Related quotes: I've always gotten along well...

I've always gotten along well with Texans. You've got to.

quote by Burt Reynolds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

Texans should not be taxed on our taxes.

quote by Kay Bailey Hutchison
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Many people have believed that they were Chosen, but none more baldly than the Texans.

quote by Edward Hoagland
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Most Texans think Hanukkah is some sort of duck call.

quote by Richard Lewis
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You know the good part about all those executions in Texas? Fewer Texans.

quote by George Carlin
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Note to secessionist Texans: now is the time to wave the Confederate Flag.

quote by Melissa Harris-Lacewell
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I knew more about Texas than the Texans and when they told me I would find summer here I smiled knowingly.

quote by Richard H. Davis
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Texas has a lot of challenges, but if I choose to run I will talk about opening democracy to mainstream Texans and not just to a closed circle of entrenched ideologues.

quote by Chris Bell
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The first game I played. We played against the Dallas Texans.

quote by Jim Otto
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When rough times have fallen upon our state in the past, Texans have always responded with generosity and an eagerness to help. The compassionate response to the fires has proven that this community spirit is alive and well.

quote by Randy Neugebauer
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In the Steven F. Austin Colony, which was the first colony, Texans first established a provisional government in 1835 with the intention of writing a declaration of independence soon after.

quote by Michael McCaul
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Our community in North Texas is fortunate to have two thriving airports. We serve millions of satisfied customers and employ hundreds of thousands of North Texans. We should not jeopardize that which is working well already.

quote by Michael Burgess
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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love and Noonday onions

I hadn't married a Texan

I wouldn't know

they existed

dark cinnamon soil
silk trees everywhere...

acres of pecans
no-see-ums... red, like the itch/sting place after they getcha

sudden heavy sky
raindrops the size of twentyfive cent pieces....there and gone in two minutes

funny what sticks and what doesn't.....well, it all does, minutes, hours, words, music....
this is what decided to surface.....was thinking about garlic.....these words followed....funny.....

*the onions, not Texans '>)

poem by that's how I intended to ... delilah contrapunctal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gun nuts

The FBI has considerably extended
the list of those whose mental health
makes it unwise for them to purchase guns…

that means, I guess, those whose state
was discovered before they bought
their first, or second, or fourteenth gun..

but what of those whose mental health
is dangerously unbalanced, after
they buy their guns and use them?

who graduate enthusiastically
from air-rifles aimed at beer cans,
to planning how to gun down
their teachers or their fellow students?

then there are those who fight heroically
throughout a campaign; but return,
as veterans from Vietnam, to a ruined mental health?

or – let’s be quite contentious here –
suppose a whole people, let’s say Texans
or Republicans, or Afghans, or some extremist sect,
want to fight each other; and
an impartial expert called in by
the United Nations (uh?) declares
that neither side are fit in mental health
to buy, or to be issued, any guns? …

poem by Michael Shepherd
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If You're Gonna Play In Texas

If you're gonna play in texas,
You gotta have a fiddle in the band.
That lead guitar is hot,
But not for "lousiana man".
So rosin up that bow for "faded love"
And let's all dance.
If you're gonna play in texas,
You gotta have a fiddle in the band.
I remember down in houston
We were puttin' on a show
When a cowboy in the back stood up and yelled,
"cotton-eyed joe"!
He said, "we love what you're doin'.
Boys don't get us wrong,
There's just somethin' missin' in your song.
Chorus
So we dusted off our boots and put our cowboy hats on straight.
Them texans raised the roof when jeff opened up his case.
You say y'all all wanna two-step. you say ya wanna doe-si-doe.
Well, here's a fiddlin' song before we go.
Chorus
Repeat and fade

song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tear Me Down

Listen
I was born on the other side
Just always looking to you
I made it over the great divide
Now I'm coming for you
Your forces lined up in battle
Your soldiers and your machines
The sun has been blocked out by shadows
The darkest hour now you've ever seen
And I'm easy and I'm serious
They try and tear me down
You want me baby I dare you
Try and tear me down
I rose up on the doctor's slab
Like Lazarus from the pit
And everyone wants to take a stab
Decorate me with blood, graffiti and spit
I've been held up on money
I've been beaten out of spite
You want a piece of me honey?
Lose or win
You know you've been in a fight
And I'm easy and I'm serious
They try and tear me down
You want me baby I dare you
Try and tear me down
Girl (speaking):
On March 6th, 1836 the walls of the Alamo fell
to the Mexican army. After a 12 day siege, the
troops of Santa Ana were victorious but too
exhausted to hold on and the Texans won the
war. It's further from El Paso to Texarkana,
then from New York to Chicago. And when it
joined the Union, Texas was the biggest state.
Yeah, everything from Texas is big, larger than
life and none bigger than little Marvin Aday. So
big his daddy called him Meat Loaf. He grew
into a big man, with a big voice. And he sings
big songs and has big hits. You can try and
tear him down.
Meatloaf:
Now there ain't much difference
Between a bridge and a wall
Without me right in the middle baby
You'll be nothing at all
And I'm easy and I'm serious
They try and tear me down
You want me baby I dare you
Try and tear me down
And I'm easy and I'm serious
They try and tear me down
You want me baby I dare you
Try and tear me down

song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold At All Costs (July 2nd, 1863)

Just a mile or so away
Is my dearest friend in this world.
He wears the Blue and I the Grey
And god it hurts me so
The last time we were together I grabbed his hand and I pledged
If I ever draw my sword on you may the good lord strike me dead
The union flank's in trouble
To the round top on the double
A bad decision, insubordination
Exposed our line in a dangerous way
The burden lies upon us
Surrender is not an option
We are the flank, and if we break, the union crumbles we could lose the war
Down below's the carnage
The rebels charging onward
Push the slaughter forward, the peach orchard.
Through the wheat field and devil's den
The valour of the Texans
And Alabama's best men
They're Unrelenting
And Devastating
The last full measure of devotion's clear
Chorus
We'll know what we're made of.
When up against all odds we hold our line
For the cause that we so love
We must hold at all cost
We'll know what we're made of
When our nation needs us
We'll stay the course, for the union we so love
We must hold at all costs!
Wave after wave, they are coming
Their power must be waning!
We're out of ammo, we can't fall back, no !
A desperate measure, a means to end
On their next wave we charge at them
There is no other option
Disconcert them, force submission, on my command, fix bayonets!
Repeat Chorus
We'll know what we're made of
The burden lies with us
When up against al odds we hold our line
We can't fail
For the cause that we so love
We must hold at all costs
We'll know w

song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold At All Costs

song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Galveston Bay

For 15 years le bin sonfought side by side with the americans
In the mountains and deltas
Of vietnamin 75 saigon fell and he left his command
And brought his family to the promised land
Seabrook, texas and the small towns in the gulf of mexico
It was delta country and reminded him of home
He worked as a machinist, put his money away
And bought a shrimp boat with his cousin
And together they harvested galveston bay
In the mornin fore the sun come up
Hed kiss his sleepin daughter
Steer out thru thechannel
And cast his nets into the water
Billy sutter fought with charlie company
In the highlands of quang tri
He was wounded in the battle of chu lai
Shipped home in 68
There he married and worked the gulf fishing grounds
In a boat thatd been his fathers
In the morning hed kiss his sleeping son
And cast his nets into the water
Billy sat in front of his tv as the south fell
And the communists rolled into saigon
He and his friends watched as the refugees came
Settled on the same streets and worked the coast theyd grew up on
Soon in the bars around the harbor was talk
Of america for the americans
Someone said you want em out, you got to burn em out.
And brought in the texas klan
One humid texas night there were 3 shadows on the harbor
Come to burn the vietnamese into the sea
In the fires light shots rang out
2 texans lay dead on the ground
Le stood with a pistol in his hand
A jury acquitted him in self-defense
As before the judge he did stand
But as le walked down the courthouse steps
Billy said my friend youre a dead man.
One late summer night le stood watch along the waterside
Billy stood in the shadows
His k-bar knife in his hand
And the moon slipped behind the clouds
Le lit a cigarette, the bay was still as glass
As he walked by billy stuck his knife into his pocket
Took a breath and let him pass
In the early darkness billy rose up
Went into the kitchen for a drink of water
Kissed his sleeping wife
Headed into the channel
And cast his nets into the water
Of galveston bay

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thanksgiving

_The Superintendent of an Almshouse. A Pauper._

SUPERINTENDENT:

So _you're_ unthankful-you'll not eat the bird?
You sit about the place all day and gird.
I understand you'll not attend the ball
That's to be given to-night in Pauper Hall.

PAUPER:

Why, that is true, precisely as you've heard:
I have no teeth and I will eat no bird.

SUPERINTENDENT:

Ah! see how good is Providence. Because
Of teeth He has denuded both your jaws
The fowl's made tender; you can overcome it
By suction; or at least-well, you can gum it,
Attesting thus the dictum of the preachers
That Providence is good to all His creatures-
Turkeys excepted. Come, ungrateful friend,
If our Thanksgiving dinner you'll attend
You shall say grace-ask God to bless at least
The soft and liquid portions of the feast.

PAUPER.

Without those teeth my speech is rather thick
He'll hardly understand Gum Arabic.
No, I'll not dine to-day. As to the ball,
'Tis known to you that I've no legs at all.
I had the gout-hereditary; so,
As it could not be cornered in my toe
They cut my legs off in the fond belief
That shortening me would make my anguish brief.
Lacking my legs I could not prosecute
With any good advantage a pursuit;
And so, because my father chose to court
Heaven's favor with his ortolans and Port
(Thanksgiving every day!) the Lord supplied
Saws for my legs, an almshouse for my pride
And, once a year, a bird for my inside.
No, I'll not dance-my light fantastic toe
Took to its heels some twenty years ago.
Some small repairs would be required for putting
My feelings on a saltatory footing.

_(Sings)_

O the legless man's an unhappy chap
_Tum-hi, tum-hi, tum-he o'haddy
The favors o' fortune fall not in his lap
_Tum-hi, tum-heedle-do hum
The plums of office avoid his plate
No matter how much he may stump the State
_Tum-hi, ho-heeee._
The grass grows never beneath his feet,
But he cannot hope to make both ends meet
_Tum-hi._
With a gleeless eye and a somber heart,
He plays the role of his mortal part:
Wholly himself he can never be.
O, a soleless corporation is he!
_Tum_.

SUPERINTENDENT:

The chapel bell is calling, thankless friend,
Balls you may not, but church you _shall_, attend.
Some recognition cannot be denied
To the great mercy that has turned aside
The sword of death from us and let it fall
Upon the people's necks in Montreal;
That spared our city, steeple, roof and dome,
And drowned the Texans out of house and home;
Blessed all our continent with peace, to flood
The Balkan with a cataclysm of blood.
Compared with blessings of so high degree,
Your private woes look mighty small-to me.

poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Army Of Northern Virginia

Army of Northern Virginia, army of legend,
Who were your captains that you could trust them so surely?
Who were your battle-flags?
Call the shapes from the mist,
Call the dead men out of the mist and watch them ride.
Tall the first rider, tall with a laughing mouth,
His long black beard is combed like a beauty's hair,
His slouch hat plumed with a curled black ostrich-feather,
He wears gold spurs and sits his horse with the seat
Of a horseman born.
It is Stuart of Laurel Hill,
'Beauty' Stuart, the genius of cavalry,
Reckless, merry, religious, theatrical,
Lover of gesture, lover of panache,
With all the actor's grace and the quick, light charm
That makes the women adore him-a wild cavalier
Who worships as sober a God as Stonewall Jackson,
A Rupert who seldom drinks, very often prays,
Loves his children, singing, fighting spurs, and his wife.
Sweeney his banjo-player follows him.
And after them troop the young Virginia counties,
Horses and men, Botetort, Halifax,
Dinwiddie, Prince Edward, Cumberland, Nottoway,
Mecklenburg, Berkeley, Augusta, the Marylanders,
The horsemen never matched till Sheridan came.
Now the phantom guns creak by. They are Pelham's guns.
That quiet boy with the veteran mouth is Pelham.
He is twenty-two. He is to fight sixty battles
And never lose a gun.
The cannon roll past,
The endless lines of the infantry begin.
A. P. Hill leads the van. He is small and spare,
His short, clipped beard is red as his battleshirt,
Jackson and Lee are to call him in their death-hours.
Dutch Longstreet follows, slow, pugnacious and stubborn,
Hard to beat and just as hard to convince,
Fine corps commander, good bulldog for holding on,
But dangerous when he tries to think for himself,
He thinks for himself too much at Gettysburg,
But before and after he grips with tenacious jaws.
There is D. H. Hill-there is Early and Fitzhugh Lee-
Yellow-haired Hood with his wounds and his empty sleeve,
Leading his Texans, a Viking shape of a man,
With the thrust and lack of craft of a berserk sword,
All lion, none of the fox.
When he supersedes
Joe Johnston, he is lost, and his army with him,
But he could lead forlorn hopes with the ghost of Ney.
His bigboned Texans follow him into the mist.
Who follows them?
These are the Virginia faces,
The Virginia speech. It is Jackson's footcavalry,
The Army of the Valley,
It is the Stonewall Brigade, it is the streams
Of the Shenandoah, marching.
Ewell goes by,
The little woodpecker, bald and quaint of speech
With his wooden leg stuck stiffly out from his saddle,
He is muttering, 'Sir, I'm a nervous Major-General,
And whenever an aide rides up from General Jackson
I fully expect an order to storm the North Pole.'
He chuckles and passes, full of crotchets and courage,
Living on frumenty for imagined dyspepsia,
And ready to storm the North Pole at a Jackson phrase.
Then the staff-then little Sorrel-and the plain
Presbyterian figure in the flat cap,
Throwing his left hand out in the awkward gesture
That caught the bullet out of the air at Bull Run,
Awkward, rugged and dour, the belated Ironside
With the curious, brilliant streak of the cavalier
That made him quote Mercutio in staff instructions,
Love lancet windows, the color of passion-flowers,
Mexican sun and all fierce, tautlooking fine creatures;
Stonewall Jackson, wrapped in his beard and his silence,
Cromwell-eyed and ready with Cromwell's short
Bleak remedy for doubters and fools and enemies,
Hard on his followers, harder on his foes,
An iron sabre vowed to an iron Lord,
And yet the only man of those men who pass
With a strange, secretive grain of harsh poetry
Hidden so deep in the stony sides of his heart
That it shines by flashes only and then is gone.
It glitters in his last words.
He is deeply ambitious,
The skilled man, utterly sure of his own skill
And taking no nonsense about it from the unskilled,
But God is the giver of victory and defeat,
And Lee, on earth, vicegerent under the Lord.
Sometimes he differs about the mortal plans
But once the order is given, it is obeyed.
We know what he thought about God. One would like to know
What he thought of the two together, if he so mingled them.
He said two things about Lee it is well to recall.
When he first beheld the man that he served so well,
'I have never seen such a fine-looking human creature.'
Then, afterwards, at the height of his own fame,
The skilled man talking of skill, and something more.
'General Lee is a phenomenon,
He is the only man I would follow blindfold.'
Think of those two remarks and the man who made them
When you picture Lee as the rigid image in marble.
No man ever knew his own skill better than Jackson
Or was more ready to shatter an empty fame.
He passes now in his dusty uniform.
The Bible jostles a book of Napoleon's Maxims
And a magic lemon deep in his saddlebags.

And now at last,
Comes Traveller and his master. Look at them well.
The horse is an iron-grey, sixteen hands high,
Short back, deep chest, strong haunch, flat legs, small head,
Delicate ear, quick eye, black mane and tail,
Wise brain, obedient mouth.
Such horses are
The jewels of the horseman's hands and thighs,
They go by the word and hardly need the rein.
They bred such horses in Virginia then,
Horses that were remembered after death
And buried not so far from Christian ground
That if their sleeping riders should arise
They could not witch them from the earth again
And ride a printless course along the grass
With the old manage and light ease of hand.
The rider, now.
He too, is iron-grey,
Though the thick hair and thick, blunt-pointed beard
Have frost in them.
Broad-foreheaded, deep-eyed,
Straight-nosed, sweet-mouthed, firmlipped, head cleanly set,
He and his horse are matches for the strong
Grace of proportion that inhabits both.
They carry nothing that is in excess
And nothing that is less than symmetry,
The strength of Jackson is a hammered strength,
Bearing the tool marks still. This strength was shaped
By as hard arts but does not show the toil
Except as justness, though the toil was there.
-And so we get the marble man again,
The head on the Greek coin, the idol image,
The shape who stands at Washington's left hand,
Worshipped, uncomprehended and aloof,
A figure lost to flesh and blood and bones,
Frozen into a legend out of life,
A blank-verse statue-
How to humanize
That solitary gentleness and strength
Hidden behind the deadly oratory
Of twenty thousand Lee Memorial days,
How show, in spite of all the rhetoric,
All the sick honey of the speechifiers,
Proportion, not as something calm congealed
From lack of fire, but ruling such a fire
As only such proportion could contain?

The man was loved, the man was idolized,
The man had every just and noble gift.
He took great burdens and he bore them well,
Believed in God but did not preach too much,
Believed and followed duty first and last
With marvellous consistency and force,
Was a great victor, in defeat as great,
No more, no less, always himself in both,
Could make men die for him but saved his men
Whenever he could save them-was most kind
But-was not disobeyed-was a good father,
A loving husband, a considerate friend:
Had litle humor, but enough to play
Mild jokes that never wounded but had charm,
Did not seek intimates, yet drew men to him,
Did not seek fame, did not protest against it,
Knew his own value without pomp or jealousy
And died as he preferred to live-sans praise,
With commonsense, tenacity and courage,
A Greek proportion-and a riddle unread.
And everything that we have said is true
And nothing helps us yet to read the man,
Nor will he help us while he has the strength
To keep his heart his own.
For he will smile
And give you, with unflinching courtesy,
Prayers, trappings, letters, uniforms and orders,
Photographs, kindness, valor and advice,
And do it with such grace and gentleness
That you will know you have the whole of him
Pinned down, mapped out, easy to understand-
And so you have.
All things except the heart
The heart he kept himself, that answers all.
For here was someone who lived all his life
In the most fierce and open light of the sun,
Wrote letters freely, did not guard his speech,
Listened and talked with every sort of man,
And kept his heart a secret to the end
From all the picklocks of biographers.

He was a man, and as a man he knew
Love, separation, sorrow, joy and death.
He was a master of the tricks of war,
He gave great strokes and warded strokes as great.
He was the prop and pillar of a State,
The incarnation of a national dream,
And when the State fell and the dream dissolved
He must have lived with bitterness itself-
But what his sorrow was and what his joy,
And how he felt in the expense of strength,
And how his heart contained its bitterness,
He will not tell us.
We can lie about him,
Dress up a dummy in his uniform
And put our words into the dummy's mouth,
Say 'Here Lee must have thought,' and 'There, no doubt,
By what we know of him, we may suppose
He felt-this pang or that-' but he remains
Beyond our stagecraft, reticent as ice,
Reticent as the fire within the stone.

Yet-look at the face again-look at it well-
This man was not repose, this man was act.
This man who murmured 'It is well that war
Should be so terrible, if it were not
We might become too fond of it-' and showed
Himself, for once, completely as he lived
In the laconic balance of that phrase;
This man could reason, but he was a fighter,
Skilful in every weapon of defence
But never defending when he could assault,
Taking enormous risks again and again,
Never retreating while he still could strike,
Dividing a weak force on dangerous ground
And joining it again to beat a strong,
Mocking at chance and all the odds of war
With acts that looked like hairbread'th recklessness -
We do not call them reckless, since they won.
We do not see him reckless for the calm
Proportion that controlled the recklessness-
But that attacking quality was there.
He was not mild with life or drugged with justice,
He gripped life like a wrestler with a bull,
Impetuously. It did not come to him
While he stood waiting in a famous cloud,
He went to it and took it by both horns
And threw it down.
Oh, he could bear the shifts
Of time and play the bitter loser's game,
The slow, unflinching chess of fortitude,
But while he had an opening for attack
He would attack with every ounce of strength.
His heart was not a stone but trumpet-shaped
And a long challenge blew an anger through it
That was more dread for being musical
First, last, and to the end.
Again he said
A curious thing to life.
'I'm always wanting something.'
The brief phrase
Slides past us, hardly grasped in the smooth flow
Of the well-balanced, mildly-humorous prose
That goes along to talk of cats and duties,
Maxims of conduct, farming and poor bachelors,
But for a second there, the marble cracked
And a strange man we never saw before
Showed us the face he never showed the world
And wanted something-not the general
Who wanted shoes and food for ragged men,
Not the good father wanting for his children,
The patriot wanting victory-all the Lees
Whom all the world could see and recognize
And hang with gilded laurels-but the man
Who had, you'd say, all things that life can give
Except the last success-and had, for that,
Such glamor as can wear sheer triumph out,
Proportion's son and Duty's eldest sword
And the calm mask who-wanted something still,
Somewhere, somehow and always.
Picklock biographers,
What could he want that he had never had?

He only said it once-the marble closed-
There was a man enclosed within that image.
There was a force that tried Proportion's rule
And died without a legend or a cue
To bring it back. The shadow-Lees still live.
But the first-person and the singular Lee?

The ant finds kingdoms in a foot of ground
But earth's too small for something in our earth,
We'll make a new earth from the summer's cloud,
From the pure summer's cloud.
It was not that,
It was not God or love or mortal fame.
It was not anything he left undone.
-What does Proportion want that it can lack?
-What does the ultimate hunger of the flesh
Want from the sky more than a sky of air?

He wanted something. That must be enough.
Now he rides Traveller back into the mist.

poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

love and Noonday onions

Gun nuts

If You're Gonna Play In Texas

Tear Me Down

Hold At All Costs (July 2nd, 1863)

Hold At All Costs

Galveston Bay

Thanksgiving

Army Of Northern Virginia

En.Citatepedia^®.ro