résumé), you can just review the emails for a reminder of why exactly you’re such a good employee.

People should ask their bosses questions. I appreciate it when people ask me the same kind of open-ended questions I so often ask. What are you hoping for? What are you expecting? What’s the most important part of this for you?

Most people want to have great sex and an awesome relationship, but not everyone is willing to go through the tough conversations, the awkward silences, the hurt feelings, and the emotional psychodrama to get there. And so they settle. They settle and wonder, “What if?” for years and years, until the question morphs from “What if?” into “What else?” And when the lawyers go home and the alimony check is in the mail, they say, “What for?” If not for their lowered standards and expectations twenty years prior, then what for? Because happiness requires struggle. It grows from problems. Joy doesn’t just sprout out of the ground like daisies and rainbows. Real, serious, lifelong fulfillment and meaning have to be earned through the choosing and managing of our struggles. Whether you suffer from anxiety or loneliness or obsessive-compulsive disorder or a dickhead boss who ruins half of your waking hours every day, the solution lies in the acceptance and active engagement of that negative experience—not the avoidance of it, not the salvation from it. People want an amazing physique. But you don’t end up with one unless you legitimately appreciate the pain and physical stress that come with living inside a gym for hour upon hour, unless you love calculating and calibrating the food you eat, planning your life out in tiny plate–sized portions. People want to start their own business. But you don’t end up a successful entrepreneur unless you find a way to appreciate the risk, the uncertainty, the repeated failures, the insane hours devoted to something that may earn absolutely nothing. People want a partner, a spouse. But you don’t end up attracting someone amazing without appreciating the emotional turbulence

age of computers and programming, and he couldn’t understand either. Sure, he could send emails, had even mastered Word and Excel, but apart from that, the complexities of the machine left him baffled. There was unemployment, but he had never taken the dole, or he could go overseas, try his luck on an oil rig. Even if that were possible, he didn’t want to go, but these were desperate times, and now, to add confusion, there was a solution. Betty Galton, his former sister-in-law, had in her possession a million pounds in gold. He opened his laptop and switched it on. How does one melt gold? How does one dispose of it? he thought. He entered the search terms, fingering one key at a time, and pressed enter. If a criminal act was committed during the planning stage, then he was guilty as charged. And for once, he did not care. He hummed a tune to himself. It had been some time since he had been contented. For that night, he would forget what would be required and envisage what his life could be like with money in his pocket. Maybe a small place in the country, a dog, possibly a woman. How long had it been since he had enjoyed the closeness of another’s skin? He picked up his phone and made a call. It was a special treat for himself and for once the budget was going to be blown. He knew she’d look after him, the way she looked after so many others. Chapter 11 Clare woke early the next day; her phone was ringing. She leant over and picked it up. ‘Yarwood, I’m at the hospital,’ Tremayne said. She could tell by his voice that something was amiss. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen.’ ‘Thanks, and don’t tell anyone.’ A quick shower, some food for her cat, and Clare was out of her cottage. A murder enquiry was serious; her boss being ill, more so. Parking at the hospital, she soon found her way to outpatients, meeting someone she knew. ‘It’s Tremayne, he’s not well,’ Clare said. ‘And please, not a word to anyone.’ The woman, a friend, understood. Inside, behind some screens, Tremayne was lying flat on his back. His shoes had been removed, and his tie had been loosened. ‘How long have you been here?’ Clare said. She knew Tremayne would not appreciate lashings of sympathy, although he looked dreadful. ‘Since last night. I’d had a few drinks, a few cigarettes, and all of a sudden I’m in the back of an ambulance.’ ‘Does Jean know?’ ‘Not yet. Maybe you can phone her. She went to see her son for a few days, left me on my own.’ ‘Off the leash and into trouble, that’s you, guv.’ ‘Not today, Yarwood. Maybe Moulton’s right about me retiring.’ ‘Having you feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help, is it?’ The nurse, standing on the other side of the bed, looked over at Clare disapprovingly. ‘It’s how we work,’ Clare said. ‘That may be the case, but Mr Tremayne has had a bit of a scare. He needs to be here for a few days while we conduct a few checks.’ ‘What’s the problem?’ ‘It’s not for me to say. That’s for the doctor.’ ‘He told me to cut down on the beer, quit smoking, and take it easy.’ ‘Retire, is that it?’ Clare said. ‘They don’t get it, do they?’ Tremayne looked over at the nurse who was monitoring his condition. ‘Sorry. We’ve got a murder to deal with, nothing personal.’ ‘Don’t worry about me. We get our fair share of people, men mainly, who think they’re invincible. You’re not the first, not the last, who thinks they know more

Need for Attention Attention is the lifeblood of Histrionics. If they don’t get enough of it, they feel themselves start to shrivel up and die. Histrionics always seek out the most appreciative audience. This tendency can destroy relationships. If anybody flirts with them, Histrionic vampires will usually flirt back, regardless of their intentions. If their bosses and coworkers don’t give them enough attention, these vampires will just go down the hall and get some.Where they go is immaterial to them, but it may play havoc with the chain of command.

Sure, rejection hurts. Failure sucks. But there are particular certainties we hold on to - certainties that we're afraid to question or let go of, values that have given our lives meaning over the years.The woman doesn't get out there and date because she would be forced to confront her beliefs about her own desirability. That man doesn't ask for the promotion because he would have to confront his beliefs about what his skills are actually worth. It's easier to sit in a painful certainty that nobody would find you attractive, that nobody appreciates your talents, than to actually test those beliefs and find out for sure. Beliefs of this sort - that I'm not attractive enough, so why bother; or that my boss is an asshole, so why bother - are designed to give us moderate comfort now by mortgaging greater happiness and success later on. They're terrible long-term strategies, yet we cling to them because we assume we're right, because we assume we already know what's going to happen. In other words, we assume we know how the story ends.

small rewards encourage internal motivation because they are really a form of recognition rather than material gain, signaling that the corporation or boss appreciates the employee’s internal desire to improve and contribute.

As I dropped my stuff off at my desk, I thought—for the millionth time—how much I loved my job and my boss. I understood how much Gideon wanted to keep me close and I appreciated the vision of us building something together, but my work nurtured me as an individual. I didn’t want to give that up, and I didn’t want to end up resenting him if he kept pushing me to do so. I’d have to come up with an argument Gideon would accept.

We put work aside every other week when he invited me along to lunch with his partner, Steven, but we were careful about maintaining our roles as boss and subordinate. I appreciated that a lot, considering Mark knew my stepfather was rich. I didn’t want people giving me considerations I hadn’t earned.

They're coming here, and they are going to crawl so far up my ass that I’ll have shit coming out of my mouth.” “I don’t appreciate that visual,” he growled.

Speaking up is only the first step. The true test is how leaders respond when people actually do speak up. Stage setting and inviting participation indeed build psychological safety. But if a boss responds with anger or disdain as soon as someone steps forward to speak up about a problem, the safety will quickly evaporate. A productive response must be appreciative, respectful, and offer a path forward.

a. From one of the other parents: “Don’t try to manipulate us with those phony crocodile tears!” My response (hopefully): “So you don’t trust my sincerity?” b. From a big burly man: “Oh God, give it up!” My response: “Sounds like you are disgusted with the show of emotion and would prefer we all discuss this practically and logically?” c. From a psychologist in the group: “You are just a little out of control, aren’t you?” My response: “Are you concerned about straying from the agenda for the meeting? The psychologist’s response to the above: “Yes, you are monopolizing the meeting.” My response: “So you would like others to get equal time to speak? Yes, I am willing to give up the floor now.” (Or, “I would like to make two more points if that’s okay with the group.”) Ways to Feed Your Attention Hog Honoring and owning your Attention Hog is a learned habit and skill. It must become a conscious and willful act in order to counter the cultural training we have received to pretend we do not want the attention. You will also be honoring others’ needs to have their attention and appreciation received fully and gracefully. 1. When you are talking with someone and there is a radio or TV playing in the background, ask that it be turned off and not just down. 2. Ask groups to hear you play a new song you have learned. 3. Ask groups to listen to you read or recite poetry or prose. 4. Ask to be on TV or radio. 5. Submit articles for publication in magazines, newspapers or ezines. 6. When speaking to a group, and people are talking in the background, say “My attention hog would like everyone’s attention please.” 7. When you are not getting the eye contact you would like from someone, ask for it. 8. If you want someone to call you more often, tell them specifically how often you would like to be called. 9. If you are not getting the recognition you want at work, ask your boss to write down a number of things that he sees you contributing to the business. 10. When receiving the applause of a group, take it in. Stand there looking at them until the entire wave of appreciation has passed. Chapter FILLING THE HOLE IN THE SOUL I used to think that the need for approval was a misunderstood

Dear Miss Sam: Thanks so much for your lovely epistle. You’ve gotten so soft in only three months. Must be all those cookies. If I read you right, you want some assurances that you’ll be (1) adored by your bosses, (2) worshipped by your colleagues, (3) appreciated by your clients, (4) virtually guaranteed a partnership which will lead to a long, full, happy life, and (5) given enough office space to make you happy, in spite of the obscene prices per square foot now being demanded by Manhattan landlords (our clients), recession or not.