A scholar's ink is worth as much as the blood of the martyr.
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The ink of a scholar is worth as much as the martyr's blood.
The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.
A scholar's ink lasts longer than a martyr's blood.
The great scholar forgets about fame, the average scholar works for it, and the unworthy scholar steals it.
The scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar.
Confucius in The Confucian Analects
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The humblest painter is a true scholar; and the best of scholars the scholar of nature.
quote by William Hazlitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar.
A scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar.
A scholar who cherishes the love of comfort is not fit to be deemed a scholar.
The ink of the scholar is more precious than the blood of martyrs.
A scholars ink lasts longer than a martyr's blood.
Responsibilities - Introduction
Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain
Somewhere in ear-shot for the story's end,
Old Dublin merchant "free of the ten and four"
Or trading out of Galway into Spain;
Old country scholar, Robert Emmet's friend,
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor;
Merchant and scholar who have left me blood
That has not passed through any huckster's loin,
Soldiers that gave, whatever die was cast:
A Butler or an Armstrong that withstood
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne
James and his Irish when the Dutchman crossed;
Old merchant skipper that leaped overboard
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay;
You most of all, silent and fierce old man,
Because the daily spectacle that stirred
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say,
"Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun";
Pardon that for a barren passion's sake,
Although I have come close on forty-nine,
I have no child, I have nothing but a book,
Nothing but that to prove your blood and mine.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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My Ritual
My blood moves
I feel all right
My ritual followed us to paradise
My blood moves
I feel all right
Dont touch me
Cuz Ive had too much to feel tonight
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its gettin easy not to suffer all the time
My good time
I feel all right
My ritual followed us to paradise
My blood moves I feel all right
Dont touch me cuz youre still too much to feel tonight
Not tonight, I repeat, me over
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its getting easy not to suffer all the time
My sense of humor might have narrowed with my age
But happy anarchy is all I really crave
Trying to be good, while I get my fill
Will I get what I need?
I dont know if I will
When I take it in , will I make it my own again
My own again
My good time, I feel all right
My ritual got my through another night
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its getting easy not to suffer all the time
My sense of humor might have narrowed with my age
But happy anarchy is all I really crave
Its all I want. its all I need
So come over.
song performed by by Folk Implosion
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The Lamb Of God
There was Christ in the metal shell
there was blood on the pavement
The camera will make you god
that's how Jack became sainted
If you die when there's no one watching
and your ratings drop and you're forgotten
if they kill you on their TV
you're a martyr and a lamb of god
nothing's going to change
nothing's going to change the world
There was Lennon and a happy gun
There were words on the pavement
we were looking for the lamb of god
we were looking for Mark David
If you die when there's no one watching
and your ratings drop and you're forgotten
if they kill you on their TV
you're a martyr and a lamb of god
Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
the world
it took three days for him to die
the born again could buy the serial rights
lamb of god have mercy on us
lamb of god won't you grant us
Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
the world
If you die when there's no one watching
and your ratings drop and you're forgotten
if they kill you on their TV
you're a martyr and a lamb of god
nothing's going to change the world
song performed by by Marilyn Manson from Holy Wood (In The Shadow Of The Valley Of Death)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man who Broke up the Dinner Party Answers
It made me feel small, like a husband,
and I never married, never owned
a table worth turning over, china
worth shattering, linen worth blood
from the cut hand I sucked and cursed
and wrapped in a torn shirt, in a pocket.
Can't they make it new again, those bees,
those communist women at their weaving?
It was only the long lines, the slow,
enforced pace, solemnity, cold white glitter;
I was only too proud to eat cold history,
to stand in the breadlines at the tomb;
I only declined the feast in the mausoleum
as Yesenin did, who wrote his regrets in blood.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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Iron sharpens iron; scholar, the scholar.
quote by William Drummond
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I would like to be a scholar in whatever I do, a scholar is never finished, he is always seeking and I am always seeking.
quote by Ahmad Jamal
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A Tribute to S.P.T
The daring soul
Born to be born in death
A hundred deaths he shall endure
Only to be born again as martyr
To decorate his blood with bravery.
The lost is felt across the seas
All over the universe the tears roll
To bath your departure in this final path
Stars and moon too have been wailing here
A sign that in this fall you have risen again
To live in the hearts of many soul.
It’s painful to bear the end
That comes abrupt
The smile and voice buried now
Will come again a hundred fold
And run run and run, thy enemies shall run.
A smiling tiger, your departure is premature
Rare indeed a man of your stature
Born only to be born again as martyr
To decorate your blood with bravery.
Mother earth is proud to consume you
For you have stood the test for loyalty
In justice to free the anarchy of the south
Fearless indeed your move
Like a tiger your steps you placed ever.
Happy sojourn, dear fighter.
©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 041107.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
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The Martyr Poets—did not tell
544
The Martyr Poets—did not tell—
But wrought their Pang in syllable—
That when their mortal name be numb—
Their mortal fate—encourage Some—
The Martyr Painters—never spoke—
Bequeathing—rather—to their Work—
That when their conscious fingers cease—
Some seek in Art—the Art of Peace—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Martyr
Why, why was I born to know what I must know
I can see the sky, but I cant see the ground below
Where do I go
Falling in a trap where traitors wait
Lost love is the bait
But the martyr never knows
He is caught in a dream of his own
When its over where does he go
Who really knows
Time stands between me and my home
So long ago
I cant stand to wait
But I cant force my body to go
Where do I go
Crying, he is blind to everyone
And thats how its done
And the martyr never knows
Who really knows
I know in my heart
I could change the world
With just this guitar
Who really knows
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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