Praise follows truth afar off, and only overtakes her at the grave; plausibility clings to her skirts and holds her back till then
None can be pleased without praise, and few can be praised without falsehood.
To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
With faint praises one another damn.
Long open panegyric drags at best, And praise is only praise when well address'd.
There can hardly, I believe, be imagined a more desirable pleasure than that of praise unmixed with any possibility of flattery.
Who would ever care to do brave deed, Or strive in virtue others to excel, If none should yield him his deserved meed Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
Praise me not too much, Nor blame me, for thou speakest to the Greeks Who know me.
Wake up now, look alive, for here is a day off work just to praise Creation: the turkey, the squash, and the corn, these things that ate and drank sunshine, grass, mud, and rain, and then in the shortening days laid down their lives for our welfare and onward resolve. There's the miracle for you, the absolute sacrifice that still holds back seed: a germ of promise to do the whole thing again, another time. . . Thanksgiving is Creation's birthday party. Praise harvest, a pause and sigh on the breath of immortality.
Or is it your reputation that's bothering you? But look at how soon we're all forgotten. The abyss of endless time that swallows it all. The emptiness of those applauding hands. The people who praise us; how capricious they are, how arbitrary. And the tiny region it takes place. The whole earth a point in space - and most of it uninhabited.
Admonish your friends privately, but praise them openly.
Among the smaller duties of life I hardly know any one more important than that of not praising where praise is not due.
Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I will not forget you. Love me and I may be forced to love you.
I have yet to find the man, however exalted his station, who did not do better work and put forth greater effort under a spirit of approval than under a spirit of criticism.
So, to praise others for their virtues - Can but encourage one's own efforts
Fondly we think we honor merit then, when we but praise ourselves in other men.
We should not be too niggardly in our praise, for men will do more to support a character than to raise one.
We are all excited by the love of praise, and the noblest are most influenced by glory.
To please great men is not the last degree of praise.
There are three kinds of praise, that which we yield, that which we lend, and that which we pay. We yield it to the powerful from fear, we lend it to the weak from interest, and we pay it to the deserving from gratitude.
The praises of others may be of use in teaching us, not what we are, but what we ought to be.
Praise invariably implies a reference to a higher standard.
Men prefer brief praise, pitched high; women are satisfied with praise in a lower key, just so it goes on and on.
He, who praises you for what you have not, wishes to take from you what you have.
Religion makes good people better and bad people worse.
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