Instructor Inspirational Quotes

And then he tells her stories. Myths he learned from his instructor. Fantasies he created himself, inspired by bits and pieces of others read in archaic books with crackling spines.

You’re their CO. You have to inspire and command their respect. I’m their drill instructor. I get to be their worst nightmare.

Solitude, the safeguard of mediocrity, is to genius the stern friend, the cold, obscure shelter where moult the wings which will bear it farther than suns and stars. He who should inspire and lead his race must be defended from travelling with the souls of other men, from living, breathing, reading, and writing in the daily, time-worn yoke of their opinions. "In the morning, — solitude;" said Pythagoras; that Nature may speak to the imagination, as she does never in company, and that her favorite may make acquaintance with those divine strengths which disclose themselves to serious and abstracted thought. 'Tis very certain that Plato, Plotinus, Archimedes, Hermes, Newton, Milton, Wordsworth, did not live in a crowd, but descended into it from time to time as benefactors: and the wise instructor will press this point of securing to the young soul in the disposition of time and the arrangements of living, periods and habits of solitude.

If your golf instructor were to insist that you shave your head, sleep no more than four hours each night, renounce sex, and subsist on a diet of raw vegetables, you would find a new golf instructor. However, when gurus make demands of this kind, many of their students simply do as directed.

Good teachers are informers, Better teachers are instructors, Best teachers are inspirers.

An ambitious amateur will rise above a complacent master.

Instructors could teach the basic techniques and methods, but a mastery of mechanical knowledge could never make a person an artist. No one could teach creativity or invention. A spark needed to come from within. It must be something unique, something discovered by the individual, a leap of understanding, a burst of insight, the combining of common elements in an unexpected way.

It was not about physical strength, Wit reminded himself. It was 90 percent mental, 10 percent physical. That's what the SEAL instructors were looking for: men and women who could disregard the pleadings of the body. Pain was nothing, sleep was nothing. What was chaffed skin, wrecked muscles, bleeding sores? The body chooses to be sore. The body chooses to be exhausted. But the SEAL mind rejects it. The SEAL mind commands the body, not the other way around.

The words of his various writing instructors and professional mentors over the years came back to him at times like these, and he found a new understanding in their advice: Writing is rewriting. The rough draft is just that. You can’t polish what you haven’t written. Things that made for a normal life—like a daily routine that followed the sun—took a back seat to times like these, and he exulted in that change because it served as proof that his writing was indeed the most important thing in his life. It wasn’t a conscious choice on his part, like deciding to repaint the bathroom or go buy the groceries, but an overarching reallocation of his existence that was as undeniable as breathing. Day turned into night, breakfast turned into dinner, and the laptop or the writing tablet beckoned even when he was asleep. He would often awake with a new idea—as if he’d merely been on a break and not unconscious—and he would see the empty seat before the desk not as his station in some pointless assembly line, but as the pilot’s seat in a ship that could go anywhere.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a child in possession of a good instructor must be in want of an education. Alas, kids don’t care. It’s impossible to demand inspiration, passion, or self-discipline without affinity for learning. Let me rephrase that: you can’t coerce caring. Adults try! We use grades, little statues, and ice cream sundaes to prod kids into reading, diagramming sentences, and practicing piano. Meanwhile that same child will stand in the hot sun for five hours shooting free throws to break a personal record. No reward except satisfaction. How do we get more of that into traditional school subjects?

You really are sort of a basic person, aren’t you, except for that blue stratospheric veneer of crust you wrap yourself around. I was going to ask you, with your usual never-ending broadside complaints of lack and wearisome bushwa ‘nonsensical’ humdrum excuses, just exactly what kind of person are you? You must have had it easy growing up. Now, as per your habit, tonight when you hit the hay, percle on this: There are 7even basic types of people—: 1. People who make things happen. 2. People who talk about making things happen. 3. People who start to make things happen but never finish. 4. People who watch things happen. 5. People who wonder what just happened. 6. People who don’t have the faintest idea that anything happened. 7. People who need a stout “clue-by-four” of hickory smacked up alongside their head to make them happen. — As for an eighth— —Which one are you? Puzȥle it out. . . . -- Thomas Kannon, Instructor to Brickley. The Lady and the Samurai

What did Strauss mean by philosophy? Not what it was commonly understood to be. Philosophers were not to be found teaching in colleges and universities around the country because instructors in philosophy departments were no more likely to be true philosophers than instructors in art departments were to be true artists. Philosophy wasn’t an academic discipline or the stepping-stone to a career defined by the structures and customs of higher education. It was a personal commitment, a way of life, inspired by a sense of wonder, much like a religion though without the dogma. Philosophers were devoted to wisdom but didn’t propound doctrines or claim to have discovered the Truth. Their wisdom, like that of the prototype Socrates, consisted of an awareness that they knew nothing. Insofar as they could be said to possess knowledge, it was of the questions, not the answers, and philosophers ceased to be philosophers, Strauss said, when certainty replaced Socratic doubt. Monk-like, they pursued a contemplative life of reasoned discussion and disputation about that which they did not know, far from the meaningless bustle of the everyday world. Their advantage over the ignorant masses was their intellectual humility. All

By the end of the fight,” he was saying, “I saw enough to recognize she had some natural talent with the sword. It was the way she moved. It was raw and instinctual, but I saw promise. You must understand that most of the students who come to me are there mostly because it is part of their coursework, or a clan tradition to receive weapons training. They hone traditional skills it is unlikely they will ever use. Minstrel students are more musician than warrior, but weapons training is required for them. The Guardians believe they should be prepared for the world they wander in, and I quite agree. But it is rare to find a student with actual interest and talent.” Stevic stared out the window. The courtyard had fallen into shadow and silence, empty of students. Even the pigeons seemed to have fled the grounds, giving it a gloomy and abandoned feel. “I had hoped Karigan would find a talent for something, but I never expected the sword.” “Ah, but the sword is just a beginning. I had heard about her from other instructors. Complaints, mind you, except from her riding instructor, Master Deleon. Del said she excelled at riding. When I saw Karigan put Timas Mirwell on the ground, I thought maybe I could get her to work for something else and the sword would be just a beginning, that it would inspire her to seek out whatever it was she wanted to do with her life.” Stevic turned his gaze to the arms master. “I am fortunate my daughter had such an instructor.” Rendle grinned. “She was fortunate to have such a father.” Stevic raised a brow. “I once asked her what she wanted to do with her life,” Rendle said. “She told me, something adventurous. She wanted to be a merchant like her father. It is not many children who choose to follow their parents’ footsteps.” Stevic stilled, letting it sink in. Then he slowly shook his head and turned back to the window and the shadows. He felt buffeted by a variety of emotions: elation, fear, sadness, desperation. Where was she? “She never told me.” His voice was taut.

Joel did not doubt that Grace would follow him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth. But did he have the right to take her there? Did he have the right to deprive Edith Tomlinson of a niece or Virginia Gillette and Katie Kobayashi of a friend or future children of a chance to exist? Grace had been prepared, after all, to marry someone else. Perhaps that was her destiny. Joel considered her professional interests as well. Did he have the right to deny Grace the life she was meant to lead? Or deny countless students in the forties, fifties, and sixties an inspiring teacher? An instructor who might push their lives in important and even critical directions? He wondered if Grace had an Einstein or Edison or Salk in her future.

SIR HENRY IRVING The stage as an instructor. Inspiration in acting. Acting as an art: how Irving began. Feeling as a reality or a semblance. Gesture: listening as an art: team-play on the stage.

I’m sorry for sisters in France who have to deal with this. And I hope that you won’t compromise. I mean, anything that you’re going to learn in those schools you can learn from home anyway. I would tell the sisters in France that you are already greater teachers than your instructors in those classrooms. And the lessons that you are teaching to the people of France, to the society of France, by your continued compliance with the dignity and the modesty of Islam, those are far more important and far more beneficial lessons for your society than anything they want to teach you.

little inspiration, you can make them want to want to learn.  The problem is, you never really know how to do that.  You don’t know what is going to inspire them: Talent? Pride? Fear? Self-love?  Self-loathing? Acclaim? Humiliation? Praise? Reward?  In the end, you have to guess.  And when you guess wrong, you try something else.  There is no single best way to teach anything.  It depends on the student, the instructor, and the subject.  It’s a wonder we convey any knowledge to the next generation at all,” he said, cynically.

Over the years I have written creative non-fiction related to the curricula I produced, first as an elementary school art instructor, then for nearly two decades as a museum education curator. While any curriculum I wrote was based on facts as well as best and accepted practices, to add imaginative interest and encourage my students’ engagement I put those facts in the context of stories, invented situations that brought to life the remote or unfamiliar

Higher education is an institution where you to take the responsibility of your own learning and your instructors will only lend you the knowledge. You should understand as a student in higher education that your instructors will not be held accountable for your failure because you are considered as a grown adult to make the decision whether or not you will take pride in your education and pursue career opportunities.

Beloved, our tolerance, prohibitions, and enforcements are the silent instructors through which we impart the profound lessons of respect. They are the unseen pedagogues that shape the boundaries of reverence, molding the sacred space in which honor resides. In the permissive expanse of what we allow, we etch the contours of esteem's terrain. Each indulgence scripts the depths to which regard may traverse. Conversely, in the fertile void of our prohibitions, we plant the seeds of deference. What we forbid inscribes the hallowed ground where veneration takes root and flourishes. Yet we chisel the definitive form of respect through the decisive hand of enforcement. Each exercised injunction is a chisel's strike, gradually giving rise to respect's exquisite visage. Thus, the triadic praxis of tolerance, prohibition, and enforcement weaves the intricate tapestry upon which the symphony of regard eternally echoes. Through this debate, we endlessly sculpt the sacred ethos of honor to which we all inescapably bow.

The book was full of awe-inspiring acts of human achievement, many of which served to remind us that record-breaking is a modern method of enhancing our abilities as a species. Evolution is by no means confined to yesteryear where we learned about man’s ability to develop into a civilised race. The evolution continues in what we are able to achieve in our chosen fields of expertise.

Are you trying out for most improved player there Cheney? Start off really, really bad and then just slowly improve and get the most improved award?

The San Diego Union's Karla Peterson reviews Local author Robert Pacilio's newest novel: "Meet Me at Moonlight Beach" is not a romance novel, but there is a lot of love in it. There is the slow-burning attraction between yoga instructor Noelani Keoka and high-school teacher Lewis Bennett, two broken people brought together by their psychiatrist, Dr. Amos Adler, who is close enough to retirement to put his patients' potential happiness before pesky professional ethics. There are the beautifully supportive marriages between Adler and his wife, the straight-talking May; and between Noelani's longtime friends, Dee and Henry. And then there is the great, late-blooming love that the author has for Encinitas, which gave the novel its title and its evocative setting.

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