Token Of Appreciation Quotes

So in this letter I am yours. Not Garden’s, not your mission’s, but yours, alone. I am yours in other ways as well: yours as I watch the world for your signs, apophenic as a haruspex; yours as I debate methods, motives, chances of delivery; yours as I review your words by their sequence, their sound, smell, taste, taking care no one memory of them becomes too worn. Yours. Still, I suspect you will appreciate the token.

Somewhat typical for Williams was his decision to give away the six tickets he was allotted for each of the three World Series games at Fenway Park: he had his wife go to Kenmore Square before the games and give the tickets to the first six GIs she saw.49 He felt no need to tell the press about the token of appreciation for the fans.

Often times, what you describe as cultural appreciation is a form of tokenizing and exoticizing while continuing to discard and dehumanize the actual people of that culture. Often times, the cultural elements that are appropriated are stripped of their original cultural context, meaning, and significance and used in such a way as to serve or pleasure whiteness.

It is most gratifying that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated. As a token of our appreciation, we hope you will enjoy the two thermonuclear missiles we've just sent to converge with your craft. To ensure ongoing quality of service, your death may be monitored for training purposes. Thank you.

After dinner, I went upstairs and found Ren standing on the veranda again, looking at the sunset. I approached him shyly and stood behind him. “Hello, Ren.” He turned and openly studied my appearance. His gaze drifted ever so slowly down my body. The longer he looked, the wider his smile got. Eventually, his eyes worked their way back up to my bright red face. He sighed and bowed deeply. “Sundari. I was standing here thinking nothing could be more beautiful than this sunset tonight, but I was mistaken. You standing here in the setting sun with your hair and skin aglow is almost more than a man can…fully appreciate.” I tried to change the subject. “What does sundari mean?” “It means ‘most beautiful.’” I blushed again, which made him laugh. He took my hand, tucked it under his arm, and led me to the patio chairs. Just then, the sun dipped below the trees leaving its tangerine glow in the sky for just a few more moments. We sat again, but this time he sat next to me on the swinging patio seat and kept my hand in his. I ventured shyly, “I hope you don’t mind, but I explored your house today, including your room.” “I don’t mind. I’m sure you found my room the least interesting.” “Actually, I was curious about the note I found. Did you write it?” “A note? Ah, yes. I just scribbled a few notes to help me remember what Phet had said. It just says seek Durga’s prophecy, the Cave of Kanheri, Kelsey is Durga’s favored one, that sort of thing.” “Oh. I…also noticed a ribbon. Is it mine?” “Yes. If you’d like it back, you can take it.” “Why would you want it?” He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I wanted a memento, a token from the girl who saved my life.” “A token? Like a fair maiden giving her handkerchief to a knight in shining armor?” He grinned. “Exactly.” I jested wryly, “Too bad you didn’t wait for Cathleen to get a little older. She’s going to be very pretty.” He frowned. “Cathleen from the circus?” He shook his head. “You were the chosen one, Kelsey. And if I had the option of choosing the girl to save me, I still would have picked you.” “Why?” “A number of reasons. I liked you. You are interesting. I enjoyed listening to your voice. I felt like you saw through the tiger skin to the person underneath. When you spoke, it felt like you were saying exactly the things I needed to hear. You’re smart. You like poetry, and you’re very pretty.” I laughed at his statement. Me, pretty? He can’t be serious. I was average in so many ways. I didn’t really concern myself with current makeup, hairstyles, or fashionable, but uncomfortable, clothes like other teenagers. My complexion was pale, and my eyes were so brown that they were almost black. By far, my best feature was my smile, which my parents paid dearly for and so did I-with three years of metal braces. Still, I was flattered. “Okay, Prince Charming, you can keep your memento.” I hesitated, and then said softly, “I wear those ribbons in memory of my mom. She used to brush out my hair and braid ribbons through it while we talked.” Ren smiled understandingly. “Then it means even more to me.

True respect looks beneath the surface or the appearance to the inner reality, which is the opposite of the narcissistic attitude. By the same token, self-respect is based on an appreciation of one’s true or inner self, not on one’s appearance or position. We have self-respect when our actions stem from principles or deep convictions rather than motives of expediency or gain. Impressing or manipulating others brings a loss of self-respect, and without self-respect, one doesn’t respect others. The narcissistic person has no self-respect.

To build a church when a school house is needed is to perpetrate a theft upon education. To build a church when a hospital is needed is to take from the parched lips of the sick the cup of relief and from the suffering the merciful hand of help. When the object of man's conduct will be to improve the conditions of his fellow man and not the appeasement of a mythical God, he will become more understanding and more indulgent of the frailties, mistakes, and action of others, and by the same token he will become more appreciative of their efforts. He will develop a greater consciousness to avoid mistakes and to prevent injury. Life and its living will take on a greater significance, and our efforts and energies will be devoted to creating as much joy and happiness as possible for all living creatures.

Eric' continues to work willingly with us, but he still balks at even the slightest hint about mater. assistance. We once gave him more than he asked to cover his expenses. He was displeased by this and said that lie suspects we want to give him a certain kind of help. He asked us to give up any such thoughts once and for all. In such circumstances, we fear that any gift from us as a token of appreciation for his work will make a negative impression. `Eric' is completely selfless in his work with us and extremely scrupulous when it conies to anything that could be seen as `payment' for his work.

I'm yours in other ways as well: yours as I watch the world for your signs, apophenic as a haruspex; yours as I debate methods, motives, chances of delivery; yours as I review your words by their sequence, their sound, smell, taste, taking care no one memory of them becomes too worn. Yours. Still, I suspect you will appreciate the token.

Dr. John,” I began, “Love is blind;” but just then a blue subtle ray sped sideways from Dr. John’s eye: it reminded me of old days, it reminded me of his picture: it half led me to think that part, at least, of his professed persuasion of Miss Fanshawe’s naïveté was assumed; it led me dubiously to conjecture that perhaps, in spite of his passion for her beauty, his appreciation of her foibles might possibly be less mistaken, more clear-sighted, than from his general language was presumable. After all it might be only a chance look, or at best the token of a merely momentary impression. Chance or intentional real or imaginary, it closed the conversation.

For whatever reason, we humans can only understand or encounter holiness in small morsels at a time—in a Chalice, a piece of bread, a sip of wine. Any encounter with the sacred reminds us that it is enough to start somewhere, anywhere—it is enough to put one foot forward, to turn to Christ for one real moment. Wherever we begin, Real Life will seep out into other areas of our existence. Lately I have been thinking a lot about this and the implications it has for spiritual endeavors. Sacredness is not unilateral, as we perhaps assume. It is the token of relationship—between God and man, temporal and eternal, cosmic and earthly. It is, therefore, a two-way street or a stream with two sources. On the one hand is Christ, who makes objects holy by imbuing them with His presence. On the other hand is humanity—we must also participate in sanctifying things for them to become holy. In biblical understandings, the main way we do so is to set those things—times, objects, activities, or thoughts—apart from other things. The Holy Chalice, for example, is sacred not only because it has housed the presence of the Lord, but because we continue to devote it and offer it to God for that purpose. By setting the Chalice apart, we are saying to God that this great gift of the Eucharist is special to us. Over time, the Chalice comes to represent not only the Eucharist itself, but also our ongoing synergy or cooperation with Christ, our continual and appreciative “Yes” to His presence.

You’ll kiss me again?” She put the question to his shoulder, but he made out her words in part because he felt them against his body. “Very likely.” He hadn’t meant to growl his response. “Some warning would be appreciated.” Indeed, it would. “I’ll do better next time.” So neither of them was ambushed. She tipped her face up, and the fool woman was smiling at him. It wasn’t quite the smile she’d bestowed on the carnations when she’d thought them a token from her brother. It was more… mischievous, more female. Good God, the lady was dangerous to a man’s self-possession, and she didn’t even know it. “If you do much better, Mr. Hazlit, I will need my hartshorn and a tisane.” She subsided against him, and Benjamin felt his lips quirking up. She wasn’t offended. This was more of a relief than it ought to have been, but he didn’t examine it too closely. He’d kissed in the line of duty before, and he probably would again. In fact, he was rather looking forward to it. ***

When we have to pay a lot for something nice, we appreciate it to the full. Yet as its price in the market falls, passion has a habit of fading away. Why, then, do we associate a cheap price with lack of value? Our response is a hangover from our long preindustrial past. For most of human history, there truly was a strong correlation between cost and value: The higher the price, the better things tended to be, because there was simply no way both for prices to be low and for quality to be high. It is not that we refuse to buy inexpensive or cheap things. It's just that getting excited over cheap things has come to seem a little bizarre. How do we reverse this? The answer lies in a slightly unexpected area: the mind of a four-year-old. Children have two advantages: They don't know what they're supposed to like and they don't understand money, so price is never a guide to value for them. We buy them a costly wooden toy made by Swedish artisans who hope to teach lessons in symmetry and find that they prefer the cardboard box that it came in. If asked to put a price on things, children tend to answer by the utility and charm of an object, not its manufacturing costs. We have been looking at prices the wrong way. We have fetishised them as tokens of intrinsic value; we have allowed them to set how much excitement we are allowed to have in given areas, how much joy is to be mined in particular places. But prices were never meant to be like this: We are breathing too much life into them and thereby dulling too many of our responses to the inexpensive world. At a certain age, something very debilitating happens to children. They start to learn about "expensive" and "cheap" and absorb the view that the more expensive something is, the better it may be. They are encouraged to think well of saving up pocket money and to see the "big" toy they are given as much better than the "cheaper" one. We can't directly go backwards; we can't forget what we know of prices. However, we can pay less attention to what things cost and more to our own responses. We need to rethink our relationship to prices. The price of something is principally determined by what it cost to make, not how much human value is potentially to be derived from it.

Where shall I put…?” A little maid stopped in the doorway, all but hidden behind a large bouquet of bright red carnations. Alas for my heart. Hazlit knew the sentiment associated with red carnations and had had them delivered anyway. He certainly wasn’t going to send the woman roses, for God’s sake. Carnations were durable, and they had a fresh, spicy scent that put Hazlit in mind of his hostess. She didn’t strike him as the type of lady to waste time decoding bouquets in any case. “On the sideboard, Millie.” Miss Windham’s lips turned up in a smile more sweet than any Hazlit had seen on her. “My youngest brother is temporarily returned to Town,” she said, taking the card from the bouquet. “Of all my siblings, Valentine is the one most likely to make the gallant gesture…” She fell silent while she read the card, her smile shifting to something heart-wrenchingly tentative. “This wasn’t necessary, Mr. Hazlit.” Regards, Hazlit. Not exactly poetry, but proof he’d upstaged at least her doting brother. “Perhaps not necessary, but a man can hope his small tokens are appreciated.” He glanced pointedly at the maid while he delivered that flummery, because the girl was lingering over the flowers unnecessarily. “That

By the same token, in refusing gifts we seem to excuse ourselves from the obligations that arise naturally with gratitude. The taxicab driver Stewart Millard observes, The first conclusion I reached is that money makes us exquisitely inept at real human relationship. If I have just gotten a new set of tires from my friend Greg at his tire shop (I, indeed, was sitting in his parking lot thinking about this!) and no money was exchanged, then how would I repay Greg? And, a bit more subtle question arose: What if I didn’t accept this offer (gift) of tires from Greg? By accepting the gift of tires without money, then an automatic set of behaviors and consideration arise. What can I offer in return? I could wait for him to ask, or I can do the more arduous task of actually getting to know Greg, and thus allowing a more organic exchange to take place. Money means I can pay, and then pay no more attention to my fellow human across the counter. No getting to know him, no exchange of life to accommodate a natural mingling of flows in dependence and appreciation. A reason we are so intolerant of each other is simply because we have money. If that person is displeasing, we just take our money elsewhere—and the original is just left blowing in the wind. One of the most important gifts you can give is to fully receive the gift of another.

I prefer to use 'The Medieval Scapini Tarot' deck produced by U.S. Games Systems Inc., Stamford, Connecticut. The cards are beautiful, captivating and of excellent quality, and I endorse them wholeheartedly. I should add that I have no connection with U.S. Games Systems, and this is an unbiased endorsement. That having been said, if U.S. Games Systems were appreciative of my comments, and offered me many free packs of cards (or large sums of money) as a charming gesture of goodwill, I should be happy to accept such tokens without compromising my integrity in any way. They might like to bear in mind that in future editions of this book my endorsements may have 'evolved' in the direction of other card companies who are, perhaps, a little more generous in their appreciation of my valuable judgements.

By Thursday the news had leaked out and a group of photographers waited for her outside the hospital. “People thought Diana only came in at the end,” says Angela. “Of course it wasn’t like that at all, we shared it all.” In the early hours of Thursday, August 23 the end came. When Adrian died, Angela went next door to telephone Diana. Before she could speak Diana said: “I’m on my way.” Shortly after she arrived they said the Lord’s Prayer together and then Diana left her friends to be alone for one last time. “I don’t know of anybody else who would have thought of me first,” says Angela. Then the protective side of Diana took over. She made up a bed for her friend, tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. While she was asleep Diana knew that it would be best if Angela joined her family on holiday in France. She packed her suitcase for her and telephoned her husband in Montpellier to tell him that Angela was flying out as soon as she awoke. Then Diana walked upstairs to see the baby ward, the same unit where her own sons were born. She felt that it was important to see life as well as death, to try and balance her profound sense of loss with a feeling of rebirth. In those few months Diana had learned much about herself, reflecting the new start she had made in life. It was all the more satisfying because for once she had not bowed to the royal family’s pressure. She knew that she had left Balmoral without first seeking permission from the Queen and in the last days there was insistence that she return promptly. The family felt that a token visit would have sufficed and seemed uneasy about her display of loyalty and devotion which clearly went far beyond the traditional call of duty. Her husband had never known much regard for her interests and he was less than sympathetic to the amount of time she spent caring for her friend. They failed to appreciate that she had made a commitment to Adrian Ward-Jackson, a commitment she was determined to keep. It mattered not whether he was dying of AIDS, cancer or some other disease, she had given her word to be with him at the end. She was not about to breach his trust. At that critical time she felt that her loyalty to her friends mattered as much as her duty towards the royal family. As she recalled to Angela: “You both need me. It’s a strange feeling being wanted for myself. Why me?” While the Princess was Angela’s guardian angel at Adrian’s funeral, holding her hand throughout the service, it was at his memorial service where she needed her friend’s shoulder to cry on. It didn’t happen. They tried hard to sit together for the service but Buckingham Palace courtiers would not allow it. As the service at St Paul’s Church in Knightsbridge was a formal occasion, the royal family had to sit in pews on the right, the family and friends of the deceased on the left. In grief, as with so much in Diana’s life, the heavy hand of royal protocol prevented the Princess from fulfilling this very private moment in the way she would have wished. During the service Diana’s grief was apparent as she mourned the man whose road to death had given her such faith in herself. The Princess no longer felt that she had to disguise her true feelings from the world. She could be herself rather than hide behind a mask. Those months nurturing Adrian had reordered her priorities in life. As she wrote to Angela shortly afterwards: “I reached a depth inside which I never imagined was possible. My outlook on life has changed its course and become more positive and balanced.

Lucien is throwing a ball next Friday in honor of Charles's homecoming, and he wants you to be there." "Wants?" Juliet drawled, "Demands is more like it." "It's his way of thanking you for all you've done for Charles," Nerissa added.  "He wants to give you a magical, Cinderella night-at-the-ball as his way of expressing his gratitude for saving Charles's life." "But — but I can't attend, I — I don't even know how to dance!" "Then you will learn," said Nerissa, blithely. "And . . . I don't know the correct things to say to people, or how to address them properly . . . or — or . . . anything!" "We will teach you." "And I can't afford fancy new clothes, let alone a ball gown!" "Ah, but I can, and I would be very offended if you do not accept them as a small token of my appreciation for saving my brother's life," intoned a smoothly urbane, aristocratic voice.  Gasping, Amy whirled to see the duke of Blackheath standing in the doorway, an amused little smile playing about his otherwise severe face. Amy sank in a curtsey.  "Your Grace!" "My dear girl.  Are you giving my sister trouble?" "No, but I really can't go to a ball, I'll look the fool and I've got no business being there anyhow and —" "Do you want to go to the ball?" "Well of course, it'll be magical, wondrous, but I'll feel like a chicken amongst a flock of peacocks!" The duke folded his arms and leaned negligently against the door jamb, his black eyes holding her captive.  "Do you remember the conversation we had last night . . . about helping Charles?" That soft, suave tone was enough to make Amy's heart still.  "Well yes, but I don't see how this has anything to do with him . . ." "Of course you don't.  And so I will tell you.   Nerissa wants a new gown for the ball.  As a lady's maid, you will want some new clothes.  And I —" he gave a silky smile — "I will want Charles to ride alongside your coach to provide safe escort to and from London."  He smiled, but the gesture was just a little bit sinister.  "It would benefit him greatly to feel . . . useful, don't you think?" And Amy, standing there feeling nervous and dry-mouthed and very, very intimidated indeed, suddenly understood.  By sending the girls off to London and asking Charles to go along as protection, Lucien was setting things up so that Charles would have opportunity to regain some of his feelings of self-worth. She only hoped he wasn't lining up a highwayman to rob them, as well! She returned the duke's smile, suddenly feeling like a co-conspirator instead of a scared ninny.  "Yes, your Grace.  I quite understand." "Good.  I knew that you would.

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Rewarding your team members is not about stuff. Its about connecting. It's about you making the effort to appreciate them with a small token. We connect through gestures.

Dear Christopher, This is the perfume of March: rain, loam, feathers, mint. Every morning and afternoon I drink fresh mint tea sweetened with honey. I’ve done a great deal of walking lately. I seem to think better outdoors. Last night was remarkably clear. I looked up at the sky to find the Argo. I’m terrible at constellations. I can never make out any of them except for Orion and his belt. But the longer I stared, the more the sky seemed like an ocean, and then I saw an entire fleet of ships made of stars. A flotilla was anchored at the moon, while others were casting off. I imagined we were on one of those ships, sailing on moonlight. In truth, I find the ocean unnerving. Too vast. I must prefer the forests around Stony Cross. They’re always fascinating, and full of commonplace miracles…spiderwebs glittering with rain, new trees growing from the trunks of fallen oaks. I wish you could see them with me. And together we would listen to the wind rushing through the leaves overhead, a lovely swooshy melody…tree music! As I sit here writing to you, I have propped my stocking feet much too close to the hearth. I’ve actually singed my stockings on occasion, and once I had to stomp out my feet when they started smoking. Even after that, I still can’t seem to rid myself of the habit. There, now you could pick me out of a crowd blindfolded. Simply follow the scent of scorched stockings. Enclosed is a robin’s feather that I found during my walk this morning. It’s for luck. Keep it in your pocket. Just now I had the oddest feeling while writing this letter, as if you were standing in the room with me. As if my pen had become a magic wand, and I had conjured you right here. If I wish hard enough… Dearest Prudence, I have the robin’s feather in my pocket. How did you know I needed token to carry into battle? For the past two weeks I’ve been in a rifle pit, sniping back and forth with the Russians. It’s no longer a cavalry war, it’s all engineers and artillery. Albert stayed in the trench with me, only going out to carry messages up and down the line. During the lulls, I try to imagine being in some other place. I imagine you with your feet propped near the hearth, and your breath sweet with mint tea. I imagine walking through the Stony Cross forests with you. I would love to see some commonplace miracles, but I don’t think I could find them without you. I need your help, Pru. I think you might be my only chance of becoming part of the world again. I feel as if I have more memories of you than I actually do. I was with you on only a handful of occasions. A dance. A conversation. A kiss. I wish I could relive those moments. I would appreciate them more. I would appreciate everything more. Last night I dreamed of you again. I couldn’t see your face, but I felt you near me. You were whispering to me. The last time I held you, I didn’t know who you truly were. Or who I was, for that matter. We never looked beneath the surface. Perhaps it’s better we didn’t--I don’t think I could have left you, had I felt for you then what I do now. I’ll tell you what I’m fighting for. Not for England, nor her allies, nor any patriotic cause. It’s all come down to the hope of being with you.

Dearest Prudence, I have the robin’s feather in my pocket. How did you know I needed token to carry into battle? For the past two weeks I’ve been in a rifle pit, sniping back and forth with the Russians. It’s no longer a cavalry war, it’s all engineers and artillery. Albert stayed in the trench with me, only going out to carry messages up and down the line. During the lulls, I try to imagine being in some other place. I imagine you with your feet propped near the hearth, and your breath sweet with mint tea. I imagine walking through the Stony Cross forests with you. I would love to see some commonplace miracles, but I don’t think I could find them without you. I need your help, Pru. I think you might be my only chance of becoming part of the world again. I feel as if I have more memories of you than I actually do. I was with you on only a handful of occasions. A dance. A conversation. A kiss. I wish I could relive those moments. I would appreciate them more. I would appreciate everything more. Last night I dreamed of you again. I couldn’t see your face, but I felt you near me. You were whispering to me. The last time I held you, I didn’t know who you truly were. Or who I was, for that matter. We never looked beneath the surface. Perhaps it’s better we didn’t--I don’t think I could have left you, had I felt for you then what I do now. I’ll tell you what I’m fighting for. Not for England, nor her allies, nor any patriotic cause. It’s all come down to the hope of being with you. Dear Christopher, You’ve made me realize that words are the most important things in the world. And never so much as now. The moment Audrey gave me your last letter, my heart started beating faster, and I had to run to my secret house to read it in private. I haven’t yet told you…last spring on one of my rambles, I found the oddest structure in the forest, a lone tower of brick and stonework, all covered with ivy and moss. It was on a distant portion of the Stony Cross estate that belongs to Lord Westcliff. Later when I asked Lady Westcliff about it, she said that keeping a secret house was a local custom in medieval times. The lord of the manor might have used it as a place to keep his mistress. Once a Westcliff ancestor actually hid there from his own bloodthirsty retainers. Lady Westcliff said I could visit the secret house whenever I wanted, since it has long been abandoned. I go there often. It’s my hiding place, my sanctuary…and now that you know about it, it’s yours as well. I’ve just lit a candle and set it in a window. A very tiny lodestar, for you to follow home.

With just a few late comers arriving, Paul stood at the front of the steps and looked up.  Brazenly etched into the arch encompassing the entrance was written: Paul L. Hatford Library.  With a shrug of the shoulders the name was dismissed as a mere token of appreciation, for he realized that soon students would forget.  It would be a matter of time before they started asking who was Paul L. Hatford.   Guests

Peter Mirmotahari has a beautifully decorated garden in his home and has a strong affinity towards gardening. His fans are often left overwhelmed when he sends them roses from his garden as a token of appreciation. He also sends flowers to patients who are terminally ill, to cheer them up in this difficult phase of their life.

If It Were Possible For a loving Mother If it were possible I would write you a letter Send it to the Heavens Just so you could read And realise how much I love you If it were possible I would get you flowers As a token of appreciation For all the great things you have done for me And the difference you made in my life If it were possible I would sit down next to you Have a deep conversation Perhaps to hear your current thoughts And listen to your guidance again If it were possible I would spend time with you Celebrate your presence Miss no precious moment And make sure it counts the most However, it is not possible Hence, I have no choice But to accept that you are gone

Extraordinary Woman A token of appreciation to my beloved Mother You are beautiful Undeniably great Nature’s most amazing gift Your smile is worth a million bucks You shine like a star Your presence brings calm Your laughter brightens my day Your kindness warms my nights I am fortunate to call you Mom In you, I see an angel Under whose wings I remain safe All because you are so great What can one do to appreciate Such an amazing Soul Who fights like a warrior For the sake of her children You wake up each morning Ensuring that things are in the right place There is no way one can ever replace Such an extraordinary woman

You Have Done Your Best A token of appreciation for an amazing Mother I remember our expectations of you We knew you would take care of us Yet we forgot you had your needs too We never thought in our little minds You could be sad sometimes Or be happy at other times You were good at hiding your emotions Because you were always in motion Making sure we had provision Oh, Mother, yours was a great vision To you, we were the priority You wanted to see us prosper To date, we still wonder How one could be so selfless That about her own life, she cared less Through you, we were so blessed We sometimes look back and are amazed At how you managed to make things happen We still do not have the answers All we know is that you have done your best!

Brave applies a two-pronged strategy to this problem. It has created a new browser designed to work seamlessly with its tokens. The browser blocks all ads by default and, with sophisticated analytics, collates and anonymizes data from users that indicate how much time they spend looking at certain content. That way it can come up with a useful record of the amount of time we all spend at Internet sites without identifying us. As a user of the Brave browser, you are offered the potential to earn BATs for selectively turning off the ad blocker to view ads; tokens are delivered to an integrated wallet that you uniquely control. You can in turn use those tokens to reward publishers of content that you appreciate—in effect, tipping them with donations. Meanwhile, to place ads with publishers of content on the system, advertisers must first acquire BATs and then pay those tokens to publishers, with the price for those ads dictated by the attention metrics associated with the latter’s content.

No, child. What we have is strictly transactional. I give him what he wants, and he rewards me with small tokens of appreciation.” Money, in other words. For all her talk of manners and propriety, Miss Baker was nothing but a high-class whore. My disgust with her must have shown in my expression, because she snapped, “Don’t you dare judge me, young lady. Someone like you, born into enormous wealth, has no idea what it’s like for the rest of us. The things we need to do to survive. Especially unmarried women like me. I’m simply looking out for my future.

Raksha Bandhan 2023: Auspicious Date and Time of Raksha Bandhan Rakhi, also known as Raksha Bandhan, is a traditional Hindu holiday that honors the protective and loving ties that exist between siblings, particularly between brothers and sisters. The event is normally celebrated on the day of the full moon in the Hindu month of Shravana, which usually falls in August. Raksha Bandhan 2023 Overview :- Festivals Name Raksha Bandhan Also Known as Rakhi, Saluno, Silono, Rakri Observed by Hindus Traditionally Type Religious Cultural Date Purnima (Full Moon) of Shrawan Holiday Type Restricted Holiday Raksha Bandhan 2023 - Auspicious Date and Time of Raksha Bandhan: Raksha Bandhan is observed on the day of the full moon in the month of Shravan, as it is every year. Raksha Bandhan is celebrated over two days this year, just like it was last year. This time, the full moon will be seen beginning at 10:59 on August 30 and continuing through 7:06 on August 31. Raksha Bandhan can be observed during the Uddhiya period, the only time frame we use for festivals, but this time, on August 30, the timing means that Bhadra cannot be avoided. On August 31, Raksha Bandhan can be honored. On August 30, at 10:59, the full moon will start, but Bhadra will not. Rakhi can only be tied with the thread after 9:03 p.m. to commemorate Raksha Bandhan. Between 5:32 and 6:32, when Bhadra is on the tail, Raksha Bandhan can be seen. If Bhadra is on Mukha, which occurs between 6:32 to 8:13, Rakhi cannot be observed. The August 31 full moon will be visible till 7:06 in the morning. Raksha Bandhan 2023 can be celebrated on August 31 if you follow Udaya Tithi. A Basis of Raksha Bandhan's Traditions and Significance may be Found Here: Tie a Rakhi: Sisters tie their brothers' wrists with a sacred thread known as a "Rakhi" on the occasion of Raksha Bandhan. This thread stands for their love, respect, and promise of security. Brothers promise to look out for and help their sisters throughout their lives in exchange for gifts or other tokens of appreciation from their sisters. Prayers and Rituals: The day starts with rituals and prayers. Before tying the Rakhi, sisters regularly do an aarti (a ritual involving a lamp) and place a tilak (a sacred mark) on their brothers' foreheads. Exchange of Gifts: Along with the Rakhi, presents are given and received as tokens of affection and respect. Sisters may receive gifts from brothers in the form of cash, garments, jewelry, or other items. Family Gathering: Families regularly get together for Raksha Bandhan. Even if they are separated by distance, siblings usually make an effort to be together and celebrate special occasions. Symbolism: The holiday represents the special and close relationship between siblings. Not only do family members participate, but also cousins and close relatives. The Rakhi thread is regarded as a representation of safety and an ongoing expression of the bond between brothers and sisters. Historical and Mythological Significance: Many historical and mythical stories are connected to the celebration. One well-known story has the queen Draupadi securing a piece of her sari to the bleeding wrist of Lord Krishna. Krishna promised to look out for her in return. The relationship between Lord Yama, the God of Death, and his sister Yamuna is the subject of another story. Yama's sister received the blessing that anyone who ties a Rakhi to him will live forever. Overall, Raksha Bandhan is a happy holiday that enhances family relationships and honors the emotional bond between siblings. It is a season of affection, respect, and support of bonds between siblings. To Learn More, Go Here

what would we think if a man said he needed five beers in order to find a certain woman attractive? It’s pretty obvious that we’d infer that the guy didn’t really think the woman was attractive. His bogus attraction would be due to the chemical manipulation, as opposed to an actual perception of her objectively attractive qualities. By the same token, what should we think when someone smokes weed in order to appreciate reality? Again, I think in such a case we’d be justified in concluding that the person didn’t actually think reality was all that great; otherwise, he wouldn’t have recourse to a drug in order to feel good about existence, whether his own or the world’s.

She’d left me her husband, who didn’t expect much from me. He’d had his great love. And now he was willing, determined even, to be amused, to belly laugh at the slightest provocation, to appreciate heart-shaped pieces of toast as tokens of my affection.

This time around, True Biz’s audiobook woke me from a dead sleep. I’d made my peace with audiobooks of my books, conceptually, and had kind of forgotten about the eventuality of this one. But this novel presented a whole new existential problem: in the writing itself, I had worked hard to make use of space on the page as a way to highlight the strength and clarity of ASL as a visual language. The result was just a small token of appreciation for what ASL can do—I had still flattened a 3-D language to two—but the signed dialogue looks and feels different than spoken dialogue in the novel, and I had no clue how they’d be able to make that distinction for a listener. I sent a low-key panic email to my editor. She said she’d flag it as a “challenge” for the audio team. Here’s what they came up with: The audiobook team would record the book as usual, and then record a signer performing the ASL dialogue in the book. Very sensitive mics would pick up the sounds of signing—the skin-on-skin contact, the mouth morphemes, the rustling of clothes. The listener would learn that these sounds beneath the dialogue were to mean the character was speaking ASL rather than English. We can’t capture ASL in sound form but, like the use of space in the printed text, it’s a token. I appreciate that a hearing team put some thought into the project, and were paying enough attention to notice that neither signed languages nor deaf people are silent. So yesterday, I went to the studio, rigged up with two heavy duty mics. When I first got into the soundproof room and looked around, I started to laugh. It was mostly foreign territory, but there was also a trace of the audiologists’ booths all of us deaf and hard-of-hearing people have spent so much time in".

the gratis token of appreciation had helped to make the distinction plain. This was what I’d hoped for, a friendly reaction to our quest, displaying humor and gratitude

express to loved ones Make an effort, at least once a week, to express appreciation to those you love. Although we don’t necessarily mean to, it is human to take the people we appreciate the most for granted. Yet expressing thanks for the things they do, their support, and their love will make them feel good and make you feel even better. Make a concerted effort to thank loved ones openly and to verbalize how much they mean to you. By the same token, part of practicing gratitude is being able to accept appreciation and thanks from others.

What about Millie?" "Millie?" he says, spinning back around to face me. "Oh yes, Millie Vagaboss. Let's definitely talk about her." His sarcasm really isn't bad for a Midwestern boy. "It's none of my business, really," I say as I realize I don't actually want to hear this, most likely. "No, no, it's your business, especially since you gave her your blessing to basically dry hump me in the van last night." "What the hell?" I think I feel my nostrils flaring, but I really hope not. "I did?" "Yeah, thanks for that," he says. "She told me you said there's nothing going on between us, and you were cool if she hooked up with me, like I'm some guy in your personal boy harem and you're giving me to her as a token of your appreciation." "It was so not like that! Are you kidding me?" "She was really drunk," he says. "But that was the gist of it, yeah." Now I'm mad. I have no idea why, since I basically did tell Millie she was free to go for it with Bean. "What's wrong?" he says. "Did you really expect to find her hiding in my closet? Were you going to fight for my honor or something?" "Stop making fun of me." "Stop giving me to your friends like I'm some kind of manslut.

We also received food stamps and bus tokens. Even though she was not a welfare mom, my mother still very much appreciated the government assistance we did receive from time to time. Still, I had an inherent dislike for government assistance and was frankly quite embarrassed that we had to accept anything from them.

Handing me the package, Hakim kissed me on my lips and said, "Accept this as a token of our Household appreciation for both your and Andy’s contributions here, and Inshallah (God willing), we shall meet again.

Andy and I met Ramiz for our bi-weekly sessions. At some juncture of each rendezvous, Ramiz would lay two golden eggs he had inserted into his anus! After they had been cleaned, these eggs were presented to us as tokens of appreciation for our service. They were crafted by Chimento, the luxury purveyor from whom Ramiz had bought the Faberge eggs. The shop made two dozen of the hollow, twenty-four carat gold eggs. He stuffed several hundred dollars in each of them.

Andy and I met Ramiz for our bi-weekly sessions. At some juncture of each rendezvous, Ramiz would lay two golden eggs he had inserted into his anus! After they had been cleaned, these eggs were presented to us as tokens of appreciation for our service. They were crafted by Chimento, the luxury purveyor from whom Ramiz had bought the Faberge eggs. The shop made two dozen of the hollow, twenty-four carat gold eggs. He stuffed several hundred dollars in each of them. Andy nicknamed him 'The Man who lays the Golden Eggs.'  Like the golden goose in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’, my teacher never failed to lay golden eggs during each session.

He rewarded Andy and me handsomely for mentoring his favorite grandson. Our Eid Mubarak greeting card read: “Please accept this gift and a week's vacation to anywhere you’d like as a token of my appreciation for the friendship and guidance you so kindly provided to my grandson. The Simorgh and the Kahyy'am are at your disposal. (Signed) Hadrah Hakim.” Enclosed were two cheques for $3,000 each.

Being an ARC reader is more than just a hobby; it's a passion that intertwines my love for literature with the thrill of discovery. There's something truly magical about delving into the pages of a book before it reaches the hands of the masses, experiencing its narrative unfold like an exclusive journey just for me. But what truly warms my heart is the connection forged with authors. To receive their work before the world does and to have the opportunity to offer my thoughts is an honor in itself. Yet, it's the gesture of appreciation that follows which truly makes my day. When authors take the time to send me a complimentary signed copy of their book after my review, it's a testament to the bond between reader and writer, a token of gratitude that resonates deeply. Each signed book I receive holds not just a story within its pages, but also the author's acknowledgment of my contribution to their journey. It's a tangible reminder of the impact words can have, both in the creation and reception of art. To hold such a book in my hands is to feel the weight of appreciation, the validation of my perspective, and the joy of being a part of something bigger than myself. In those moments, I'm reminded of the power of literature to connect us, to bridge the gap between creator and consumer, and to remind us all of the beauty in sharing stories. It's a feeling that leaves me humbled, grateful, and eager to continue my journey as an ARC reader, cherishing each signed book as a cherished token of the bond between author and reader.