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If I don't have room for an item, I put it in warehouses.
quote by Ursula Andress
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it--and stop there; lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove lid. She will never sit on a hot stove lid again--and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one anymore.
quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Father Shook The Stove
'Twas not so many years ago,
Say, twenty-two or three,
When zero weather or below
Held many a thrill for me.
Then in my icy room I slept
A youngster's sweet repose,
And always on my form I kept
My flannel underclothes.
Then I was roused by sudden shock
Though still to sleep I strove,
I knew that it was seven o'clock
When father shook the stove.
I never heard him quit his bed
Or his alarm clock ring;
I never heard his gentle tread,
Or his attempts to sing;
The sun that found my window pane
On me was wholly lost,
Though many a sunbeam tried in vain
To penetrate the frost.
To human voice I never stirred,
But deeper down I dove
Beneath the covers, when I heard
My father shake the stove.
To-day it all comes back to me
And I can hear it still;
He seemed to take a special glee
In shaking with a will.
He flung the noisy dampers back,
Then rattled steel on steel,
Until the force of his attack
The building seemed to feel.
Though I'd a youngster's heavy eyes
All sleep from them he drove;
It seemed to me the dead must rise
When father shook the stove.
Now radiators thump and pound
And every room is warm,
And modern men new ways have found
To shield us from the storm.
The window panes are seldom glossed
The way they used to be;
The pictures left by old Jack Frost
Our children never see.
And now that he has gone to rest
In God's great slumber grove,
I often think those days were best
When father shook the stove.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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I used to get on a stove wood pile at 5-6 years old and I would have a piece of stove wood and kindling bark as a pick, and I was a star.
quote by Jerry Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is nothing more mysterious than a TV set left on in an empty room. It is even stranger than a man talking to himself or a woman standing dreaming at her stove. It is as if another planet is communicating with you.
quote by Jean Baudrillard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For the truth of the conclusions of physical science, observation is the supreme Court of Appeal. It does not follow that every item which we confidently accept as physical knowledge has actually been certified by the Court our confidence is that it would be certified by the Court if it were submitted. But it does follow that every item of physical knowledge is of a form which might be submitted to the Court. It must be such that we can specify (although it may be impracticable to carry out) an observational procedure which would decide whether it is true or not. Clearly a statement cannot be tested by observation unless it is an assertion about the results of observation. Every item of physical knowledge must therefore be an assertion of what has been or would be the result of carrying out a specified observational procedure.
quote by Arthur Eddington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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For the truth of the conclusions of physical science, observation is the supreme Court of Appeal. It does not follow that every item which we confidently accept as physical knowledge has actually been certified by the Court; our confidence is that it would be certified by the Court if it were submitted. But it does follow that every item of physical knowledge is of a form which might be submitted to the Court. It must be such that we can specify (although it may be impracticable to carry out) an observational procedure which would decide whether it is true or not. Clearly a statement cannot be tested by observation unless it is an assertion about the results of observation. Every item of physical knowledge must therefore be an assertion of what has been or would be the result of carrying out a specified observational procedure.
Arthur Eddington in The Philosophy of Physical Science
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She was scrubbing furiously at a line of grease spots which led from the stove towards the door to the dining-room. That was where Henry had held the platter tilted as he carried the steak in yesterday. And yet if she had warned him once about that, she had a thousand times!
quote by Dorothy Canfield Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Room
There's a world where I can go and tell my secrets to
In my room, in my room
In this world I lock out all my worries and my fears
In my room, in my room
Do my dreaming and my scheming
Lie awake and pray
Do my crying and my sighing
Laugh at yesterday
Now it's dark and I'm alone
But I won't be afraid
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room
song performed by by Wilson Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Room
Theres a world where I can go and tell my secrets to
In my room, in my room
In this world I lock out all my worries and my fears
In my room, in my room
Do my dreaming and my scheming
Lie awake and pray
Do my crying and my sighing
Laugh at yesterday
Now its dark and Im alone
But I wont be afraid
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After A Morning Quarrel
After a morning quarrel with his wife
A husband has got a terrible life.
After work, coming back home,
He finds a warning syndrome.
It’s a note lying on the table:
Honey, I think you are able to heat up the food,
Today I am in a bad mood,
So, to cheer me up I went to my friend
To watch the film with a happy end.
The food is already on the stove.
The stove is in the restaurant The Fat Duck.
I wish you a good luck!
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A Small Elegy
My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.
Outside, it's as dark as pitch.
I'm saying words to myself, words that are white
in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin
to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.
Really, under the cover of winter, it's as if I know
everything---even what my mother is doing now.
She's at home in the kitchen. She has a small child's stove
toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,
she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but
she basks in its heat. Mother. My diminutive mom.
She sits quietly, hands folded, and thinks about
my father, who died years ago.
And then she is skinning fruit for me. I am
in the room. Sitting right next to her. You've got to see us,
God, you bully, who took so much. How
dark it is outside! What was I going to say?
Oh, yes, now I remember. Because
of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm
nights, because of all those loved ones who are deep
in dreams---Now, when everything's running short,
I can't stand being here by myself. The lamplight's too strong.
I am sowing grain on the headland.
I will not live long.
poem by Jirí Orten
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Forefathers
Force the design of a matter of doubt
To be useless.
The lessening of your number of people
Is like a fire of wood crackling
With heat.
The hot stove is cooking my meat of venison,
Relished by my children of the woods.
The design of food is exceptional by the maker of us,
He is the forefather, and she is the foremother,
Reaching our hearts with the stove and the woods
And the sylvan animals of beauty and belief.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Tiny ants we are, but our souls with yours at par
It was our routine
We move around in batches
Locate places from where
We can collect food items
Our food habits are simple
We do not need to cook
As we eat raw
We do not add spices to our food
We also do not mix food items
We are satisfied with one item
And we eat it stomachful in one go
And very importantly
We eat only when hungry
No in-between in takes
We walk, walk and only walk
We do not use any vehicle
Our tribe is known for
Organized non stop working
Recently we were in a marriage hall
We were busy material handling
And the foot item we were shifting
Was a ready-to-eat item
And we would keep it stored
In our safe custody
For consumption later on rainy days
Everything went as planned
We were almost moved all we wanted to move
The last batch of our ten people
Were moving fast through a foot path
And before they could cross
A large footed man stamped on them
And all the entire batch of ten crushed to death
We all witnessed in sorrow
The demise of our people
For no fault of theirs
"We, tiny ants cannot do anything about this.
Once I witnessed hundreds of our men
Got drowned in milk when the pot containing it
Just titled and got emptied"
A senior citizen in our group lamented
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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An Invitation to Mr Liu
Green ant new unstrained beer
Red clay small fire stove
Evening come sky almost snow
Can drink one cup not?
Green lees of beer that's newly brewed,
A little stove of red clay burns.
As evening comes, the sky's about to snow,
Can you drink one cup with me?
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The salability of an item can often be improved while the value itself remains unchanged.
quote by Roy H. Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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6th Nonsense
The room is dark, I die.
Like painting the wind, it's impossible.
If oranges were gray we might call them 'Grays'
That would be groovy.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
If there's rain in Spain would it make it to Maine?
I don't think so.
Everything's Zen?
I don't think so.
The room is dark I die.
The room is dark, I die.
I want to drift through lavender fields like honey on a cotton ball.
Dig it.
But the high-talking motorcross bandits won't let me.
The sorrow.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
But if I were in Punjab I never would have seen the quartet.
If only quartets had 7 people.
That's alright because bunsen burners don't cost much.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
That's my favorite Bible verse.
I think it's in Lushiticus, or Nueteronomy.
The hail storms don't mean anything when you're a unicorn anyway.
The room is dark, I die.
poem by Sledge Hammer
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