I just don't want to end up on something that bores the hell out of me. Otherwise, I'll fake a knee injury and get out of there.
quote by Sasha Alexander
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Cushions
When my leaders
Sit in the assembly halls,
For legislation,
With fake brains, fake thoughts,
Fake eyes, fake looks,
Fake existence, fake appearance,
Fake education, fake degrees,
They seem to me
Fake, fake beings,
As if
Some one has placed cushions,
On the sofas and chairs;
Cushions stuffed
With rags of worn out jeans
Or old pieces of sacks
Made of jute.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fake Out In Buenos Aires
Fake out
Fake in
Fake it to me
What is fake?
Fake t.v.
Land of a thousand fake outs
Fake worse than death
In buenos aires
In buenos aires
Fake out
Fake in
Fakers delight
Fake your claim
Fake around the clock
Winner fake all
Three fakes, youre out
In buenos aires
In buenos aires
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The downside isn't really injury, fear of injury or the process of fighting back from injury. The downside, the very worst thing in the world, is surgery.
quote by Greg Rusedski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I retired because I had a knee injury, my cartilage was wearing out, it was painful and I couldn't put in the four hours of practice each day that I needed to.
quote by Guy Forget
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Untitled 3
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover, my mother told me as a boy
'Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.'
I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Sandro bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream Song 14
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) 'Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
poem by John Berryman from The Dream Songs (1969)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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You live in the present and you eliminate things that don't matter. You don't carry the burden of the past. I'm not impressed by the past very much. The past bores me, to tell you the truth; it really bores me. I don't remember many movies and certainly not my own.
quote by Paulette Goddard
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When a man bores a woman, she complains. When a woman bores a man, he ignores her.
quote by Mason Cooley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was on the sideline with a knee injury and when I came back, I wanted to play at the best level I could. And that's the case for a lot of players, they want the chance to play against the best competition.
quote by Claudio Reyna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've lived in good climate, and it bores the hell out of me. I like weather rather than climate.
quote by John Steinbeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.
quote by Marcus Aurelius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Men's Love
There was a damned successful Poet;
There was a Woman like the Sun.
And they were dead. They did not know it.
They did not know their time was done.
They did not know his hymns
Were silence; and her limbs,
That had served Love so well,
Dust, and a filthy smell.
And so one day, as ever of old,
Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee;
On fire to cling and kiss and hold
And, in the other's eyes, to see
Each his own tiny face,
And in that long embrace
Feel lip and breast grow warm
To breast and lip and arm.
So knee to knee they sped again,
And laugh to laugh they ran, I'm told,
Across the streets of Hell . . .
And then
They suddenly felt the wind blow cold,
And knew, so closely pressed,
Chill air on lip and breast,
And, with a sick surprise,
The emptiness of eyes.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1911)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There are some cases in which the sense of injury breeds not the will to inflict injuries and climb over them as a ladder, but a hatred of all injury.
quote by George Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Technically, the last number of years, partially from the injury, it's been difficult to push forward but I felt even before the injury that I still could do more and was sort of at a stalemate.
quote by Elvis Stojko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Doctors And Fake Lovers
Fake doctors and fake lovers,
Waa it more to expose your degrees of your love? !
For your cultures are now seen around us,
And like the Red Devils in the land of your muse.
Blues, use, bus, be, sub, sue, us;
Of the fake doctors and the fake lovers!
And like the bones scattered at the mouths of the graves,
But among the rocks i will sit and watch your steps.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some-Fake-A Baked Cake
No I don't have...
What I do have.
And I do have...
That which I don't.
A peaceless sleep...
Like many who walk 'mean' streets.
No I wont have,
None of that!
Strung out on dope,
Because I can't cope.
No I don't have,
None of that to keep me off track.
Or,
Make an impact.
No I don't have...
What I do have.
And I do have...
That which I don't.
No I don't have...
What I do have.
And I do have...
That which I don't.
Psychotic I'm not...
Like the ones who worry a lot.
Or hooked on smoking pot.
No I don't have...
What I do have.
And I do have,
That which I don't!
No I don't have...
What I do have.
And I do have,
That which I don't!
Even though...
Some-fake-a baked cake.
Some-fake-a baked cake.
Some-fake-a baked cake.
And I wont have...
None of that.
Even though...
Some-fake-a baked cake.
Some-fake-a baked cake.
Some-fake-a baked cake.
And I wont have...
None of that.
No!
I wont have...
None of that.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fake Friend(Revised, In Line Form, Oh and Viewable
The poison seeps from of your eyes.
I can read your lies.
Pure and innocent are dead and gone.
Fake it just fake it.
Pretending your some thing your not.
In the end I win cause I have had been in the alleys.
I've slept in a abandon home to keep from catching cold.
Where were you then my fake friend?
Who do think your fooling?
Do you stop and try to give a ride?
So how bout it my fake friend.
Such a beautiful sharlton.
When I was getting beat up in the courts by five guys for protecting a races rights.
Where were you then my fake friend?
When my house burnt before my very own eyes.
Where were you then?
Hiding behind closed doors like so many times before.
Every thing has been standing still.
I knew the time would come when I would be done with it.
You can't help those who lead.
They'll follow no ones' road but there own.
Judge me not cause don't know how much ambition I truly got.
My fake friend you will not make your failings my own.
For each man women child breaks free of such tyranny.
This is to you my fake friend.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King Of Bores
Abundant bores afflict this world, and some
Are bores of magnitude that-come and-no,
They're always coming, but they never go
Like funeral pageants, as they drone and hum
Their lurid nonsense like a muffled drum,
Or bagpipe's dread unnecessary flow.
But one superb tormentor I can show
Prince Fiddlefaddle, Duc de Feefawfum.
He the johndonkey is who, when I pen
Amorous verses in an idle mood
To nobody, or of her, reads them through
And, smirking, says he knows the lady; then
Calls me sly dog. I wish he understood
This tender sonnet's application too.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One who is injured ought not to return the injury, for on no account can it be right to do an injustice; and it is not right to return an injury, or to do evil to any man, however much we have suffered from him.