Its language is as bare as a monk's cell, and as uninviting.
quote by Clifford Longley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Cell Phone Mania
Cell phones to the right,
Cell phones to the left,
Cell phones, cell phones,
everywhere I look.
Red alert, stop! Listen,
shut up and drive,
shut up and read,
Cell phones, why so many.
Everyone talking,
cell phones in cars,
cell phones in bars,
eating places, cell phones.
There you can't escape
from them, you say
to yourself, the restroom,
no one would dare
use cell phone in there,
oh no, I hear someone,
talking to me, I answer them,
oh, sorry sir, did not know you
were on cell phone.
Oh, so many,
shut up, and walk.
Do away with cell phones,
and it would be like,
the crash of '29'.
People need cell phones,
sometimes their nice,
to have, but so many,
cell phones, might
as well join them
if you can't lick 'em,
join them.
Cell phone, cell phone
now how do I use this
thing, oh cell phone, cell phone,
Hello, Hello, oh that's
you mert.
wrote 1-19-07
A stem cell is essentially a blank cell capable of becoming another, more differentiated cell-type in the body, such as a skin cell, a muscle cell or a nerve cell.
quote by Virginia Foxx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Strength of the Lonely
(What the Mendicant Said )
The moon's a monk, unmated,
Who walks his cell, the sky.
His strength is that of heaven-vowed men
Who all life's flames defy.
They turn to stars or shadows,
They go like snow or dew—
Leaving behind no sorrow—
Only the arching blue.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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How to quarrel
There were two monks who
shared a cell in perfect amity.
Yet they, concerned to perfect their compassion
for all humankind, wished to know all
mankind’s troubles.
Mankind, said the one,
seems always to be quarrelling –
always too ready to pick some fight -
how can this be?
It seems, said the other, that in order to
assert their selfhood and to be ‘somebody’,
they must then invent an enemy,
who seeks to take something from them
that they deserve to have…
so then, they can allot
a ‘mine’ and ‘thine’, and pick
a violent quarrel to prove
their right to be themselves…
they’ll find anything so to label –
‘my tribe, your tribe’—even though
to anyone else, they seem the same –
my religion, your religion – though God is unaware
of any such division or allegiance; or when they’re
really desperate for something to fight about,
‘my postcode public territory,
your postcode public territory’…
Oh dear Lord, said the other monk,
how can we have compassion
for these suffering souls? We’ve never had
a quarrel…
Then we must invent one, said
the first monk: suppose I draw a line
in chalk along the floor of our cell..
and then we’ll call one side, my space,
the other yours…
And this he did. Now, he said,
we can have a quarrel: look,
I’m standing in your half of the room…
No you’re not, said the other,
it’s not my half…yes it is, we’ve agreed,
said the one…
Oh very well then, take it … you win!
said the other.. But there’s
nothing to take! said the first…
The two monks sat and sighed.
They would never know how
human kind could ever own
anything worth the quarrel over.
How difficult a holy life can be.
Have compassion, then, for the plight
of those two monks…
*
[Based on a story from the
early days of the Desert Fathers]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The first jazz pianist I heard was Thelonious Monk. My father was listening to an album of his called 'Monk's Dream' almost every day from the time I was born.
quote by Benny Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spank It
1-hey sped!
2-hey what?
1- what you wanna do?
2- I wanna spank!
1-spank what?
2- spank my little monk!!
1-to the left
2- to the right!
1&2- spank it up and down all night!
1- spank the monk!
2- spank, spank the monk!
1- spank the monk!
1&2- spank spank, the monk!
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Also, they don't understand - writing is language. The use of language. The language to create image, the language to create drama. It requires a skill of learning how to use language.
quote by John Milius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am In This Cell
i am in this cell
to live some more i need a very secure and strong
cell wall,
tight in my silence and isolation everything will be safe & fine
nothing in nothing out
this is what it is all about.
i am a dead cell, now, not comes in nothing goes out
see, i am shrinking
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Great Gambler
The Gambler stopped a monk
dwelling on spiritual plane,
And exclaimed, "Oh! monk
we both are exactly same
So I think we both of us
deserve equal name and fame.
Monk replied, "Gambler! I put
self not a pelf at stake,
And drink bitter poison
for God's sake
Only fool would say our
lives are same
For you a game is life
for me a life is game.''
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
27/12/2009
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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In the Sante
I
Before I got into my cell
I had to strip my body bare
I heard an ominous voice say Well
Guillaume what are you doing here
Lazarus steps into the ground
Not out of it as he was bid
Adieu Adieu O singing round
Of years and girls the life I led
II
I'm no longer myself in here
I know
I'm number fifteen in the eleventh
Row
The sunlight filters downward through
The panes
And on these lines bright clowns alight
Like stains
They dance under my eyes while my
Ears follow
The feet of one whose feet above
Sound hollow
III
In a bear-pit like a bear
Every morning round I tramp
Round and round and round and round
The sky is like an iron clamp
In a bear-pit like a bear
Every morning round I tramp
In the next cell at the sink
Someone lets the water run
With his bunch of keys that clink
Let the goaler go and come
In the next cell at the sink
Someone lets the water run
IV
How bored I am between bare wall and wall
Whose colour pales and pines
A fly on the paper with extremely small
Steps runs across these lines
What will become of me O God Who know
My pain Who gave it me
Have pity on my dry eyes and my pallor
My chair which creaks and is not free
And all these poor hearts beating in this prison
And Love beside me seated
Pity above all my unstable reason
And this despair which threatens to defeat it
V
How long these hours take to go
As long as a whole funeral
You'll mourn the time you mourned you know
It will be gone too soon like all
Time past
too fast too long ago
VI
I hear the noises of the city
In the turning world beyond me
I see a sky which has no pity
And bare prison walls around me
The daylight disappears and now
A lamp is lit within the prison
We're all alone here in my cell
Beautiful light Beloved reason
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Body Language
Words and music by freddie mercury
Give me body give me body body
Give me your body
Dont talk dont talk dont talk dont talk
Baby dont talk
Body language body language body language
Give me your body
Just give me yeah your body
Give me yeah your body
Dont talk
Body language huh huh
Body language body language
You got red lips snakes in your eyes
Long legs great thighs
You got the cutest ass Ive ever seen
Knock me down for a six any time
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Of body language of body language
Yeah sexy body sexy sexy body
I want your body
Baby youre hot
Body language body language body language
Body language body language body language
Body language body language body language
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My main efforts focussed on trying to identify the rate controlling steps during the cell cycle. Crucial for this analysis were wee mutants that were advanced prematurely through the cell cycle and so divided at a reduced cell size.
quote by Paul Nurse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Only Monk Keyed
The monk...
He has the key!
Does that make him,
The only monk keyed who sees?
Inspired by:
Mr. Duncan Wyllie
'Hi Duncan,
Thought I would have some fun with your poem,
'He Sees'.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Upon the union of the male germ cell with the female egg cell, a new cell is created which almost immediately splits into two parts. One of these grows rapidly, creating the human body of the individual with all its organs, and dies only with the individual.
quote by Christian Lous Lange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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"WHAT language is thine, O sea?" "The language of eternal question." "What language is thy answer, O sky? "The language of eternal silence."
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ramdas, Start Talking With New Language!
Ramdas, start Talking with New Language,
Talk with people and every life,
That language which can take world to new dimension,
Or world shine with beauty and freshness,
Be the one among builders of new world!
Language of love and acceptance,
language that comes from the
depth of the heart,
affectionate and humble,
language that is full of gratitude,
Free of doubts and fear, Language of smile and presence
of mind,
Mindfulness which uses silence
and words well balanced,
the world to new dimensions,
Make world Look like a new world in the light of wisdom!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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St.Gregory's Guest
A TALE for Roman guides to tell
To careless, sight-worn travellers still,
Who pause beside the narrow cell
Of Gregory on the Caelian Hill.
One day before the monk's door came
A beggar, stretching empty palms,
Fainting and fast-sick, in the name
Of the Most Holy asking alms.
And the monk answered, 'All I have
In this poor cell of mine I give,
The silver cup my mother gave;
In Christ's name take thou it, and live.'
Years passed; and, called at last to bear
The pastoral crook and keys of Rome,
The poor monk, in Saint Peter's chair,
Sat the crowned lord of Christendom.
'Prepare a feast,' Saint Gregory cried,
'And let twelve beggars sit thereat.'
The beggars came, and one beside,
An unknown stranger, with them sat.
'I asked thee not,' the Pontiff spake,
'O stranger; but if need be thine,
I bid thee welcome, for the sake
Of Him who is thy Lord and mine.'
A grave, calm face the stranger raised,
Like His who on Gennesaret trod,
Or His on whom the Chaldeans gazed,
Whose form was as the Son of God.
'Know'st thou,' he said, 'thy gift of old?'
And in the hand he lifted up
The Pontiff marvelled to behold
Once more his mother's silver cup.
'Thy prayers and alms have risen, and bloom
Sweetly among the flowers of heaven.
I am The Wonderful, through whom
Whate'er thou askest shall be given.'
He spake and vanished. Gregory fell
With his twelve guests in mute accord
Prone on their faces, knowing well
Their eyes of flesh had seen the Lord.
The old-time legend is not vain;
Nor vain thy art, Verona's Paul,
Telling it o'er and o'er again
On gray Vicenza's frescoed wall.
Still wheresoever pity shares
Its bread with sorrow, want, and sin,
And love the beggar's feast prepares,
The uninvited Guest comes in.
Unheard, because our ears are dull,
Unseen, because our eyes are dim,
He walks our earth, The Wonderful,
And all good deeds are done to Him.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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White Hair
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The first and most important thing of all, at least for writers today, is to strip language clean, to lay it bare down to the bone.
quote by Ernest Hemingway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something That I Can't Do
how i wish i can imitate
the flow of water in my life
that choice of taking the path
of least resistance
how i wish i can have the language
of the rain
that which assuages pain
that which satisfies the thirst
of grass
that which jives with the slow pacing
of the stones
i can't.
i am already born with the language of
my parents
it is the language that i know
the only language of my body and soul
i have to like it
there is no other sound
no other choice
except to speak it
again and
again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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