My best sources are my travels and my collection of National Geographic.
quote by Sergio Aragones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I never leaf through a copy of National Geographic without realizing how lucky we are to live in a society where it is traditional to wear clothes.
quote by Erma Bombeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just a Pet Rant of Mine
Specifics
Would include
Much more homework
To be placed near
Grocery
Check outs
Off with
Mindless
People
National Enquirer
Pretty Homes, etc.
In place, add
National Geographic
Smithsonian
Scientific American
American Scientist
Artist, Etc.
Promote ~ Lifelong Learning
To adults
Kids
Eating and drinking
Habits
Are learned at home! ! !
(A Rocket Scientist's Mom, Tennessee
~ 14 September,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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First Encounter - Tan Sri Francis Yeoh, YTL Executive Chairman
Tan Sri Francis Yeoh
a patience the construct
of education and experience
we build the world
we are the construct
of our roots
First met at the National Geographic store launch in KL in the late 2000.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I remember when an editor at the National Geographic promised to run about a dozen of my landscape pictures from a story on the John Muir trail as an essay, but when the group of editors got together, someone said that my pictures looked like postcards.
quote by Galen Rowell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The U.S. now imports over half of its oil supply from the Middle East. This dangerous dependence on foreign energy sources is an issue of national security.
quote by Kenny Marchant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Traveller
Reply to Rudyard Kipling’s ‘He travels the fastest who travels alone.’
Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
Though he laughs in the day time oft weeps on the nights;
For courage goes down at the set of the sun,
When the toil of the journey is all borne by one.
He speeds but to grief though full gaily he ride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
Who travels alone without lover of friend
But hurries from nothing, to naught at the end.
Though great be his winnings and high be his goal,
He is bankrupt in wisdom and beggared in soul.
Life’s one gift of value to him is denied
Who travels alone without love at his side.
It is easy enough in this world to make haste
If one live for that purpose – but think of the waste;
For life is a poem to leisurely read,
And the joy of the journey lies not in its speed.
Oh! vain his achievement and petty his pride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Romancing poverty
When all the women
on their way to Africa
to give oatmeal
cookies
and granola bars
to the poor
have shaved heads,
you have to wonder—
does poverty make you blind,
fail to see beauty in pomegranate lips,
the pouring of auburn curls, or sea green eyes?
Oh! what an ode it will be,
what a turn of the lock and key,
when the cover of National Geographic reads,
“Masai boys discover beauty in silken thighs.”
poem by by unknown author
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When I handed over the names and compromised so many CIA agents in the Soviet Union, I had come to the conclusion that the loss of these sources to the U.S. would not compromise significant national defense, political, diplomatic interests.
quote by Aldrich Ames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whatever
Come outdoors, you'll soon be trashed and
swept away. The thought in your heart.
It makes you so afraid you'll
never come outside again.
This is a song that I wrote for you,
but you will never receive it.
You always carefully lock your doors.
Detest all kinds of whatever. May I persuade
you to go on holding on to this song?
National Geographic's Dangerzone isn't much
of a help. It leaves you pegged down to your
seat at home. All alone
Analyse the papers and you'll conclude that
it's very dangerous to go outside nowadays.
There is a chance that a plain falls down
right on top of your headwhile you least
expect it to so. But get a grip on your own
life and look way beyond.
You sit hours on your own.
What does it take to get you out of there?
song performed by by Undeclinable Ambuscade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Winners
("The Story of the Gadsbys")
What the moral? Who rides may read.
When the night is thick and the tracks are blind
A friend at a pinch is a friend, indeed,
But a fool to wait for the laggard behind.
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
White hands cling to the tightened rein,
Slipping the spur from the booted heel,
Tenderest voices cry " Turn again!"
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel,
High hopes faint on a warm hearth-stone--
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
One may fall but he falls by himself--
Falls by himself with himself to blame.
One may attain and to him is pelf--
Loot of the city in Gold or Fame.
Plunder of earth shall be all his own
Who travels the fastest and travels alone.
Wherefore the more ye be helpen-.en and stayed,
Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil,
Sing the heretical song I have made--
His be the labour and yours be the spoil.
Win by his aid and the aid disown--
He travels the fastest who travels alone!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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In my role as Wikileaks editor, I've been involved in fighting off many legal attacks. To do that, and keep our sources safe, we have had to spread assets, encrypt everything, and move telecommunications and people around the world to activate protective laws in different national jurisdictions.
quote by Julian Assange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Encounter - Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor (First Malaysian to go to Space)
Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor
our distance between
the stars and earth
First met at the opening of the National Geographic Store at Lot 10 in the late 2000.
Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor (born Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor Al Masrie bin Sheikh Mustapha on July 27,1972) is a Malaysian orthopaedic surgeon and was the first Malaysian to go into space. - wikipedia.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In the Waiting Room
In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist's waiting room.
It was winter. It got dark
early. The waiting room
was full of grown-up people,
arctics and overcoats,
lamps and magazines.
My aunt was inside
what seemed like a long time
and while I waited and read
the National Geographic
(I could read) and carefully
studied the photographs:
the inside of a volcano,
black, and full of ashes;
then it was spilling over
in rivulets of fire.
Osa and Martin Johnson
dressed in riding breeches,
laced boots, and pith helmets.
A dead man slung on a pole
"Long Pig," the caption said.
Babies with pointed heads
wound round and round with string;
black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light bulbs.
Their breasts were horrifying.
I read it right straight through.
I was too shy to stop.
And then I looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date.
Suddenly, from inside,
came an oh! of pain
--Aunt Consuelo's voice--
not very loud or long.
I wasn't at all surprised;
even then I knew she was
a foolish, timid woman.
I might have been embarrassed,
but wasn't. What took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth.
Without thinking at all
I was my foolish aunt,
I--we--were falling, falling,
our eyes glued to the cover
of the National Geographic,
February, 1918.
I said to myself: three days
and you'll be seven years old.
I was saying it to stop
the sensation of falling off
the round, turning world.
into cold, blue-black space.
But I felt: you are an I,
you are an Elizabeth,
you are one of them.
Why should you be one, too?
I scarcely dared to look
to see what it was I was.
I gave a sidelong glance
--I couldn't look any higher--
at shadowy gray knees,
trousers and skirts and boots
and different pairs of hands
lying under the lamps.
I knew that nothing stranger
had ever happened, that nothing
stranger could ever happen.
Why should I be my aunt,
or me, or anyone?
What similarities
boots, hands, the family voice
I felt in my throat, or even
the National Geographic
and those awful hanging breasts
held us all together
or made us all just one?
How I didn't know any
word for it how "unlikely". . .
How had I come to be here,
like them, and overhear
a cry of pain that could have
got loud and worse but hadn't?
The waiting room was bright
and too hot. It was sliding
beneath a big black wave,
another, and another.
Then I was back in it.
The War was on. Outside,
in Worcester, Massachusetts,
were night and slush and cold,
and it was still the fifth
of February, 1918.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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But reducing harmful emissions, abating our dependence on foreign oil and developing alternative renewable energy sources have benefits that go beyond environmental health, they improve personal health, enhance national security and encourage our nation's economic viability.
quote by Jim Clyburn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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National Front Disco (live)
David, the wind blows,
The wind blows
Bits of your life away.
Your friends all say,
"Where is our boy?
Ah, we've lost our boy".
But they should know,
Where you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
That you're going to . . .
Oh, oh, oh, going to . . .
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
"England for the English",
"England for the English".
David, the wind's blown,
The wind's blown
All of my dreams away.
And I still say,
"Where is our boy?
Ah, we've lost our boy".
But I should know
Why you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
You're going to the National . . .
Ah, to the National . . .
There's a country,
You don't live there,
But one day you would like to.
And if you show them what you're made of,
Ah, then you might do.
But David, we wonder,
We wonder if the thunder
Is ever really gonna begin,
Begin, begin
Your mum says,
"I've lost my boy".
But she should know
Why you've gone,
Because again and again you've explained
You're going to the National,
To the National,
To the National Front disco,
Because you want the day to come sooner,
You want the day to come sooner,
You want the day to come sooner,
When you've settled the score.
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National,
Oh, the National
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We don't have sources who are dissidents on other sources. Should they come forward, that would be a tricky situation for us. But we're presumably acting in such a way that people feel morally compelled to continue our mission, not to screw it up.
quote by Julian Assange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art of Yellow
whether the Simpsons, whether Valentino Rossi
whether sunflower, whether Tweety
whether gold, whether smiley
yellow is entertaining icon
from the sun, to the emperor
from traffic light, to police line
from the janur, to the flag*
yellow is the warning sign
whether egg yolk, whether turmeric
the vitamin C, the National Geographic
cheering the day, bring up the mood
yellow is energizing color
*in some part of Indonesia yellow janur means celebration and yellow flag means funeral
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I've got a great cigar collection - it's actually not a collection, because that would imply I wasn't going to smoke every last one of 'em.
Even as we work to develop more sources of petroleum for the United States, we must continue our vigorous pursuit of alternative fuels, so that we can be powered by cleaner, more efficient sources of energy.
quote by Virgil Goode
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Love Travels On A Gravel Road (Takes 6,7)
How many girls choose cotton dress worlds
When they could have satins and lace
And stand by her man, never once letting shade touch her face
How many hearts could live through all the winters
We've known and still not be cold
True love travels on a gravel road.
Love is a stranger and hearts are in danger
All through streets paved with gold
For true love travels on a gravel road.
Down through the years we've had hard times and tears
But they only helped our love grow
And we'll stay together no matter how strong the wind blows
Not once have I seen your blue eyes filled with envy
Or stray from the one that you hold
Oh true love travels on a gravel road.
Love is a stranger and hearts are in danger
All through streets paved with gold
For true love travels on a gravel road.
Yeah, true love travels on a gravel road. Mmmm
True love travels on a gravel road.
True love travels on a gravel road.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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