A vagabond monk never spoke well of his convent.
Related quotes
Comrade Vagabond
I am just a vagabond, I am just a vagabond! !
Across the globe, I move on….
Seeking not my home….
I am just a vagabond, I am just a vagabond! !
From Luit, through the Mississippi, I saw the Volga’s beauty…
From Ottawa, via Austria, I hugged the Paris City.
From Ellora to Chicago, I spread the splendor of antiquity…
I listened to Ghalib’s couplets in Dushanbe Minaret with gaiety.
Sitting on Mark Twain’s grave, I spoke of Gorky…
Everytime the strangers appear, being tied with a bond….
So I am vagabond, so Iam vagabond! !
With so many aimless vagabonds, I do have a goal…
To share the colours of life is just my goal.
With so many aimless vagabonds, I do have a goal…
To share the colours of life is just my goal.
I have seen so many skyscrapers, so great…
So have I seen homeless poors by their shade.
I have seen evergreen gardens in front of some home…
So have I seen dried flowers dying in blossom.
The bonded labourers across the Nations makes me feel tensed…
Our own fellow beings have been strangers in their home…
So I am vagabond, I am just a vagabond..
Across the globe, I move on….
Seeking not my home….
I am just a vagabond, I am just a vagabond! !
(Originally composed in Assamese as ‘Moi Eti Jajabor’ by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika)
(Set to original tune)
poem by Kamal Jyoti Borah
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A runaway monk never speaks well of his convent.
We were kept at work, and permitted to speak with each other only on such subjects as related to the Convent, and all in the hearing of the old nuns who sat by us.
quote by Maria Monk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So far as I know, there were no pains taken to preserve secrecy on this subject; that is, I saw no attempt made to keep any of the inmates of the Convent in ignorance of the murder of children.
quote by Maria Monk
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She gave me another piece of information which excited other feelings in me, scarcely less dreadful. Infants were sometimes born in the convent; but they were always baptized and immediately strangled!
quote by Maria Monk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before I took the veil, I was ornamented for the ceremony, and was clothed in a rich dress belonging to the Convent, which was used on such occasions; and placed not far from the altar in the chapel, in the view of a number of spectators who had assembled, perhaps about forty.
quote by Maria Monk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobody Spoke (for Karen)
Nobody spoke to Lucy,
nobody spoke at all,
ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
nobody spoke
for five long years
ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
Lucy withdrew
without a clue
why nobody spoke,
nobody spoke
for five long years,
nobody spoke
Ain't no joke
nobody spoke!
Lucy went mad
she went crazy!
She screamed
she cried, she sobbed,
but nobody spoke,
for five long years
Ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
Many years later
she saw them,
those people she wanted
to be her friends.
but ain't no joke
nobody spoke,
nobody spoke
for five long years.
Ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
Lucy left a note
in daddy's drawer,
put on her very best dress.
Did her hair in a very fine way
and walked into the hall as a guest.
She walked up to the folk
that never spoke,
said hello in an ordinary way,
then she pulled out a gun
and opened fire.
Yes she shot all those folk
on that day.
Now they were silent
now they were still,
cos ain't no joke
that nobody spoke
and now
they never will.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The first jazz pianist I heard was Thelonious Monk. My father was listening to an album of his called 'Monk's Dream' almost every day from the time I was born.
quote by Benny Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spank It
1-hey sped!
2-hey what?
1- what you wanna do?
2- I wanna spank!
1-spank what?
2- spank my little monk!!
1-to the left
2- to the right!
1&2- spank it up and down all night!
1- spank the monk!
2- spank, spank the monk!
1- spank the monk!
1&2- spank spank, the monk!
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : The Theologian's Tale; The Legend Beautiful
'Hads't thou stayed, I must have fled!'
That is what the Vision said.
In his chamber all alone,
Kneeling on the floor of stone,
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition
For his sins of indecision,
Prayed for greater self-denial
In temptation and in trial;
It was noonday by the dial,
And the Monk was all alone.
Suddenly, as if it lightened,
An unwonted splendor brightened
All within him and without him
In that narrow cell of stone;
And he saw the Blessed Vision
Of our Lord, with light Elysian
Like a vesture wrapped about him,
Like a garment round him thrown.
Not as crucified and slain,
Not in agonies of pain,
Not with bleeding hands and feet,
Did the Monk his Master see;
But as in the village street,
In the house or harvest-field,
Halt and lame and blind he healed,
When he walked in Galilee.
In an attitude imploring,
Hands upon his bosom crossed,
Wondering, worshipping, adoring,
Knelt the Monk in rapture lost.
Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest,
Who am I, that thus thou deignest
To reveal thyself to me?
Who am I, that from the centre
Of thy glory thou shouldst enter
This poor cell, my guest to be?
Then amid his exaltation,
Loud the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Rang through court and corridor
With persistent iteration
He had never heard before.
It was now the appointed hour
When alike in shine or shower,
Winter's cold or summer's heat,
To the convent portals came
All the blind and halt and lame,
All the beggars of the street,
For their daily dole of food
Dealt them by the brotherhood;
And their almoner was he
Who upon his bended knee,
Rapt in silent ecstasy
Of divinest self-surrender,
Saw the Vision and the Splendor.
Deep distress and hesitation
Mingled with his adoration;_
Should he go, or should he stay?
Should he leave the poor to wait
Hungry at the convent gate,
Till the Vision passed away?
Should he slight his radiant guest,
Slight this visitant celestial,
For a crowd of ragged, bestial
Beggars at the convent gate?
Would the Vision there remain?
Would the Vision come again?
Then a voice within his breast
Whispered, audible and clear
As if to the outward ear:
'Do thy duty; that is best;
Leave unto thy Lord the rest!'
Straightway to his feet he started,
And with longing look intent
On the Blessed Vision bent,
Slowly from his cell departed,
Slowly on his errand went.
At the gate the poor were waiting,
Looking through the iron grating,_
With that terror in the eye
That is only seen in those
Who amid their wants and woes
Hear the sound of doors that close,
And of feet that pass them by;
Grown familiar with disfavor,
Grown familiar with the savor
Of the bread by which men die!
But to-day, they knew not why,
Like the gate of Paradise
Seemed the convent sate to rise,
Like a sacrament divine
Seemed to them the bread and wine.
In his heart the Monk was praying,
Thinking of the homeless poor,
What they suffer and endure;
What we see not, what we see;
And the inward voice was saying:
'Whatsoever thing thou doest
To the least of mine and lowest,
That thou doest unto me!'
Unto me! but had the Vision
Come to him in beggar's clothing,
Come a mendicant imploring,
Would he then have knelt adoring,
Or have listened with derision,
And have turned away with loathing.
Thus his conscience put the question,
Full of troublesome suggestion,
As at length, with hurried pace,
Towards his cell he turned his face,
And beheld the convent bright
With a supernatural light,
Like a luminous cloud expanding
Over floor and wall and ceiling.
But he paused with awe-struck feeling
At the threshold of his door,
For the Vision still was standing
As he left it there before,
When the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Summoned him to feed the poor.
Through the long hour intervening
It had waited his return,
And he felt his bosom burn,
Comprehending all the meaning,
When the Blessed Vision said,
'Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Slave and the Vagabond
The slave worked hard, all day long.
The vagabond slept, all day long.
The slave died tired, broken, and in debt.
The vagabond died free, without regret.
poem by Chaarzarul Rockett
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The Great Gambler
The Gambler stopped a monk
dwelling on spiritual plane,
And exclaimed, "Oh! monk
we both are exactly same
So I think we both of us
deserve equal name and fame.
Monk replied, "Gambler! I put
self not a pelf at stake,
And drink bitter poison
for God's sake
Only fool would say our
lives are same
For you a game is life
for me a life is game.''
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
27/12/2009
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Vagabond Of The Western World
I could tell you the story of a vagabond
A playboy of the western world
One day by chance he came upon
A fair young maid, a country girl
He told her that he loved her
And he took all of her silver
He told her that he needed her too
He said hey baby, you got eyes of blue
But he was a vagabond
Blue eyes, oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
The kind of eyes that say I do eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
He roamed around the cities
Searching for his fortune and fame
No lady ever got to know his name
Shame, but that was his game
Gave a girl a baby boy
He said this child is my pride and joy
Im busy running wild and free
Make sure he grows up like me
And Im a vagabond
Blue eyes, oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
The kind of eyes that say I do eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
Oh baby blue, oh blue eyes
Oh I could tell you a story of a vagabond
He was a playboy of the western world
He wore an earring in his left ear
You see his father he was a gypsy
You just might meet him upon the highway
Pretty fine dancer too
But hes leave you blue, hed leave
Hed leave you woman
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Spoke 2 Me
Spoke 2 me
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me
Close 2 me
I never thought i'd get her close 2 me
Now the moon and the sun belong 2 me
All my wildest hopes, my crazy dreams
But they seem more like reality
Fantasy
This girl fulfills my every fantasy
She must be
Specially designed by heaven just 4 me (just 4 me)
My friends look at her, they see mystery
But i look at her and i see a masterpiece
Can it be, i mean really did she?
Spoke 2 me (spoke 2 me)
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me (speak 2 me, baby)
(speak 2 me, baby)
Spoke 2 me
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me
And if she hurts me
I'll take it all with open arms u see (u think i won't?)
Cuz like a track under a subway train
She could roll all over me and i'd still be the same
Cuz 2day is the day she spoke 2 me
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me
Close 2 me
I never thought i'd get her close 2 me
If i'm stuck in some groovy wet dream
Don't pinch me
I don't wanna wake up
I'm diggin' the scene (i'm diggin', diggin')
Yeah, baby
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alice Sick
SICK, Alice grown, and fearing dire event,
Some friend advised a servant should be sent
Her confessor to bring and ease her mind;--
Yes, she replied, to see him I'm inclined;
Let father Andrew instantly be sought:--
By him salvation usually I'm taught.
A MESSENGER was told, without delay,
To take, with rapid steps, the convent way;
He rang the bell--a monk enquired his name,
And asked for what, or whom, the fellow came.
I father Andrew want, the wight replied,
Who's oft to Alice confessor and guide:
With Andrew, cried the other, would you speak?
If that's the case, he's far enough to seek;
Poor man! he's left us for the regions blessed,
And has in Paradise ten years confessed.
poem by La Fontaine
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The Only Monk Keyed
The monk...
He has the key!
Does that make him,
The only monk keyed who sees?
Inspired by:
Mr. Duncan Wyllie
'Hi Duncan,
Thought I would have some fun with your poem,
'He Sees'.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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White Hair
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Spoke...
When you spoke of UNION,
i saw GROUPS.
When you spoke of LIBERATION.
I saw IMPRISONMENT.
When you spoke of EQUALITY,
I saw DISCRIMINATION! !
Oh, why speak against actions that tell the real you.
Don't fool those who cant read your writings,
or understand your words.
When you spoke I believed in Hope,
but when i saw and experienced,
Hope was all lost.
poem by Daniela Gallegos
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The Master Spoke.
Why is the world here today?
The Master Spoke.
Why are we sinners, like sheep gone astray?
The Master Spoke.
Why all this toil, no comfort of Eden,
Since man didn't obey?
The Master Spoke.
Why work the dust of the ground, from whence we came,
And eat 'By the sweat of our brow? '
The Master Spoke.
Why do we, naturally,
Posess the desire to before,
God, want to worship and adore?
The Master Spoke.
Why is Jesus glorified,
And why, for sinners, did he die?
The Master Spoke.
Why shall God return again,
To take away Isreal, His bride?
Why me, a sinner, justified?
The Master Spoke.
Why will there be Revelations, wars,
And roomers of wars,
Nearing the End Times?
The Master Spoke.
Why is God an eternal Being,
But the world shall be no more?
The Master Spoke.
Why is it, that when a man speaks,
His words blow away
As kernals of grain,
And yet, when God speaks, his Word is as rock,
Forever to remain?
The Master Spoke -
'Heaven and Earth shall pass away,
But my words shall never pass away.'
Why do these things occur,
And as it were,
The penalty of sin man did not have to pay?
The Master Spoke -
'For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only Son,
That whoever believes in him
Shall not perish,
But have the gift of eternal life.
Why?
The Master Spoke.
'Go now! Help the needy,
And the weak!
Save hearts that are broken! '
Hurry, now!
The Master has Spoken.
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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