Virtuous people often revenge themselves for the constraints to which they submit by the boredom which they inspire.
Related quotes
Victims continue
Revenge is the means God punishes by.
Pleasure of revenge is God given bait.
Revenge removes hurt feelings, yet no good.
Revenge breeds revenge; victims continue.
02.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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War is Boredom
War is Boredom
War is Boredom
War can be defined as long periods of boredom, short burst of terror, seemingly lasting forever, To those who are there, Waiting for another outburst, which never seems to cease.
You Pray, you count all your blessings, the outgoing not what you fear, its the incoming that can't be trusted.
War can be defined as boredom, for those who's life was spared, as the days in between that matters, on those who life spent there.
2008
poem by Charles Garcia
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It is a revenge the devil sometimes takes upon the virtuous, that he entraps them by the force of the very passion they have suppressed and think themselves superior to.
quote by George Santayana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Motivation is everything. You can do the work of two people, but you can't be two people. Instead, you have to inspire the next guy down the line and get him to inspire his people.
quote by Lee Iacocca
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man’s Satan
Every man houses in him Satan,
Who is ‘the unconquerable cool,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.’
05.01.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Submit me,
Submit me,
Submit me that I may see this house,
I know that we are submitted to true love,
Even in my own thought,
World is submitted to this thought,
Submit me in my house,
I know my home is your house,
Even with this composure,
There is a right for all mankind not Ignored,
There is the joy of living worth than death,
Submit me that we may share this glory.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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Sonnet 20
XX
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
poem by John Milton
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Revenge
Live to die
For a heart jam
Fight to love a
Super bitch
Drive her roots
Straight to hell
Atomic ass 99
Another cosmic monster
Spits his teeth
In your eye
More dead than alive
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge is better than
Love
Frankenstein
Was built for you
But he must be
Destroyed
Cut him down yeah
In his prime
And let the party
Begin
Not much of a face
Tombstone laughing
More dead than alive
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge
Revenge
Revenge
Revenge
They sharpened their war
Pure fear as a weapon
Brilliance through
Centuries
Time rolls on and on and
The river of life
Drowning everyone but me
Turn my back
And disappear
Chill is in my gut
Turns me loose
Head splits like wood
Mind collide confession
Rambling remember when
Sweat meant something
More dead than alive
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge is better than
Love
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Revenge
Live to die
For a heart jam
Fight to love a
Super bitch
Drive her roots
Straight to hell
Atomic ass 99
Another cosmic monster
Spits his teeth
In your eye
More dead than alive
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge is better than
Love
Frankenstein
Was built for you
But he must be
Destroyed
Cut him down yeah
In his prime
And let the party
Begin
Not much of a face
tombstone laughing
More dead than alive
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge
Revenge
Revenge
Revenge
They sharpened their war
Pure fear as a weapon
Brilliance through
Centuries
Time rolls on and on and
The river of life
Drowning everyone but me
Turn my back
And disappear
Chill is in my gut
Turns me loose
Head splits like wood
Mind collide confession
Rambling remember when
Sweat meant something
More dead than alive
Revenge is better than
Love
Revenge is better than
Love
song performed by by White Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XX: Lawrence, of virtuous father
To Mr Lawrence
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
poem by John Milton
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Some people are able to produce such constraints on themselves that no dictator would be able to conceive!
Octav Bibere
Submitted by Octav Bibere
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A Few Advices To A Nephew Studying The Science Of Psychology
you say you want noise
so much noise in fact
in the middle of the night
to bury the boredom reigning in yourself.
i wonder if you have consulted the gods and goddesses of poertry.
if you have gone at the entrance of its temples.
one does not need noise to expunge boredom.
one needs only silence.
you tell me i am different. Sort of telling me you are different
and you belong to the wonders of your youth.
i am telling you, you are wrong my dear nephew.
you have taken so much noise, and you are lost.
you have disregarded the voice of your heart
and the furies will take the revenge.
the noise will take you like the Pied Piper of Hamelin
to the sea with all the rats and there
they will drown with you.
Take your time. Have fun with so much noise.
When this fails, and i know it will, please come back
and drink the lovely potion of silence.
This is the beginning
of poetry.
Some things are so real, in this poetic imagination.
As she once puts it: an imaginary garden with real toads in them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints, such people have a corpse in their mouth.
quote by Raoul Vaneigem
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To My Inspiring Muse
Inspire my mind to make
soul-stirring music,
to enthrall the doleful hearts
for enchanting this world………., …..(Inspire..)
When I fly through the
Himalayan Valleys,
ignite my heart to sing,
the paeans to Nature………..(Inspire..)
I want to enfold the
ennobling river Ganges
and enjoy a nap on the
lap of the cool breeze. ……….(Inspire….)
I should feel exalted
from my injured heart;
and from my freak frenzies,
I will be strewing flowers. …….. (Inspire…)
Heart-warming songs I can
sing in my mother tongue.
To tell her fame all the world
I strained me in other tongue.
I love to sink in the serene sea of English
to bring up the pearls for ensuring a new birth. …..(Inspire…)
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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I Believe in Muses
Nine to the Universe, the Nine Divine
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to dream sublime
Empress Omega, Betty Shabazz, Nzinga all of the Queens
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to achieve impossible dreams
Your sepia back, so strong and beautiful as obsidian
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to search where truth is hidden
Thighs, eyes, hips and lips, I desire you body and soul
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to an orgasmic loss of self control
Your beauty has inspired men to create, to build, to rise
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to be a King in your eyes
poem by Vince Rogers
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Roads To Happiness
Some people do inspire
Books always inspire
Every work of art
Incorporates desire.
There comes an impulse
And one seizes pen and paper
Yes, it's a different flavour...
Then it is like fire.
Each line starts burning
From the bottom of one's heart
We let the flame rise
Until soul reaches paradise.
To those inspiring people
To those gripping books
To every work of art
We are fully indebted
We confess
We've found roads to happiness!
poem by Maria C. Costa
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The life of the creative man is lead, directed and controlled by boredom. Avoiding boredom is one of our most important purposes.
quote by Susan Sontag
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Personal Revenge
(english translation by jorge calderon)
My personal revenge will be the right
Of our children in the schools and in the gardens
My personal revenge will be to give you
This song which has flourished without panic
My personal revenge will be to show you
The kindness in the eyes of my people
Who have always fought relentlessly in battle
And been generous and firm in victory
My personal revenge will be to tell you good morning
On a street without beggars or homeless
When instead of jailing you I suggest
You shake away the sadness there that blinds you
And when you who have applied your hands in torture
Are unable to look up at what surrounds you
My personal revenge will be to give you
These hands that once you so mistreated
But have failed to take away their tenderness
It was the people who hated you the most
When rage became the language of their song
And underneath the skin of this town today
Its heart has been scarred forevermore
It was the people who hated you the most
When rage became the language of their song
And underneath the skin of this town today
Its heart has been scarred forevermore
And underneath the skin of this town today
Red and black, its hearts been scarred
Forevermore
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Memory Of The Unknown Poet, Robert Boardman Vaughn
But the essential advantage for a poet is not, to have a beautiful world with which to deal: it is to be able to see beneath both beauty and ugliness; to see the boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
T. S. ELIOT
It was his story. It would always be his story.
It followed him; it overtook him finally—
The boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
Probably at the end he was not yet sorry,
Even as the boots were brutalizing him in the alley.
It was his story. It would always be his story,
Blown on a blue horn, full of sound and fury,
But signifying, O signifying magnificently
The boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
I picture the snow as falling without hurry
To cover the cobbles and the toppled ashcans completely.
It was his story. It would always be his story.
Lately he had wandered between St. Mark’s Place and the Bowery,
Already half a spirit, mumbling and muttering sadly.
O the boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
All done now. But I remember the fiery
Hypnotic eye and the raised voice blazing with poetry.
It was his story and would always be his story—
The boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
poem by Donald Justice
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Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore we must be saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.
quote by Reinhold Niebuhr
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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