Generosity Thank You Quotes

In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.

If you are someone who still carries hope in your heart, kindness in your eyes and generosity in your fingertips despite terrible people happening to you, thank you. You are one of the few truly pure things left in this world, and you deserve to be protected.

They steal your bread, then give you a crumb of it… Then they demand you to thank them for their generosity… O their audacity!

This is for you,' he (the Alchemist) said, holding one of the parts (of gold) out to the monk. 'It's for your generosity to the pilgrims.' 'But this payment goes well beyond my generosity,' the monk responded. 'Don't say that again. Life might be listening, and give you less the next time.

Dear Aunt Patty, Thank you for coming to be part of what definitely ranks in the top five worst days of my life. While your generosity is appreciated, I am returning this gift, as forced bachelorhood necessitates total abstinence from bamboo placemats and matching napkin rings in my daily life. Sincerely, Emory Too much?

In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.

You have the power to bestow upon each one of us a life of beauty and abundance, and I truly thank you for your boundless generosity and kindness.

Dear Woman Who Gave Me Life: The callous vexations and perturbations of this night have subsequently resolved themselves to a state which precipitates me, Arturo Bandini, into a brobdingnagian and gargantuan decision. I inform you of this in no uncertain terms. Ergo, I now leave you and your ever charming daughter (my beloved sister Mona) and seek the fabulous usufructs of my incipient career in profound solitude. Which is to say, tonight I depart for the metropolis to the east — our own Los Angeles, the city of angels. I entrust you to the benign generosity of your brother, Frank Scarpi, who is, as the phrase has it, a good family man (sic!). I am penniless but I urge you in no uncertain terms to cease your cerebral anxiety about my destiny, for truly it lies in the palm of the immortal gods. I have made the lamentable discovery over a period of years that living with you and Mona is deleterious to the high and magnanimous purpose of Art, and I repeat to you in no uncertain terms that I am an artist, a creator beyond question. And, per se, the fumbling fulminations of cerebration and intellect find little fruition in the debauched, distorted hegemony that we poor mortals, for lack of a better and more concise terminology, call home. In no uncertain terms I give you my love and blessing, and I swear to my sincerity, when I say in no uncertain terms that I not only forgive you for what has ruefully transpired this night, but for all other nights. Ergo, I assume in no uncertain terms that you will reciprocate in kindred fashion. May I say in conclusion that I have much to thank you for, O woman who breathed the breath of life into my brain of destiny? Aye, it is, it is. Signed. Arturo Gabriel Bandini. Suitcase in hand, I walked down to the depot. There was a ten-minute wait for the midnight train for Los Angeles. I sat down and began to think about the new novel.

Of all the intimate blessings and favours He has bestowed upon you nothing can match the Qur’ān. If every hair on your body becomes a tongue praising and thanking Him, if every drop of blood in your body turns into a joyful tear, even then your praise and thanks will not match His enormous generosity that is the Qur’ān.

Give more, don't expect not to be repaid. Give more thanks for what you haven’t expected but received!

If you have power, be just; wealth, be generous; knowledge, be wise; titles, be humble; and life, be grateful.

It is easy to love and sing one’s love. That is something I am extremely good at doing. Indeed, that is my art. But to be loved, that is true greatness. Being loved, letting oneself be loved, entering the magic and dreadful circle of generosity, receiving gifts, finding the right thank-you’s, that is love’s real work.

I am thankful to have a heart filled with laughter, satisfaction, warmth and complete happiness. I show appreciation daily and focus on generosity, abundance, cheerfulness and contentment.

The charm of a city, now we come to it, is not unlike the charm of flowers. It partly depends on seeing time creep across it. Charm needs to be fleeting. Nothing could be less palatable than a museum-city propped up by prosthetic devices of concrete. Paris is not in danger of becoming a museum-city, thanks to the restlessness and greed of promoters. Yet their frenzy to demolish everything is less objectionable than their clumsy determination to raise housing projects that cannot function without the constant presence of an armed police force… All these banks, all these glass buildings, all these mirrored facades are the mark of a reflected image. You can no longer see what’s happening inside, you become afraid of the shadows. The city becomes abstract, reflecting only itself. People almost seem out of place in this landscape. Before the war, there were nooks and crannies everywhere. Now people are trying to eliminate shadows, straighten streets. You can’t even put up a shed without the personal authorization of the minister of culture. When I was growing up, my grandpa built a small house. Next door the youth club had some sheds, down the street the local painter stored his equipment under some stretched-out tarpaulin. Everybody added on. It was telescopic. A game. Life wasn’t so expensive — ordinary people would live and work in Paris. You’d see masons in blue overalls, painters in white ones, carpenters in corduroys. Nowadays, just look at Faubourg Sainte-Antoine — traditional craftsmen are being pushed out by advertising agencies and design galleries. Land is so expensive that only huge companies can build, and they have to build ‘huge’ in order to make it profitable. Cubes, squares, rectangles. Everything straight, everything even. Clutter has been outlawed. But a little disorder is a good thing. That’s where poetry lurks. We never needed promoters to provide us, in their generosity, with ‘leisure spaces.’ We invented our own. Today there’s no question of putting your own space together, the planning commission will shut it down. Spontaneity has been outlawed. People are afraid of life.

Some Things, Say the Wise Ones Some things, say the wise ones who know everything, are not living. I say, you live your life your way and leave me alone. I have talked with the faint clouds in the sky when they are afraid of being left behind; I have said, Hurry, hurry! and they have said: thank you, we are hurrying. About cows, and starfish, and roses, there is no argument. They die, after all. But water is a question, so many living things in it, but what is it, itself, living or not? Oh, gleaming generosity, how can they write you out? As I think this I am sitting on the sand beside the harbor. I am holding in my hand small pieces of granite, pyrite, schist. Each one, just now, so thoroughly asleep.

I am a Roman,' he said to the king; 'my name is Gaius Mucius. I came here to kill you - my enemy. I have as much courage to die as to kill. It is our Roman way to do and to suffer bravely. Nor am I alone in my resolve against your life; behind me is a long line of men eager for the same honor. Brace yourself, if you will, for the struggle - a struggle for your life from hour to hour, with an armed enemy always at your door. That is the war we declare against you: you need fear no action in the battlefield, army against army; it will be fought against you alone, by one of us at a time.' Porsena in rage and alarm ordered the prisoner to be burnt alive unless he at once divulged the plot thus obscurely hinted at, whereupon Mucius, crying: 'See how cheap men hold their bodies when they care only for honor!' thrust his right hand into the fire which had been kindled for a sacrifice, and let it burn there as if he were unconscious of the pain. Porsena was so astonished by the young man's almost superhuman endurance that he leapt to his feet and ordered his guards to drag him from the altar. 'Go free,' he said; 'you have dared to be a worse enemy to yourself than to me. I should bless your courage, if it lay with my country to dispose of it. But, as that cannot be, I, as an honorable enemy, grant you pardon, life, and liberty.' 'Since you respect courage,' Mucius replied, as if he were thanking him for his generosity, 'I will tell you in gratitude what you could not force from me by threats. There are three hundred of us in Rome, all young like myself, and all of noble blood, who have sworn an attempt upon your life in this fashion. It was I who drew the first lot; the rest will follow, each in his turn and time, until fortune favor us and we have got you.' The release of Mucius (who was afterwards known as Scaevola, or the Left-Handed Man, from the loss of his right hand) was quickly followed by the arrival in Rome of envoys from Porsena. The first attempt upon his life, foiled only by a lucky mistake, and the prospect of having to face the same thing again from every one of the remaining conspirators, had so shaken the king that he was coming forward with proposals for peace.

Still, self-giving is not always so simple in practice. People sometimes give generously of themselves, without experiencing the happiness promised by the Gospel. Instead they encounter sorrow, fatigue, and frustration. Their own needs are forgotten; they themselves are ignored. We have all heard a generous person explode with anger and exclaim. “I’m fed up with waiting on everyone else, with having to do all the dirty work, with being taken for granted and never so much as hearing ‘thank you’!” Self-giving can end like that when it is not freely chosen or when it is chosen out of some motive other than disinterested love—fear of saying no and not being accepted, emotional dependence, a perfectionist streak rooted in pride, a sense of indebtedness, the notion that to save others we need to please them, or else the desire to teach others a lesson by shaming them. There is even such a thing as calculated generosity that resembles a kind of unconscious bargaining: I will give myself to you, provided you give me the emotional gratification or the ego boost that I crave. It is important to examine our motives and rid ourselves of such imperfect ones, so that our self-giving can become truly free and disinterested.

Before I could thank her, Seneira stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Remember this one thing always, Kellen: you have friends, and our love for you far outstrips the malice of your enemies.’ For the life of me I couldn’t think of a reply to the startling depth of her generosity. My rhetorical skills lean towards sarcastic quips, and for once I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. She kissed me on the other cheek before she turned and walked back up the road, leaving me standing there contemplating the dreams of a hundred futures I would never see, feeling nonetheless grateful for all of them.

For once in her life, the thought of being on the back of a magnificent horse did not command Rycca's attention. She was far too busy looking at her magnicifent husband as he removed his sword belt and blithely shucked off his trousers. Naked, he walked straight into the pool, submerged completely, and came up a few minutes later, tossing streams of water from the thick mane of his hair. "Hand me the soap,would you?" Such a simple task, yet to fulfill it he would have to come closer.Or she would. "That's a lovely gown," he said, smiling. "All my gowns are lovely thanks to the Lady Krysta and your own generosity." "It would be a shame to get it wet." She looked at him in alarm, wondering if he would actually do such a thing. His answer was a look of pure innocence, which immediately confirmed her suspicions. "Do you have any idea how any women must have labored so long to make this gown?" "No,do you?" "Well,no,not actually because I never had a gown like this before, but even so, surely you wouldn't do anything to damage it?" "Just to be safe,why don't you take it off?" Oh,yes,that would certainly be safe. Indeed,never was she any safer than when was she naked and in his arms. Except, of course, from the danger of her own emotions. "I bathed when I awoke." "The day is warm." "The pool looks deep.Recall, I cannot swim." "Recall I mean to teach you.

What is the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?” Dragging his gaze from the beauty of the gardens, Ian looked down at the beauty beside him. “Any place,” he said huskily, “were you are.” He saw the becoming flush of embarrassed pleasure that pinkened her cheeks, but when she spoke her voice was rueful. “You don’t have to say such things to me, you know-I’ll keep our bargain.” “I know you will,” he said, trying not to overwhelm her with avowals of love she wouldn’t yet believe. With a grin he added, “Besides, as it turned out after our bargaining session, I’m the one who’s governed by all the conditions, not you.” Her sideways glance was filled with laughter. “You were much too lenient at times, you know. Toward the end I was asking for concessions just to see how far you’d go.” Ian, who had been multiplying his fortune for the last four years by buying shipping and import-export companies, as well as sundry others, was regarded as an extremely tough negotiator. He heard her announcement with a smile of genuine surprise. “You gave me the impression that every single concession was of paramount importance to you, and that if I didn’t agree, you might call the whole thing off.” She nodded with satisfaction. “I rather thought that was how I ought to do it. Why are you laughing?” “Because,” he admitted, chuckling, “obviously I was not in my best form yesterday. In addition to completely misreading your feelings, I managed to buy a house on Promenade Street for which I will undoubtedly pay five times its worth.” “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, and, as if she was embarrassed and needed a way to avoid meeting his gaze, she reached up and pulled a leaf off an overhanging branch. In a voice of careful nonchalance, she explained, “In matters of bargaining, I believe in being reasonable, but my uncle would assuredly have tried to cheat you. He’s perfectly dreadful about money.” Ian nodded, remembering the fortune Julius Cameron had gouged out of him in order to sign the betrothal agreement. “And so,” she admitted, uneasily studying the azure-blue sky with feigned absorption, “I sent him a note after you left itemizing all the repairs that were needed at the house. I told him it was in poor condition and absolutely in need of complete redecoration.” “And?” “And I told him you would consider paying a fair price for the house, but not one shilling more, because it needed all that.” “And?” Ian prodded. “He has agreed to sell it for that figure.” Ian’s mirth exploded in shouts of laughter. Snatching her into his arms, he waited until he could finally catch his breath, then he tipped her face up to his. “Elizabeth,” he said tenderly, “if you change your mind about marrying me, promise me you’ll never represent the opposition at the bargaining table. I swear to God, I’d be lost.” The temptation to kiss her was almost overwhelming, but the Townsende coach with its ducal crest was in the drive, and he had no idea where their chaperones might be. Elizabeth noticed the coach, too, and started toward the house. "About the gowns," she said, stopping suddenly and looking up at him with an intensely earnest expression on her beautiful face. "I meant to thank you for your generosity as soon as you arrived, but I was so happy to-that is-" She realized she'd been about to blurt out that she was happy to see him, and she was so flustered by having admitted aloud what she hadn't admitted to herself that she completely lost her thought. "Go on," Ian invited in a husky voice. "You were so happy to see me that you-" "I forgot," she admitted lamely.

Sir," the monk addressed him, "I am thankful for what you are doing for me; but alas! it is of small moment to you whether I am grateful or no. May God account your act meritorious! That is of infinite concern for you. But God pays no heed to what is not done for his glory and is merely the outcome of purely natural virtue. Wherefore I beseech you, sir, to do for Him what you were led to do for me." "Father," answered Brotteaux, "never trouble yourself on this head and do not think of gratitude. What I am doing now, the merit of which you exaggerate,—is not done for any love of you; for indeed, albeit you are a lovable man, Father, I know you too little to love you. Nor yet do I act so for love of humanity; for I am not so simple as to think with 'Don Juan' that humanity has rights; indeed this prejudice, in a mind so emancipated as his, grieves me. I do it out of that selfishness which inspires mankind to perform all their deeds of generosity and self-sacrifice, by making them recognize themselves in all who are unfortunate, by disposing them to commiserate their own calamities in the calamities of others and by inciting them to offer help to a mortal resembling themselves in nature and destiny, so that they think they are succouring themselves in succouring him. I do it also for lack of anything better to do; for life is so desperately insipid we must find distraction at any cost, and benevolence is an amusement, of a mawkish sort, one indulges in for want of any more savoury; I do it out of pride and to get an advantage over you; I do it, in a word, as part of a system and to show you what an atheist is capable of.

Mum was always so generous to Lara and me growing up, and it helped me develop a very healthy attitude to money. You could never accuse my mum of being tight: she was free, fun, mad, and endlessly giving everything away--always. Sometimes that last part became a bit annoying (such as if it was some belonging of ours that Mum had decided someone else would benefit more from), but more often than not we were on the receiving end of her generosity, and that was a great spirit to grow up around. Mum’s generosity ensured that as adults we never became too attached to, or attracted by money. I learned from her that before you can get, you have to give, and that money is like a river--if you try to block it up and dam it (that is, cling to it), then, like a damned river, the water will go stagnant and stale, and your life will fester. If you keep the stream moving and keep giving stuff and money away, wherever you can, then the river and the rewards will keep flowing in. I love the quote she once gave me: “When supply seems to have dried up, look around you quickly for something to give away.” It is a law of the universe: to get good things you must first give away good things. (And of course this applies to love and friendship, as well.) Mum was also very tolerant of my unusual aspirations. When I found a ninjutsu school through a magazine, I was determined to go and seek it out and train there. The problem was that it was at the far end of the island in some pretty rough council estate hall. This was before the moped, so poor Mum drove me every week…and would wait for me. I probably never even really thanked her. So, thank you, Mum…for all those times and so much more. By the way, the ninjutsu has come in real handy at times.

You eat one meal a day, only what is given. Through these practices of surrender there grows a ripening of trust as the heart learns to face the mystery of life with patience, faith, and compassion. Monks must go out each morning with a bowl for alms rounds. This is not like street-corner begging. For me, it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Just as the sun rises, you walk across the green rice paddies to small villages with packed earthen lanes. Those who wish to offer alms wait for the monks to come and bow before they offer their food. Even the poorest villages will offer part of their food to make merit and as if to say, “Even though we are poor, we so value what you represent that we give of what little we have so that your spirit may be here in our village, in our community, and in our society.” Alms rounds are done completely in silence. When you receive the food, you can’t say, “Thank you; I appreciate the mango you gave me,” or “Thanks for the fish this morning; it looks really good.” The only response you can make is the sincerity of your heart. After you receive this food, you take it back to support and inspire your practice. When the villagers value the monk’s life and give of the little they have, you must take that. The extraordinary generosity of the village brings a powerful motivation in a monastery. The rules about alms food govern monastic life. Monks are not allowed to keep food overnight or eat anything that’s not put into their hands each morning by a layperson. This means that monks can’t live as hermits up in the mountains far from the world. They must live where people can feed them. This immediately establishes a powerful relationship. You must do something of enough value that they want to feed you. Your presence, your meditation, your dignity, has to be vivid enough so that when you bring your bowl, people want to offer food because that’s the only way you can eat! This creates an ongoing dynamic of offering that goes both ways, from those who are in the process of being initiated in the monastery, and those of the community whom it benefits.

let my thoughts be bestowed on her who has shown so much devotion for me. Madame de Belliere ought to be there by this time," he said, as he turned towards the secret door. After he had locked himself in, he opened the subterranean passage, and rapidly hastened towards the means of communicating between the house at Vincennes and his own residence. He had neglected to apprise his friend of his approach, by ringing the bell, perfectly assured that she would never fail to be exact at the rendezvous; as, indeed, was the case, for she was already waiting. The noise the superintendent made aroused her; she ran to take from under the door the letter he had thrust there, and which simply said, "Come, marquise; we are waiting supper for you." With her heart filled with happiness Madame de Belliere ran to her carriage in the Avenue de Vincennes, and in a few minutes she was holding out her hand to Gourville, who was standing at the entrance, where, in order the better to please his master, he had stationed himself to watch her arrival. She had not observed that Fouquet's black horse arrived at the same time, all steaming and foam-flaked, having returned to Saint-Mande with Pelisson and the very jeweler to whom Madame de Belliere had sold her plate and her jewels. Pelisson introduced the goldsmith into the cabinet, which Fouquet had not yet left. The superintendent thanked him for having been good enough to regard as a simple deposit in his hands, the valuable property which he had every right to sell; and he cast his eyes on the total of the account, which amounted to thirteen hundred thousand francs. Then, going for a few moments to his desk, he wrote an order for fourteen hundred thousand francs, payable at sight, at his treasury, before twelve o'clock the next day. "A hundred thousand francs profit!" cried the goldsmith. "Oh, monseigneur, what generosity!" "Nay, nay, not so, monsieur," said Fouquet, touching him on the shoulder; "there are certain kindnesses which can never be repaid. This profit is only what you have earned; but the interest of your money still remains to be arranged." And, saying this, he unfastened from his sleeve a diamond button, which the goldsmith himself had often valued at three thousand pistoles.

Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God. . . . Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift! (2 Cor. 9:10–11, 15 NIV)

I’m okay now.” My voice cracks a little. “You can let me go.” “But what if you fall again? You were all over the place you know, so it was only a matter of time.” “Oh really? Well, I’m sure I can manage just fine. But thank you so much for the unselfish generosity.” He maintains his hold. “How about a compromise instead?” Oh, this should be good. “Dare I ask?” His cheek grazes mine, the feel of his clean shave makes me tingle. But then he stands, his arms falling from around me as he moves to stand at my side. What on earth is he up to? Hunter lifts his right arm in the air, elbow out, then gestures for me to join him. Okay, now that’s cute. And totally doable. I meet his eyes and can’t help but smile. “That’s fair. Compromise accepted.” I happily hook my left arm through his as we start walking again.  And oddly enough, I no longer feel awkward. Perhaps Dhelia’s strategically placed driftwood was a blessing in disguise after all.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! —2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV) It’s amazing what a few gallons of butter-yellow paint can do for your soul. As I stepped out of a difficult year that included financial hardship and a painful divorce, I wanted my home to reflect not only my survival, but also my hope and renewed joy. I got rid of every painting and hung up blank white canvases waiting for colors and inspiration. Old photos were taken down and new ones were framed. My dingy linoleum floors were covered by bright laminate wood, and the dining room chairs were newly dressed in dark, childproof upholstery. As my home was undergoing its slow rebirth, I asked advice from carpenters who had come to my church on a missions trip from North Carolina. “I’m thinking of building a loft bed for my boys,” I said. I wanted them to have space for all their toys. “Is it safe to use my old bed frame to build it?” “Why don’t you wait till we get back to New York City next month?” they responded. I waited and painted my sons’ walls the color of sunny skies, and when the team finally returned they had a surprise waiting for me: the loft bed! I was overwhelmed by their generosity and love. As they installed the bed, I could feel God’s hand in it. He’d done so much to transform me on the inside and now He was helping me transform everything else. Lord, thank You for the gift of renewal. —Karen Valentin Digging Deeper: Rom 12:2; 1 Pt 1:13

Praying Ephesians Chapter 1: "All blessings, praise and laudation, be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; who has blessed me with every spiritual blessing, in the heavenly realm. Thank you Father, for choosing me in Christ before the foundation of the world, to be holy, consecrated, and set a part for You, and blameless in Your sight. I thank you Father, that You have planned in love for me, to be adopted as Your own child through Jesus Christ, in accordance with the purpose of Your will; so that I might be to the praise and commendation of Your glorious grace. Lord, in You I have redemption through Your blood, the forgiveness of offences, in accordance with the riches and the generosity of Your gracious favor. In You Lord, I was made God's heritage, and I have obtained an inheritance. Father I have been destined and appointed to live for the praise of Your glory".........................

I’ve got a shift ye can use that I can trim the hem from, but we’ll have to wait on the men for a proper dress. Now, how shall we do your hair? Up, I think. With a crown of heather. Aye. Darcy likes heather.” With Fran on a mission, Melanie had no choice but to follow her and weather the bustling wind of her energy. She dressed Melanie in a long cotton slip and began twisting and piling her hair into a graceful up-do. Laird Steafan might not be known for his hospitality, but Melanie could find nothing to complain about when it came to the generosity of his cottars. In fact, Fran seemed positively delighted to have Melanie disturbing what would likely otherwise be a peaceful night with her husband and baby. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said to Fran, meeting her eyes in the small bronze mirror on the chest of drawers. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” “Nonsense,” Fran said, her smile dimpling her cheeks. “It’s not hospitality. We’re practically family.

I also received a note from the Unknown, the first in two days. I pounced on it eagerly, for receiving his letters had come to be the most important part of my day. Instead of the long letter I had come to anticipate, it was short. I thank you for the fine ring. It was thoughtfully chosen and I appreciate the generous gesture, for I have to admit I would rather impute generosity than mere caprice behind the giving of a gift that cannot be worn. Or is this a sign that you wish, after all, to alter the circumscriptions governing our correspondence? I thought--to make myself clear--that you preferred your admirer to remain secret. I am not convinced you really wish to relinquish this game and risk the involvement inherent in a contact face-to-face. I dropped the note on my desk, feeling as if I’d reached for a blossom and had been stung by an unseen nettle. My first reaction was to sling back an angry retort that if gifts were to inspire such an ungallant response, then he could just return it. Except it was I who had inveighed, and at great length, against mere gallantry. In a sense he’d done me the honor of telling the truth-- And it was then that I had the shiversome insight that is probably obvious by now to any of my progeny reading this record: that our correspondence had metamorphosed into a kind of courtship. A courtship. As I thought back, I realized that it was our discussion of this very subject that had changed the tenor of the letters from my asking advice of an invisible mentor to a kind of long-distance friendship. The other signs were all there--the gifts, the flowers. Everything but physical proximity. And it wasn’t the unknown gentleman who could not court me in person--it was I who couldn’t be courted in person, and he knew it. So in the end I sent back only two lines: You have given me much to think about. Will you wear the ring, then, if I ask you to? I received no answer that day, or even that night. And so I sat through the beautiful concert of blended children’s voices and tried not to stare at Elenet’s profile next to the Marquis of Shevraeth, while feeling a profound sense of unhappiness, which I attributed to the silence from my Unknown. The next morning brought no note, but a single white rose.

Thank you, Joe Dobbs ga Badass ga Male Model ga Chiseled Pecs. I owe you everything for your generosity

O most sensitive heart of St. Joseph, who, resembling the tender heart of Mary, felt the sorrows of the Most Holy Mother, tell me, what did you feel, hearing the terrible prophecy of Simeon? Yet with what generosity, with what silence and unalterable resignation did you accept from the hands of God even the sword of sorrow for our good! How can I show you my thanks? O my sweetest saint, I want to imitate your generosity, and to any painful news I will say with you: God’s will be done.7 — Blessed Bartolo Longo

Thank you, women who are wives! You irrevocably join your future to that of your husbands, in a relationship of mutual giving, at the service of love and life. Thank you, women who are daughters and women who are sisters! Into the heart of a family, and then of all society, you bring the richness of your insensitivity, your intuitiveness, your generosity and fidelity. Thank you, women who work! You are present and active in every area of life - social, economic, cultural, artistic and political. In this way you make an indispensable contribution to the growth of a culture which unites reason and feeling, to a model of life ever open to the sense of 'mystery,' to the establishment of economic and political structures ever more worthy of humanity. Thank you, consecrated women! Following the example of the greatest of women, the Mother of Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word, you open yourselves with obedience and fidelity to the gift of God's love. You help the Church and all mankind to experience a 'spousal' relationship to God, one which magnificently expresses the fellowship which God wishes to establish with his creatures. Thank you, every woman, for the simple fact of being a woman! Through the insight which is so much a part of your womanhood you enrich the world's understanding and help to make human relation more honest and authentic.

If you’re on the receiving end of the benefits, try for small but frequent displays of gratitude, no matter how token or inadequate they might seem. (Ironically, one of the most frequent reasons that people fail to adequately thank someone for over-the-top generosity is that it feels inadequate “just” to send a card, make dinner, or deliver a bouquet. How sad to fall into this trap, since doing nothing is obviously the most inadequate thing of all!)

Embarrassed by her generosity, I sent a quick thank-you in response and resolved to return the favor sometime. If I owed her, maybe I wouldn't have to let her in. I was in possession of my friend's gift long before I received it, on a gray day when its stubborn, irresponsible beauty could not be ignored. Until then, I didn't want to admit how badly I needed her kindness, how helpless I was at sorting all this out on my own. She knew God would unclench my fists and unfurl my fingers and that grace would eventually get through. When I finally opened my hands, when I received grace the way I receive communion, with nothing to offer back but thanks.

Deep thanks to Susan Robertson for her understanding of the effects of trauma on the mind and heart, and for helping me translate the language of dreams. I am grateful to Saffron Burrows for sharing her experience and compassion as someone who has long campaigned for the rights and equality of disabled persons. Thank you also to Alison Balian for the wonderful conversations we had during the time I was writing this novel. My gratitude to Richard Rieser and Susie Burrows for working toward inclusion and against the bullying of disabled children and people of all ages. Richard’s generosity in talking to me about his own experiences helped me imagine a child’s long hospital stay and understand more about the challenges of moving forward. My mother had a brain tumor, and during her long illness I learned a lot about loving someone with a brain injury. The grace and humor she showed through her suffering has always inspired me. She was an artist, and she never gave up looking for beauty and meaning.

The living room had some glare, but not nearly as bad as in the other room. Reese and James both asked if they could turn the basement into a playroom instead of using the room upstairs again. Hudson agreed that it would be a better use of the large space, too. Given everything her children had gone through, Bethany agreed to transform the rooms. When they were ready to go, Bethany felt it was necessary to stop and thank Peter again. While things still didn’t make complete sense to her, she was beyond thankful for his generosity. She stopped to see Carol to give her the unused ingredients from the cottage. They were thrilled to take the leftover ingredients since they lived at the shore year-round. When it was time to say goodbye, Bethany and Carol hugged as tears started to form in both of their eyes. They got into the car, shut the doors, and started the car. “Are you ready for the new school year?” She looked behind her as she reversed out of the driveway. It would be late when they arrived home, but they still had a few days before school started. “I suppose so,” Hudson frowned. “What are we going to do without Dad? Who will come in for Careers with Dad day?” Bethany sunk into her seat as she turned the air conditioner on; it was hot today. “Sweetie, we can worry about that when the day comes. We will figure it out, I promise.” “You’re the best, mom,” Hudson

Dear Charles, she wrote. After writing to express my appreciation for all the generosity of our friends, I would be remiss indeed if I did not include a missive to you. Out of all the new blessings in my new life, the one I thank God for the most is you. I thank you for writing to me through Genteel Correspondence, and for choosing me out of all the other women eager for adventure in the wild west. I thank you for your kindness, and your gentleness toward me. Only very strong men can be gentle. I thank you for sharing your home and your life with me. I thank you for inventing delicious breakfasts. And chicory flavored coffee. And prayers that ease my mind and inspire my spirit and lift my heart. For your smile and the way you hold your hat in your hands. For the things you say and how you say them. Did you know that I pray for you each day? I do. I pray for your safety and happiness. Yours in Christ, Rose

Catherine Avril Morris: Thank you for sharing your life and your beautiful baby boy, August John, with me. His life was short but his impact on mine is everlasting. Lady, you amaze me with your strength and generosity of spirit.

I found it, miss," Meggie exclaimed breathlessly, extending the coin in her hand. It was possible that she had never held a sovereign before, since the average housemaid earned approximately eight shillings a month. "Where shall I put it?" "You may divide it between the two of you," Annabelle said. The housemaids stared at her, dumbfounded. "Oh, thank you, miss!" they both exclaimed, eyes wide and mouths open in amazement.

Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist at the NYU Stern School of Business, made the case for why in an essay in The American Interest on July 10, 2016, entitled “When and Why Nationalism Beats Globalism.” “Having a shared sense of identity, norms, and history generally promotes trust … Societies with high trust, or high social capital, produce many beneficial outcomes for their citizens: lower crime rates, lower transaction costs for businesses, higher levels of prosperity, and a propensity toward generosity, among others … The trick … is figuring out how to balance reasonable concerns about the integrity of one’s own community with the obligation to welcome strangers, particularly strangers in dire need.” Minnesota

Sometimes - oh, just once in a blue moon-I resist being receptive to God's generosity, because I'm busy with a project and trying to manipulate Him or Her into helping me with it, or with getting my toys fixed or any major discomfort to pass. But God is not a banker or a bean counter. God gives us even more, which is so subversive. God just gives, to us, to you and me. I mean, look at us! Yikes. God keeps giving, forgiving, and inviting us back.

I’m going to conveniently forget that and pretend a super-rich guy I actually respect is responsible. So, thank you for your generosity Scrooge McDuck.)

Thank you to Maangchi for sharing your wealth of knowledge with the world. You are a light that has guided so many in search of connection and meaning. I’m grateful for your warmth and generosity.

The spirit of gratitude says thank you. Thank You for giving me the money to take care of my family and put food on the table. Thank You for the ability to buy a decent car and take my wife on a great vacation. Thank You for providing for my needs today and my retirement tomorrow. Thank You for Your principles on how to handle money because using them has allowed me to change my family tree and leave a legacy that will outlive me. At its core, the spirit of gratitude says, God, I’m going to manage this wealth and this stuff Your way—because it’s Yours. Thank You for trusting me to manage it for You.

Mary smiled and nodded. “I will see you out when you leave,” she said as she turned and walked out the door. When he was finished, Rodrigo got up and walked into the sanctuary, where Mary was waiting for him with the bundle of food. “Thank you, Sister,” said Rodrigo as he took the bundle from her. “Before I go, I would like to give something to this monastery to show my appreciation for the kindness and generosity that it has shown me and all who enter this place.” He reached into a small pouch on his belt and withdrew the stone cup. Mary took the polished stone cup from Rodrigo and turned it over in her hands. She smiled broadly at the gesture, and her eyes gleamed with delight as she admired the cup. “It is beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Thank you, and this is exactly what we need. The cup we used for the sacrament broke not long ago, so we have been using an old wooden one. This cup will be perfect! Where did it come from?” she asked, still staring at it. “It came from Jerusalem,” Rodrigo answered. “Jerusalem?” she asked with wide eyes. “Well, perhaps this is the very cup that Christ used during the Last Supper,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps it is,” said Rodrigo, returning her smile as he walked to the door of the monastery. “God be with you,” he said. Then, turning, he walked through the door and exited the monastery. “God be with you as well on your journey home!” she called out as she watched him from the doorway. Rodrigo mounted his horse and filled his lungs with the crisp mountain air. He took one final glance back at Mary standing at the front of the monastery, then spurred his horse down the pathway as he headed home.

I’ll do it.” “Why, thank you kindly,” Jony drawled, sarcasm dripping from her like venom. “We’ll make sure everyone in town hears about your great generosity.” “That won’t be necessary.” “No shit,” Jony muttered, before looking out across the scene along with me.

To Nikesh Shukla, the man who always has time for everyone, thank you for your mentorship and generosity over the years and for somehow finding the time and energy to be the biggest supporter and advocate of everyone.

Imagine that you have a magical kitchen in your home. In that magical kitchen, you can have any food you want from any place in the world in any quantity. You never worry about what to eat; whatever you wish for, you can have at your table. You are very generous with your food; you give your food unconditionally to others, not because you want something in return from them. Then one day someone knocks at your door, and it’s a person with a pizza. You open the door, and the person looks at you and says, “Hey, do you see this pizza? I’ll give you this pizza if you let me control your life, if you just do whatever I want you to do. You are never going to starve because I can bring pizza every day. You just have to be good to me.” Can you imagine your reaction? In your kitchen, you can have the same pizza — even better. Yet this person comes to you and offers you food if you just do whatever he wants you to do. You are going to laugh and say, “No, thank you! I don’t need your food; I have plenty of food. You can come into my house and eat whatever you want, and you don’t have to do anything. Don’t believe I’m going to do whatever you want me to do. No one will manipulate me with food.” Now imagine exactly the opposite. Several weeks have gone by, and you haven’t eaten. You are starving, and you have no money in your pocket to buy food. The person comes with the pizza and says, “Hey, there’s food here. You can have this food if you just do what I want you to do.” You can smell the food, and you are starving. You decide to accept the food and do whatever that person asks of you. You eat some food, and he says, “If you want more, you can have more, but you have to keep doing what I want you to do.” You have food today, but tomorrow you may not have food, so you agree to do whatever you can for food. You can become a slave because of food, because you need food, because you don’t have it. Then after a certain time you have doubts. You say, “What am I going to do without my pizza? I cannot live without my pizza. What if my partner decides to give the pizza to someone else — my pizza?” Your heart is like that magical kitchen. If you open your heart, you already have all the love you need. There’s no need to go around the world begging for love: “Please, someone love me. I’m so lonely, I’m not good enough for love; I need someone to love me, to prove that I’m worthy of love.” We have love right here inside us, but we don’t see this love. What makes you happy is love coming out of you. And if you are generous with your love, everyone is going to love you. You are never going to be alone if you are generous. If you are selfish, you are always going to be alone, and there is no one to blame but you. Your generosity will open all the doors, not your selfishness. Selfishness comes from poverty in the heart, from the belief that love is not abundant. We become selfish when we believe that maybe tomorrow we won’t have any pizza. But when we know that our heart is a magical kitchen, we are always generous, and our love is completely unconditional.

We gotta check our motives when all we do is give without knowing how to receive. How can we allow people to fully show us love if we don’t allow them to be generous to us? We love the feeling that we get when we’re like, “Hey, I just did this thing for somebody.” So then why don’t we allow others to get the same feeling when they give something to us, whether it’s a compliment, a gift, or their time? When you are only handing out without receiving, you might be unknowingly leading with your ego. Maybe deep down, you love being thanked. Maybe subconsciously, it feeds your ego to always be Captain Here You Go. We love how good it feels to give. Generosity also helps us hide our vulnerability. Always handing out help but never asking for it is ensuring we aren’t seen as weak.

I hope my books will encourage you to count your blessings and let people in your life know how much their thoughtfulness and generosity have meant to you. Start today by putting your gratitude and thankfulness into action – send a thank-you note to someone who’s made a difference. We do have the power to make our world a better place. A million thanks!

And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful.” –Colossians 3:15 When we have an attitude of gratitude, we soon discover that we attract greater good in our lives. Be grateful for all of the good that the Lord has granted you, and you will soon reap even greater blessings. As you read this article, be grateful for the gift of sight and the opportunity you had to learn to read and learn. Giving thanks to God for all of the many daily blessings in your life – shelter, food, your senses, friends and family – opens your heart to all the good you have and enables you to appreciate and share your blessings. Sharing those blessings and being grateful for them brings you closer to God. “Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and power and the glory and majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours… In your hands are strength and power To exalt and give strength to all. Now, our God, we give you thanks, And praise your glorious name.” –1 Chronicles 29:11-13 So as you move through your days and weeks, keep your eyes on the goodness of God and recognize that He has, in His generosity and love, given you far more than anyone else can ever give you. Find the blessings in every situation and you will develop an attitude of gratitude for the many physical, material, emotional and spiritual blessings that have been given by God, the source of all good in our lives. Each day, show your gratitude to God and thank Him with all your heart. “And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” –Colossians 3:17

Because you loved my father, this is harder for you to grasp,” Joppan says. “You see yourselves as being kind and generous to him. The ‘kind’ slave owners in India, or anywhere, were always the ones who had the greatest difficulty seeing the injustice of slavery. Their kindness, their generosity compared to cruel slave owners, made them blind to the unfairness of a system of slavery that they created, they maintained, and that favored them. It’s like the British bragging about the railways, the colleges, the hospitals they left us—their ‘kindness’! As though that justified robbing us of the right to self-rule for two centuries! As though we should thank them for what they stole!

Blessing of The Land (at Planting or Harvest) God of the Universe, You made the heavens and the earth, So we do not call our home merely “planet earth.” We call it your Creation, a Divine Mystery, a Gift from Your Most Blessed Hand. The world itself is your miracle. Bread and vegetables from earth are thus also from heaven. Help us to see in our daily bread your presence. Upon this garden May your stars rain down their blessed dust. May you send rain and sunshine upon our garden and us. Grant us the humility to touch the humus, That we might become more human. That we might mend our rift from your Creation, That we might then know the sacredness of the gift of life— That we might truly experience life from the hand of God. For you planted humanity in a garden, and began our resurrection in a garden. Our blessed memory and hope lie in a garden. Thanks be to God, Who made the world teeming with variety, Of things on the earth, above, the earth, and under the earth. Thanks be to God, For the many kinds of plants, trees, and fruits, We celebrate. For the centipedes, ants, and worms, For the mice, marmots, and bats, For the cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers We rejoice, That we find ourselves eclipsed by the magnitude Of generosity and mystery. Thanks be to God.

When you take all causes into account, more than 170,000 people die every single day. The plane crash counts for one-seventeenth of one percent of that. Perhaps you’ll tell me that deaths from bad health or natural causes aren’t so interesting. Maybe. But for almost every single one of those 170,000 deaths, somewhere a family grieved. If you’re a mother, would it hurt you more to lose a child in a plane crash or from a common disease? It’s about the same, don’t you think? The real headlines should be about the amazing efforts out there seeking to reduce that human suffering. To take just one example: In 1990, despite decades of development aid and medical progress, more than 35,000 children died every day. Now, thanks to the heroic efforts of those who have devoted their lives to tackling malnutrition and preventable childhood diseases, that number is less than 14,000.