A drunkard is one thing, and a temperate man is quite another.
quote by Arthur Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Aint No Drunkard
Baby I aint no
Drunkard I've got
Self-control
Baby I aint no
Drunkard, I'm just
Addicted to alcohol
Baby I aint no
Drunkard on alcohol
I don't depend
Alcohol is just
My best friend
Baby I aint no
Drunkard its just
That simple
Baby I don't need
No crutch
Because I aint
No cripple
poem by Dorsey Baker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The drunkard thinks of only one thing and the barman of something else.
Moral excellence comes about as a result of habit. We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts.
London Types: Sandwich-Man
An ill March noon; the flagstones gray with dust;
An all-round east wind volleying straws and grit;
St. Martin's Steps, where every venomous gust
Lingers to buffet, or sneap, the passing cit;
And in the gutter, squelching a rotten boot,
Draped in a wrap that, modish ten-year syne,
Partners, obscene with sweat and grease and soot,
A horrible hat, that once was just as fine;
The drunkard's mouth a-wash for something drinkable,
The drunkard's eye alert for causal toppers,
The drunkard's neck stooped to a lot scarce thinkable,
A living crawling blazoning of Hot-Coppers,
He trails his mildews towards a Kingdom-Come
Compact of sausage-and-mash and two-o'rum!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Men acquire a particular quality by constantly acting a particular way...you become just by performing just actions, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave actions.
We become just by performing just action, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave action.
Margerittea, He Butchered Her!
Widowed
A bundle of fire wood
At the market place, she sold
Her baby son, would be fed
Educated and sheltered.
Margerittea, now old,
Her baby son, grown, he had,
Her security, she had hoped
Lo! He, now man, a drunkard
Margerittea, still a bundle of firewood
She sold
This man! She fed
A night there was no food
The man, always a drunkard
Margerittea, he butchered
Margarittea, he cried
Searching for food
Margerittea, we wailed
A life without reward.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When it rains in February, it will be temperate all the year.
You should be temperate when soaring as well. By drawing near the sun, you move away from people.
aphorism by Valeriu Butulescu from Immensity of the Point, translated by Eva A. Ziem
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rolling English Road
Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road,
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire,
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread,
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.
I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.
His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.
My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Then not only an old man, but also a drunkard, becomes a second time a child.
You can always tell a drunkard by his actions.
The Rolling English Road
Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.
I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.
His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.
My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For a drunkard the sea only reaches his knees.
He is a drunkard who takes more than three glasses though he be not drunk.
The innkeeper loves the drunkard, but not for a son-in-law.
The innkeeper loves a drunkard, but not for a son-in-law.