We can love an honest rogue, but what is more offensive than a false saint?
quote by Jessamyn West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sweetened Medications
If being honest and the living of truth,
Was not considered offensive...
By those wishing to protect,
Their prefabricated lives with high-tech weapons...
There would be more people accepting,
Not only truth...
But the reality of their existence,
Without the need for sweetened medications.
Or other false addictions to sustain selfish habits...
To maintain self centered and self righteous beliefs.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nothing is more like an honest man than a rogue.
A thread will tie an honest man better than a chain a rogue.
If thoughts were legal witnesses, many an honest man would be proved a rogue.
False opinions are like false money, struck first of all by guilty men and thereafter circulated by honest people who perpetuate the crime without knowing what they are doing.
quote by Joseph De Maistre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Kiss Me Red
I could paint your picture in the sky tonight
Your lipstick on the moon it shines so bright
Baby its full and white
Honey its full tonight
(chorus 1)
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
I could paint your picture in my room tonight
Your bodys on my mind its clear and bright
Oh but youre far away
And what I wouldnt pay
(chorus 2)
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
Its black out
And Im alone in the dark
But light a candle to replace your heart
What I wouldnt give to have you here in my bed
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love's Logic [Couplet Sonnet]
The more ways I find to express my love,
The more I love you, and the better for love,
And more: What more than seek such ways to it;
Expressing love (and therefore to do it) .
And if my love should make me false I would,
For better no false-love than mere falsehood.
How then is love (which others call) more proved
Than mine is? And not merely false-love's truth?
Where love's logic meets between false or not
No arguments have heard but have forgot
That love is truth - and none is love more false
Than proof; So this I swear on life and pulse:
That infinite love's true call expresses
Love is something more than proof professes.
-September 20 2005
poem by David Zvekic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I wish I lived on a planet that had two suns---regular sun and 'rogue' sun. That way, when somebody asked me what time it was, I'd say, 'Regular time' And they'd say, 'Yeah.' And I'd say, 'Sorry, all I have is rogue time.' It'd be fun to be a stuck-up rogue-time guy.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Saint Valentine defines Tough Love
When those you most love
die
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When those you have most loved
up and go, without a word,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When those you would most love
want nothing to do with you,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When you feel that all you need right now
is a little love, to change your life,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When you feel cheated by love
because it's never come your way,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
Trust me. It's not easy to become a saint;
said Saint Valentine.
XXX.St.V.
(revised)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Giving In
Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
Giving in may,
Not be the end of it
If,
What is done to another is offensive.
Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
And giving in may,
Not be the end of it.
If,
What is done to another is offensive.
Saying what is wrong to one,
May not be the right thing.
Especially if the other is a lover.
Who believes what is done,
Is okay and approved.
With an acceptance expected,
To be received as cool.
Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
And giving in may,
Not be the end of it.
If,
What is done is offensive.
And it is said and admitted.
Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
Giving in may,
Not be the end of it.
If,
What is done is offensive.
And an argument begins,
That is unended.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Saint Valentine on Tough Love
When those you most love
die
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When those you have most loved
up and go, without a word,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When those you would most love
want nothing to do with you,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When you feel that all you need right now
is a little love, to change your life,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
When you feel cheated by love
because it's never come your way,
that's the time to speak in praise of love
(said Saint Valentine) .
Trust me. It's not easy to become a saint;
said Saint Valentine.
XXX.St.V.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Prologue to the Princess of Cleves
Ladies! (I hope there's none behind to hear)
I long to whisper something in your ear:
A secret, which does much my mind perplex,—
There's treason in the play against our sex.
A man that's false to love, that vows and cheats,
And kisses every living thing he meets;
A rogue in mode,—I dare not speak too broad,—
One that—does something to the very bawd.
Out on him, traitor, for a filthy beast!
Nay, and he's like the pack of all the rest:
None of them stick at mark; they all deceive.
Some Jew has changed the text, I half believe;
Their Adam cozened our poor grandame Eve.
To hide their faults they rap out oaths, and tear;
Now, though we lie, we're too well bred to swear.
So we compound for half the sin we owe,
But men are dipt for soul and body too;
And, when found out, excuse themselves, pox cant them,
With Latin stuff, Perjuria ridet amantum.
I'm not book-learned, to know that word in vogue,
But I suspect 'tis Latin for a rogue.
I'm sure, I never heard that screech-owl hollowed
In my poor ears, but separation followed.
How can such perjured villains e'er be saved?
Achitophel's not half so false to David.
With vows and soft expressions to allure,
They stand, like foremen of a shop, demure:
No sooner out of sight, but they are gadding,
And for the next new face ride out a padding.
Yet, by their favour, when they have been kissing,
We can perceive the ready money missing.
Well! we may rail; but 'tis as good e'en wink;
Something we find, and something they will sink.
But, since they're at renouncing, 'tis our parts
To trump their diamonds, as they trump our hearts.
poem by John Dryden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Need To Hear It
Appalling as it might seem.
Sometimes you need it.
Sometimes you don't like it.
But that don't make it any less the truth.
Being honest can be very offensive.
And make one very defensive.
But sometimes you still need hear it.
So you can come to the acceptance of it.
Instead of living in denial.
A fantasy world of make believe.
A imagination full of trickery.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Be offensive to gain
Truth suffers from judgment on two counts.
False arguments are not totally rejected;
True arguments are not totally accepted.
A compromise is struck in mind in between.
The offensive will ultimately gain.
10.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song. (From The Spanish)
Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Enemy
Of all that mankind may not rue!
Most untrue
To him who keeps most faith with thee.
Woe is me!
The falcon has the eyes of the dove.
Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Thy deceits
Give us clearly to comprehend,
Whither tend
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets!
They are cheats,
Thorns below and flowers above.
Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Upon The Thief
The thief, when he doth steal, thinks he doth gain;
Yet then the greatest loss he doth sustain.
Come, thief, tell me thy gains, but do not falter.
When summ'd, what comes it to more than the halter?
Perhaps, thou'lt say, The halter I defy;
So thou may'st say, yet by the halter die.
Thou'lt say, Then there's an end; no, pr'ythee, hold,
He was no friend of thine that thee so told.
Hear thou the Word of God, that will thee tell,
Without repentance thieves must go to hell.
But should it be as thy false prophet says,
Yet nought but loss doth come by thievish ways.
All honest men will flee thy company,
Thou liv'st a rogue, and so a rogue will die.
Innocent boldness thou hast none at all,
Thy inward thoughts do thee a villain call.
Sometimes when thou liest warmly on thy bed,
Thou art like one unto the gallows led.
Fear, as a constable, breaks in upon thee,
Thou art as if the town was up to stone thee.
If hogs do grunt, or silly rats do rustle,
Thou art in consternation, think'st a bustle
By men about the door, is made to take thee,
And all because good conscience doth forsake thee.
Thy case is most deplorably so bad,
Thou shunn'st to think on't, lest thou should'st be mad.
Thou art beset with mischiefs every way,
The gallows groaneth for thee every day.
Wherefore, I pr'ythee, thief, thy theft forbear,
Consult thy safety, pr'ythee, have a care.
If once thy head be got within the noose,
'Twill be too late a longer life to choose.
As to the penitent thou readest of,
What's that to them who at repentance scoff.
Nor is that grace at thy command or power,
That thou should'st put it off till the last hour.
I pr'ythee, thief, think on't, and turn betime;
Few go to life who do the gallows climb.
poem by John Bunyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!