If the art of war were nothing but the art of avoiding risks, glory would become the prey of mediocre minds. I have made all the calculations; fate will do the rest.
quote by Napoleon Bonaparte
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Pretending To See The Future
Avoiding this is like avoiding a plague
We cant understand the advances we made
Weve tried to resist but its so hard to say no
Were pretending to see what the future will hold
We appear to be in control of our fate
Just like soldiers believe theyre in control of a war
But its moving so fast we cannot see what weve done
Were losing our eyes just to say that weve won
My minds made up, my heart is broke
My fortunes is made me and I feel so choked
I cant understand how we could ever believe
The things we asked for but never received
We never understood the times we asked
The way we wasted all that passed
This neglect is final its a stage we must
Endure to ever hope to see the first
My minds made up about the things we did
We never saw we believed we couldnt say what we missed
My minds made up, my heart is broke
My fortunes is made me and I feel so choked
I cant understand how we could ever believe
The things we asked for but never received
By making noises which we cannot control
The things we hoped that wed never forgo
We appear to be in control of our fate
Just like soldiers believe theyre in control of a war
But its moving so fast we cannot see what weve done
Were losing our eyes just to say that weve won
My minds made up, my heart is broke
My fortunes is made me and I feel so choked
I cant understand how we could ever believe
The things we asked for but never received
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After The Poems What Will Be For Me?
After the poems, what will be for me?
I am now wholly in them
But they are not as good
As I dreamed
And I as a poet am not the answer to my own ambition.
Will it be ‘Stories’ next?
And then on to ‘Aphoristic reflections’ Pascal- like?
How will I do it?
Or will, as seems most likely now, how will I never do it?
I am the mediocre poet who is the mediocre writer who is the mediocre thinker who is mediocre in all he does
I am the mediocrity and my mediocrity makes me me.
Mediocre me- Pity pity the poor ambitious soul
Who would have been great, and is not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Great spirits have always encountered opposition from mediocre minds. The mediocre mind is incapable of understanding the man who refuses to bow blindly to conventional prejudices and chooses instead to express his opinions courageously and honestly.
quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Some Rest
Getting little rest...
Isn't what's suggested is the best thing.
But...
Once one is committed,
It's difficult to quit.
Like many would would rather sit,
Just to...
Reminisce a bitterness,
Or...
Ignore the taking of those risks,
To...
Excuse the value of it.
And as a bit of a reminder...
Progress isn't made by sitting.
Progress isn't made by quitting.
Progress takes sacrificing,
What is wanted and what one likes.
And...
Progress isn't made by wishing.
Progress isn't made by shrinking...
Away to sneak a taste of cake,
While awaiting for someone else to make.
And...
Progress isn't made by sitting.
No.
Progress isn't made by quitting.
no.
Progress takes sacrificing,
What one wants, prefers and likes.
And,
Getting little rest...
Isn't what's suggested is the best thing.
But...
Once one is committed,
It's difficult to quit.
Like many would would rather sit,
Just to...
Reminisce a bitterness,
Or...
Ignore the taking of those risks,
To...
Excuse the value of it.
And as a bit of a reminder...
Get up and be tough.
Know,
To quit is not the best thing.
But...
Enough is enough.
And...
When it gets too rough,
You can...
Decide to get tougher.
But...
Get your rest.
Remember,
You can't do nuthin without...
Getting some rest.
You've got to,
Get your rest.
You've got to,
Get some rest!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Hunter
in the forest of life
a hunter kept searching
for a prey to stalk
and salt for a meal or two.
stealthily he moved
afraid of dry leaves underfoot
eyes fixed on a prey.
lo! without warning
the prey's image got blurred.
disappointed he trudged
only to meet a similar fate
home bound he trekked
a man bitter at fate
yet no one promised anything.
poem by Kelvin Karani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is the habit of mediocre minds to condemn all that is beyond their grasp.
quote by La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mediocre minds usually dismiss anything which reaches beyond their own understanding.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women want mediocre men, and men are working hard to become as mediocre as possible.
quote by Margaret Mead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glory! Glory!
Hey when that look is in your eyes
I can see my fate
Yes I see my fate
Hey when that look is in your eyes
I can see my fate
Yes I see my fate
Hey got the sun up in the sky
But it comes too late
Yes it comes too late
Im like a dog
When I come crawlin back-to-you
Crawlin back-to-you
You wanna play god
I can see it in your eyes
See it in your eyes
Huh! glory! glory! glory! glory! glory!
Hey I bring you joy - I bring you love
But you walk away
Always walk away
Hey you look down on me from above
And I see my fate
And Im not enough
But - like a dog, I come crawlin back to you
Crawlin back to you
You wanna play god
I can see it in your eyes
See it in your eyes
Huh! glory! glory! glory! glory! glory!
Take it from the rich
And give it to the poor
Oh yeah you wanna take it from the rich
And give it to the poor
Take it from the rich and somehow
Give it to the poor
Ha! but you want - glory! glory! glory! glory! glory!
Well you got - glory! glory! glory! glory! glory!
Ch-ch-ch-woo-hoo!
Take it from the rich
Give it to the poor
All you want is glory
From the boy next door!
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women want mediocre men, and men are working to become as mediocre as possible.
quote by Margaret Mead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women want mediocre men, and men are working to be as mediocre as possible.
quote by Margaret Mead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Us Prey
Im the reason women bleed
Its been called
The curse of eve
Ancient times to modern lies
You know my name
Turned your pleasures into pain
You made love I give you aids
My pollution gives you cancer
Of the brain
Yet to me you sell your soul
Fame and glory plated gold
Youre such an easy
Prey for me
Please let us prey
Please let us hunt
7 million bodies lying dead
Beneath my hands
War was such a simple
Game to play
Preachers do my bidding yet
Blame me for their sins
Altar boys are taken in dismay
Kill and eat your neighbors
Gas a subway in japan
I got more apocalyptic plans
Please let us prey
Please let us hunt
Suicide...genocide
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Operating As One
I think the entire relationship
Had been totally misunderstood.
I didn't select one to be better than the rest.
I chose one to be the only and the best!
Not to run from one to the other...
As if there was a competition,
In a foolish contest with an ego to recover!
And that is why my time is now spent...
Avoiding those who are eager,
To remove their clothes...
In a timed experiment!
I'm seeking only one...
Who discovers a togetherness.
Exploring adventures with each other can be fun,
In an investment of two hearts
With two minds operating as one!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mediocre Man
I'm just a mediocre man
Of no high-brow pretence;
A comfortable life I plan
With care and commonsense.
I do the things most people do,
I echo what they say;
And through my morning paper view
The problems of the day.
No doubt you think I'm colourless,
Profoundly commonplace;
And yet I fancy, more or less,
I represent the race.
My name may stand for everyone,
At least for nine in ten,
For all in all the world is run
By mediocre men.
Of course you'll maybe not agree
That you are average,
And unlike ordinary me
You strut your little stage,
Well, you may even own a Bank,
And mighty mergers plan,
But Brother, doff your tile and thank
The Mediocre Man.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Growing weeds
I sowed seeds, numerous,
In the minds of multitudes,
In the form of benevolent deeds,
Some tiny, some giant,
And a few most precious,
With the hope of a good harvest.
Some never sprouted or rooted;
Some were infant mortals.
Some fell on rocks or in desert,
Or were prey to the pests,
With the rest managing to grow
And bore fruits,
Which were either sour or stolen
Or were left rotten.
Yet, with the solace I go
That the bio-mass that I made
Is very much in need
To serve as a mulch to the folks.
19.07096
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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BkI:XI Carpe Diem
Leuconoë, don’t ask, we never know, what fate the gods grant us,
whether your fate or mine, don’t waste your time on Babylonian,
futile, calculations. How much better to suffer what happens,
whether Jupiter gives us more winters or this is the last one,
one debilitating the Tyrrhenian Sea on opposing cliffs.
Be wise, and mix the wine, since time is short: limit that far-reaching hope.
The envious moment is flying now, now, while we’re speaking:
Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith as you can.
Eulogy For Michael Jackson
All of the glory, all of the fame
everybody knew his name.
But they did not know what made him tick.
And they did not know how it made him sick.
Inside the body that housed his soul
were shades of darkness that accompanied his role.
The vibrancy and talent of all he could do
was a gift that only comes to a few.
But the gift must be nourished and never abused
or it turns into a curse that becomes misused
by all of the parasitic leeches who prey
on a talent like Michael's every single day.
And in the final words that are said
He, my friends was already dead.
Dead in his spirit, dead in his mind
only alive in those who could find
the rarity of talent that captured their heart,
the oneness with God that flowed through his art.
What they will remember is what they did see.
What they'll forget is 'Who was he? '
A tortured soul
who's now at rest.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rat and the Owl
A rat is moving on the ground;
It searches for something to eat;
’Tis night and it must quickly find
Some food or else, it must sure starve!
A large owl stands with two large eyes;
It turns its neck to scan the ground;
It strains its eyes to catch a prey,
And sees a rat shuffling across!
Both search for food in frantic ways;
Both need to eat to stay alive;
The owl is like a ghost at night;
Its large eyes contrast rat’s small ones!
The owl is predator for rat;
The rat is prey for owl at night;
The owl is sure to pin the rat,
And death is sure for the latter!
The rat moves on unwarily!
It nears the owl innocently;
It does not know that death is near;
Its mind is bent on searching food!
The owl is watching rat’s movements;
The prey is rather small in size;
It tries to keep the rat within
Its visual fields, and take a strike!
The rat is unaware of owl;
It has not sniffed the danger near;
With nostrils engrossed in food-search,
It scurries to and fro for long!
The owl is planning when to swoop;
An opportune moment must come;
The rat must take a moment’s rest;
The owl’s claws take the rat to nest!
The predator is smart and swift;
The prey will certainly get caught;
There is a small chance to escape;
But, predator must make the fault!
Both owl and rat must eat to live;
The rat is prey for owl always;
The rat can still avoid its death;
It must respect the owl’s beak-might!
In life, we play with dangers oft;
We know that fire surely burns;
We walk into the ‘jaws of death’!
We take some risks that bring us death!
But being careful is a must;
We cannot risk our precious life;
Lurk dangers in our environs;
The thread of life could get cut fast!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-21-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Son can be a rival/.
I taught my son lessons on singing
And made him with my sweats a great singer.
Sons’ glory is fathers’ glory.
His glory is my glory.
His wings spread and mine shrunk.
People thronged around him and spared me.
They didn’t say he was the great;
They said I was no where near him.
His glory is not my glory;
Sons’ glory is not fathers’ glory.
Can there be two heroes in a play?
Should he outlive me in the posterity?
He is my rival, no more a son.
11.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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