Related quotes
The Worst And The Best
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at sexual orgies
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Worst Comes to Worst
(Babu mixing)
"Worst come to worst my peoples come first"
"Worst...come.....to worst"
"Worst come to worst my peoples come first"
"Worst come...to...worst"
"Worst come to worst my peoples come first"
(Evidence talking)
Yeah
It's goin down y'all
That's Babu
Yo
song performed by by Dilated Peoples from Expansion Team
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Fool's haste is no speed.
American proverbs
Submitted by Micheleflowerbomb
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
To suffer the penalty of too much haste, which is too little speed.
A: Run, Run Like The Wind
Run, run like the wind
catch a fast car stopping
outside that will rush to
pick up the kids, then
speeding on, to pick up
the other car from the
garage, a mad dash at
break-neck speed to beat
the afternoon traffic today
in total confusion, leave
early, grab your cell-phone
no moment to lose, the
car cannot wait, if you’re
late, there is havoc in
Wonderland make haste,
make haste!
poem by Margaret Alice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Of hasty counsel take good heed, for haste is very rarely speed.
Original - Time, My Worst Enemy
Time, My Worst Enemy
Keeping me away from you
Time, My Worst Enemy
Moving slowly when we’re apart
Time, My Worst Enemy
Fleeting when you are near
Time, My Worst Enemy
Battling with it daily
Time, My Worst Enemy
Stealing moments from the clock
Time, My Worst Enemy
Until you are in my arms again
Time, My Worst Enemy
Rapidly chasing us down
Time, My Worst Enemy
He will not take you this time
Time, My Worst Enemy
You are in my arms to stay
Time, My Worst Enemy
Has Lost!
God-Speed to the Snow
March is slain; the keen winds fly;
Nothing more is thine to do;
April kisses thee good-bye;
Thou must haste and follow too;
Silent friend that guarded well
Withered things to make us glad,
Shyest friend that could not tell
Half the kindly thought he had.
Haste thee, speed thee, O kind snow;
Down the dripping valleys go,
From the fields and gleaming meadows,
Where the slaying hours behold thee,
From the forests whose slim shadows,
Brown and leafless cannot fold thee,
Through the cedar lands aflame
With gold light that cleaves and quivers,
Songs that winter may not tame,
Drone of pines and laugh of rivers.
May thy passing joyous be
To thy father, the great sea,
For the sun is getting stronger;
Earth hath need of thee no longer;
Go, kind snow, God-speed to thee!
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Southern character is opposed to haste. Safety is of more worth than speed, and there is no hurry.
quote by Maria Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Where Is She?
Where is she, I wondered, when she wasn't there.
If she's not here she could be anywhere. She could be
anywhere and not alone.
I began to imagine the worst. At every imagining
I thought I had imagined the worst, then I imagined
something even worse. It got to the point where my
imaginings no longer included her. I realized that the
worst did not encompass her. As my imaginings continued,
as worst superseded worst, making the preceding worst
only worse, I began to forget her. As worst got worse,
I forgot her more. Things were getting pretty bad, and
I had almost forgotten her completely, when she
reappeared.
poem by Peter Cherches
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The most and the worst
Man wants money most
And uses it worst.
He wants time most
And spends it worst.
He wants things most
And waste them worst.
He wants women most
And miss them worst.
31.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rose
I.
Sweet serene skye-like Flower,
Haste to adorn her Bower :
From thy long clowdy bed,
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora !
The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more ;
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion Ball that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven ;
Love's Couches cover-led :
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear Offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And Jollie, plumpe Silenus ;
Haste, haste, to decke the Haire
Of th' only, sweetly Faire.
V.
See ! Rosie is her Bower,
Her floore is all this Flower ;
Her Bed a Rosie nest
By a Bed of Roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright Tresses ?
Ah ! I have found I feare ;
Because her Cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Lucasta. The Rose.
I.
Sweet serene skye-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long clowdy bed
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of FLORA!
The griefe of pale AURORA,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion ball, that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear offspring of pleas'd VENUS,
And jollie plumpe SILENUS;
Haste, haste, to decke the haire,
Of th' only sweetly faire.
V.
See! rosie is her bower,
Her floore is all this flower;
Her bed a rosie nest
By a bed of roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Lucasta, the Rose
I.
Sweet serene skye-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long clowdy bed
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora!
The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion ball, that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And jollie plumpe Silenus;
Haste, haste, to decke the haire,
Of th' only sweetly faire.
V.
See! rosie is her bower,
Her floore is all this flower;
Her bed a rosie nest
By a bed of roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!