Related quotes
A glutton is one who digs his grave with his teeth.
Glutton: one who digs his grave with his teeth.
He who eats when he is full digs his grave with his teeth.
He who digs someone else's grave shall fall in it himself.
Whoever finishes a revolution only halfway, digs his own grave.
quote by Georg Buchner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He that digs up a grave for his enemy, may be digging it for himself.
With Teeth
But she will not let you go
But this time Im not coming back
She will not let you go
But this time Im not coming back
Keeps holding on
She will not let you go
Keeps holding on and on
She will not let you go
No, no, no, no, no!
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
I cannot go through this again /x8
No, no, no, no, no!
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
Youve finally found the place where you belong
It comes on strong
She makes you hard
The rules have changed, the line begins to blur
To what you were
Wave goodbye
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
And it runs deeper than you dare to dream it could be
The black seal
She makes you better than anything youve tried
Its in her kiss
She comes along
She gets inside
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Relic
When my grave is broke up again
Some second guest to entertain,
—For graves have learn'd that woman-head,
To be to more than one a bed—
And he that digs it, spies
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,
Will he not let us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some way
To make their souls at the last busy day
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
If this fall in a time, or land,
Where mass-devotion doth command,
Then he that digs us up will bring
Us to the bishop or the king,
To make us relics; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby;
All women shall adore us, and some men.
And, since at such time miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.
First we loved well and faithfully,
Yet knew not what we loved, nor why;
Difference of sex we never knew,
No more than guardian angels do;
Coming and going we
Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;
Our hands ne'er touch'd the seals,
Which nature, injured by late law, sets free.
These miracles we did; but now alas!
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liturgy....
liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
dont be the hollow religious image,
a body that has no love,
a love that has no body.
dont be so quick to wash your hands,
the dirt neath your nails
is your heritage!
liturgy...
black coffee,
and touching,
the shovel, and the axe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Teeth
English Teeth, English Teeth!
Shining in the sun
A part of British heritage
Aye, each and every one.
English Teeth, Happy Teeth!
Always having fun
Clamping down on bits of fish
And sausages half done.
English Teeth! HEROES' Teeth!
Hear them click! and clack!
Let's sing a song of praise to them -
Three Cheers for the Brown Grey and Black.
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Reverse Acts
He comes out of his hiding place,
With a husky voice and a pale face.
His words expose his phoney force,
He puts the cart before the horse.
He kills and wrecks with the right hand,
And digs his grave with the other hand.
poem by Omar Jabak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When his pet Earth gets angry?
T..........errible
S...........uffering
U.. .........nanimously
N............ature
A... ..........grees
M.............utual
I...... .........nterest!
When this experimental Man
Digs & digs
Day & night
To get golden water,
The bachelor Sorcerer too
Helpless of the powers that shows
This mysterious ball at random!
*Poor innocents compensate with their precious lives and what is this unfair Dogma?
[Quoted from a Survivor but a Senile's Diary.]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rise Again
(instrumental intro)
Going to jamaica,
Warm and coral waters flow
There she goes
Sun kissed her body, in this magic feel love grow,
Love grows
Feel like letting go
Hey mr. saturday night
? ? right out the hole
It stops in a minute,
Its right down in it
Hey, were really back on a roll
I dont know why, I dont know why
Feel so good I could die, I could die
Great escape, Ill be there, by the skin of my teeth, on a wish and a prayer
With a head full of hammers, both feet in the grave, Im gonna stand Im gonna rise again
Dream time (lavinia? ? ),
Even though the odds are stacked, shes coming back
(moon monkeys barking? ) in a bitter chocolate glow,
There she goes, feel like letting go...
Hey, mr. cool jazz nights, let the fever go,
It stops in a minute, Im down in it
Hey, play it long and slow
I dont know why, I dont know why,
Feels so good I could die, I could die,
With a great escape, Ill be there, by the skin of my teeth on a wish and a prayer
With a head full of hammers, both feet in the grave, Im gonna stand Im gonna rise again
(instrumental)
With a great escape, Ill be there, by the skin of my teeth on a wish and a prayer
With a head full of hammers both feet in the grave, Im gonna stand Im gonna rise again
Ive been stricken, Ill be there, by the skin of my teeth on a wish and a prayer, and im
Not going down, both feet in the grave, Im gonna stand Im gonna rise again.
Dream time (lavinia? ? )
Feel like letting go.
(end!)
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They have digged their grave with their teeth.
English proverbs
Submitted by Micheleflowerbomb
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A Dental Poem
Natural teeth are best for men;
See the dentist now and then;
Don’t eat more of sugar stuff;
Don’t chew tobacco or puff!
Brush your teeth, both morn and night;
Wear your dentures, smooth and light;
Floss your teeth to rid off food;
Keep your oral hygiene good.
Extract teeth that hurt the cheek;
Let gums not bleed nor turn weak;
Rinse your mouth after a café;
Keep your God-given teeth safe.
Do not drink hot tea / coffee;
Do not eat sweets like toffee;
Let your breath be fresh and free;
Keep your teeth strong and healthy!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-9-‘10
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Murrow Turning Over In His Grave
All the sainted sinners
They pay handsomely
And eventually?
They make the weapons
And they run the prisons
And they sell the justice
Cause being guilty is
Just good business
And well be standing on
The borderline
Aint no one there gonna
Stop it now
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
Half-closed eyes
And the countrys deadly
Do you feel the ooze as your brain drains out
From your pneumatic drills and sharpening knives
Blood in the sky
Are you dead or alive?
All the restless people and the bitter green
Well it fakes this gold, makes the spirit mean
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women
Vested with powers which thou envy
For this, she bears the brunt
Without retaliation
With these powers maintains a balance of forces
Both of body and soul
A daughter, a sister, a beloved, a wife, a mother she is
And you have made a whore of her
You roles in life well defined
A child, a son, a brother, a husband a child again
Fit only for this and no more
Living stoically
Has sent shivers down Newton's grave
Bleeding every month
Her fertility cements
But for those nine months
Survives and survives
For a soul unknown.
A man who bleeds
Digs himself a grave
A precursor to many graves
It is thus he treats her such
But should't he realise her powers
Her beauty, her passions, her emotions
Her sense to stand by that where he fails
May this eighth day of March lead her march to heavens
Where the powers be honoured and beauty be adored.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gardener
The gardener does not love to talk,
He makes me keep the gravel walk;
And when he puts his tools away,
He locks the door and takes the key.
Away behind the currant row
Where no one else but cook may go,
Far in the plots, I see him dig
Old and serious, brown and big.
He digs the flowers, green, red and blue,
Nor wishes to be spoken to.
He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,
And never seems to want to play.
Silly gardener! summer goes,
And winter comes with pinching toes,
When in the garden bare and brown
You must lay your barrow down.
Well now, and while the summer stays
To profit by these garden days
O how much wiser you would be
To play at Indian wars with me!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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