Not only the bull attacks his enemies with curved horn, but also the sheep, when harmed fights back.
quote by Sextus Propertius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from the inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves.
Mitch Albom in The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just because he harmed your goat, do not go out and kill his bull.
Black Dragon Society
Ancient order comes back to life
To help right a wobbling World
Attacks Elite with sword n’ knife
Frees sheep from netherworld
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Soldier Fights
the soldier fights for the hippys rights to protest against that soldier
the soldier fights for the politions rights to send that soldier to war
the soldier fights for buisness mans rights to make money
the soldier fights for the policemans rights to arrest that soldier
the soldier fights for school kids right to know about past soldiers
the soldier fights to so that you may all sleep at night
the soldier fights for religion so that you may all belive what you wish
And yet the soldier fights on
the soldier fights for his flag, for his country, for his life
Animal sanctuary is a myth
Stray dogs are saved; wild birds are saved.
Tigers are guarded; tuskers are guarded.
Bull fights and cock fights are stopped
Thanks to animal crusaders.
Who will save fowls, pigs, goats and
cattle?
14.11.2000,
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Fable L: The Hare and Many Friends
Friendship, as love, is but a name,
Save in a concentrated flame;
And thus, in friendships, who depend
On more than one, find not one friend.
A hare who, in a civil way,
Was not dissimilar to GAY,
Was well known never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.
As was her wont, at early dawn,
She issued to the dewy lawn;
When, from the wood and empty lair,
The cry of hounds fell on her ear.
She started at the frightful sounds,
And doubled to mislead the hounds;
Till, fainting with her beating heart,
She saw the horse, who fed apart.
'My friend, the hounds are on my track;
Oh, let me refuge on your back! '
The horse responded: 'Honest Puss,
It grieves me much to see you thus.
Be comforted-relief is near;
Behold, the bull is in the rear.'
Then she implored the stately bull,
His answer we relate in full:
'Madam, each beast alive can tell
How very much I wish you well;
But business presses in a heap,
I an appointment have to keep;
And now a lady's in the case,-
When other things, you know, give place.
Behold the goat is just behind;
Trust, trust you'll not think me unkind.'
The goat declared his rocky lairs
Wholly unsuited were to hares.
'There is the sheep,' he said, 'with fleece.
Adapted, now, to your release.'
The sheep replied that she was sure
Her weight was too great to endure;
'Besides,' she said, 'hounds worry sheep.'
Next was a calf, safe in a keep:
'Oh, help me, bull-calf-lend me aid! '
'My youth and inexperience weighed,'
Replied the bull-calf, 'though I rue it,
Make me incompetent to do it;
My friends might take offence. My heart-
You know my heart, my friend-we part,
I do assure you-Hark! adieu!
The pack, in full cry, is in view.'
Hernani
Cistercians might crack their sides
With laughter, and exemption get,
At sight of heroes clasping brides,
And hearing--O the horn! the horn!
The horn of their obstructive debt!
But quit the stage, that note applies
For sermons cosmopolitan,
Hernani. Have we filched our prize,
Forgetting . . .? O the horn! the horn!
The horn of the Old Gentleman!
poem by George Meredith
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By the horn
Heightened excitement and a little fear
The matador faces a bull, with a crowd behind him it lessens his care
Frustrated, harnessed to entertain
Frantic charging with poor aim
Targeting this red rag, the bull has missed
While the matador plays to the crowd and blows a kiss
A stroke of luck, our bull has made contact
While the matador feels sheepish, the crowd witnessed the fact
Carried by his breeches he's tossed up high
Oohs, aahs, the crowd sees his breeches torn
He attempts to cover his modesty as they are exposed by a horn
Heartened, our bull charges again and delivers a better aim
Escape is on hand as the matador takes flight and is tossed into the stand.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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He Fights
A soldier is a soldier,
He stands tall before our flag,
He fights for what’s right,
He fights for his people,
He fights for us to be free,
He fights for us to live,
He fights for his family,
He fights for all the things the Red, White, Blue stand for,
He’s a solider 24/7,
To all that see him he’s just another to die fighting,
To us his family most importantly his daughter me,
I see him for how he really is,
He’s my father,
He’s my post when something sad has happened,
He’s my hope,
He’s my shoulder I need to cry on,
He’s my everything.
To everyone ells he’s just another solider how dies for a cause but to me he’s my father that lives his life to the fullest.
I got this idea of this poem from Angela Goodwin, even though it sounds like my dad died he didn’t but he was one of the soldiers how was sent over and came back in one piece and this is meant for him, even though we fight all the time my dad are all the things above and no matter what I say I could never hate him.
poem by Jamie Drake
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Take a man by his word, take a bull by its horn.
Bulls do not win bull fights. People do.
quote by Norman Ralph Augustine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fighting The Enemy
You could have stayed back in the sun.
But you sail in the stormy ocean
You brave the cold nights
While the fire burns out in the hearth
You dive deep and climb high
Never choosing the calm, not afraid to die!
You could have stayed back in the sun
Enjoying peace and the mundane fun
But you choose the flower's thorn
You grab the bull by the horn,
You know you have to overcome and win
The battle against the enemy within!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Pun fights with me with a horn
To this world I born
Me sapphire
haiku by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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Punishing abuse in Iraq should not return the U.S. to Sept. 10, 2001, in the way it fights al Qaeda, while Osama bin Laden and his top lieutenants remain at large and continue to plan attacks.
When two enemies blow one horn, the third will have to suffer for it.
The sheep on the mountain is higher than the bull on the plain.
Vanity
you can hear the baby bones
crack beneath her wheels
tears of avalon
streak silent down her shield
high crimes and misdemeanors
unfortunate attacks
will leave you standing nameless
while she's turning back
vanity stands naked at my door
vanity cries
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Machina II / Friends and Enemies of Modern Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Again and again, I've seen Bush turn a blind eye as his henchmen have leveled zealous attacks against his political enemies - assaults which the president himself has sometimes directly encouraged.
quote by Paul Begala
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bull For Me
I think, Sirs, and most inimitable Ladies
I think I prefer to look at a bull
The sketch of a bull, the head of a bull perhaps
even if but a study by an artist
rather than some fancy prophet in glorious paint
or in grand chapel or some miracle recounted
in paint and colors and with consummate skill
or even God descending
ah, all these do not take my fancy
they smack too much of the Elevated;
there’s too much
of the grandstanding in these
Grand Divine Themes
but the face of a bull, ah give me a sketch
of the face of a bull
just the bull, all marks of nature in it
and just itself
no symbolism, no conceit, no artifice
no High sounding theology, no Revelation
but just animal nature in its nudity
being a bull
just animal, its eyes and mouth and horns
just all coming together to form one creature
a portrait of a bull anytime for me
Sirs and most inimitable Ladies
none of the Holy Ones and the Great Prophets
and the Mighty and the Divine
and the Grand-Looking:
no bull for me, please;
just the plain head of a bull, as it is
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Hunter’s Song
RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.
Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.
Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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