At the time, there were very few foreign names in the press and they were all factory workers. I thought I'd never get a job at a university with a foreign name.
quote by Carl Rakosi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
In A Foreign Land
It was a matter of fact that when I paid all my tax
I held my world in the palm of my hand
And all of my debts were causing me to defect
To a land of bananas and sand
So I ran, yes I ran, yes I ran to a foreign land
Here I am, here I am
Here I am in a foreign land
Im so glad we made it
I thought wed never land
I grabbed all my cash
And decided to dash far away
Far away, far away to a foreign land
Here I am, here I am, here I am in a foreign land
Goodbye to all of the rich mans daughters
Goodbye to my debts now Im way cross the water
Far away, far away in a foreign land
Here I am, here I am here I am in a foreign land
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
Please tell my mother and all my ex-lovers
That Ive finally made the grade
Please tell my debtors and the money collectors
That all of my bills will be paid some day
Im away, Im away, far away in a foreign land
Goodbye champagne and caviar set
I wanna slum and drink all the rum I can get
Im away, Im away in a foreign land
Here I am, here I am, here I am in a foreign land
But Im all out of my jack and I cant go back
Im away, far away, far away in a foreign land
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why are we, as a nation so obsessed with foreign things? Is it a legacy of our colonial years? We want foreign television sets. We want foreign shirts. We want foreign technology. Why this obsession with everything imported?
quote by Abdul Kalam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paramount among the responsibilities of a free press is the duty to prevent any part of the government from deceiving the people and sending them off to distant lands to die of foreign fevers and foreign shot and shell.
quote by Hugo Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On this basis, which was originally financial and goes back to George Peabody, there grew up in the twentieth century a power structure between London and New York which penetrated deeply into university life, the press, and the practice of foreign policy.
quote by Carroll Quigley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign Affair
Foreign affair
Take a trip in the air
To a tropical beach
An island to reach
A new territory
For an intimate story
Ali goum pa la mere
It's a foreign affair
Drifting and free
On a mystical sea
A wishful emotion
A drop in the ocean
A hush in the air
You can feel anywhere
In the cool twilight
On a tropical night
Floating on air
Foreign affair
A magical potion
A cool locomotion
A dream
A prayer
It's a foreign affair
Floating on air
Foreign affair
A magical potion
A cool locomotion
A dream
A prayer
It's a foreign affair
Repeat 1st verse (6 times)
Foreign
song performed by by Mike Oldfield from Crises
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The State Department desperately needs to be vigorously harnessed. It has too big a role to play in the formulation of foreign policy, and foreign policy is too important to be left up to foreign service officers.
quote by Evan G. Galbraith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Working At The Factory
All my life I've been a workin' man
When I was at school they said that's all you'll ever understand
No profession. I didn't figure in their plans
So they sent me down factory to be a workin' man
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Now I'm here seemingly free, but working at the factory.
The music came along and gave new life to me
And gave me hope back in 1983
The music came and set me free
From working at the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
It was just another factory
I made the music , thought that was mine
It made me free , but that was in another time
But then the corporations and the big combines
Turned musicians into factory workers on assembly lines.
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
We made the music to set ourselves free
From working at the factory.
All my life I've put in a working day
Now it's sign the contract. Get production on the way
Take the money, make the music pay
Working at the factory
All I lived for was to get out of the factory.
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
Was just another factory
Working at the factory.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign policy can mean several things, not only foreign policy in the narrow sense. It can cover foreign policy, relations with the developing world, and enlargement as well.
quote by Romano Prodi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Una
Roving, roving, as it seems,
Una lights my clouded dreams;
Still for journeys she is dressed;
We wander far by east and west.
In the homestead, homely thought;
At my work I ramble not;
If from home chance draw me wide,
Half-seen Una sits beside.
In my house and garden-plot,
Though beloved, I miss her not;
But one I seek in foreign places,
One face explore in foreign faces.
At home a deeper thought may light
The inward sky with chrysolite,
And I greet from far the ray,
Aurora of a dearer day.
But if upon the seas I sail,
Or trundle on the glowing rail,
I am but a thought of hers,
Loveliest of travellers.
So the gentle poet's name
To foreign parts is blown by fame;
Seek him in his native town,
He is hidden and unknown.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only Night
Workers
Are working
for factory...
Day with night...
works
Night making day
For with out sleep
Workers...
Day time also
Work...
workers life...
Not for day
Only at
Night for life...
Sun shine day's
24hour's come
And go...
Workers life...
wacke up at night....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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LANDSCAPE WITH FIGURES by carlos bulosan
Homeward again under foreign stars,
history was a strange gush of wind from memory
that came to echo waterfalls of those years:
home to find the place lost among
galaxies of signs. The hills were gone. The river
trail was forgotten... Trying to remember meadowlark
and those who perished in the vanishing land
(bones in the earth where our parents died poor) ,
the journey fell into heavy tides of flowing
scorn that echoed and reechoed time there.
The sun was most unkind to the place:
history: names of men: patterns of life:
all that distant floodtide heaved and moved,
breaking familiar names that immortal tongues
clipped for the heart to cry, 'Home is a foreign address,
every step toward it is a step toward three hundred years
of exile from the truth...'
It was not homeward
to the first known land, nor escape
to white sea sprays blossoming on inland shore,
nor love leaping the boundaries naked in the soul,
but a vast heritage of war and destruction breaking
too soon for the living and willing to die.
Life is a foreign language. Every man mispronounced it...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Merchant of Dhaka
You can't make money without the factory that cremates the workers alive.
And by the time you piled and filled your coffers with TAKA
You decided to treat the workers as creatures to be used and their bodies mutilated to reap Dollars
Your greed becomes far-reaching.
Who are 'they', these eponymous?
Anonymous, charred bodies
Who worked relentlessly to bring a huge sum of foreign money from far and wide to make you filthy rich?
It is difficult to be more specific than to say
They are the life-line of your industry.
They are related by labour to 'you, the clothing merchant'.
And those workers have to be cremated alive! Some workers have
To be burnt alive in the shrinking hole of hell that you call 'FACTORY! '
And they just happen to be standing about
Like fireflies on a dark, dark night.
She (the female charred body) is, in short, one of many
Of means to an end, that end being to enlarge your ravenous tummy
The production machineries
And to make you prosper and chubbier.
The inhuman working condition, the lowest of wages in the world,
The sexual harassment, the physical torture and mutilation, the absence of everything human,
All these singularities help you pile profits on profits;
You can't make a mountain of riches
Without mutilating their bodies,
All of them in one enclosed hole.
And if versions of the story, the complete
Valency of the tragedy is to be believed
You can't make mountains full of riches without curtailing and telling
At the very least their life span and quite possibly
An imaginary cock and bull story.
A charred female body speaks
To accuse you
You can't, You can't, You can't.
That charred female body may actually have witnessed the carnage with one hundred and twenty one co-workers the final mutilation of their human bodies.
They may have wished to confirm -
You can't make money without the factory
That cremates the workers alive.
Outside the carnage where a few gathers to find the familiar faces of fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers
You are crying your own loss: 'O, my TAKA. O. My TAKA';
Someone is going to provide 'duty of care' to your TAKA lost
Assuring you that your money won't be lost
Would be recovered from the ashes of numbers.
poem by Dr Khairul Chowdhury
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moods For Moderns
Moods for moderns (x4)
I get hit looking for a miss
I never thought that it would come to this
Moods for moderns (x4)
Though we may never be the same again
I am so proud that youve been taken in vain
What if none of your dreams come true?
I can never run from you
Theres never been a how dyou do
Theres never been an ending
Soon youll belong to someone else
And I will be your stranger just pretending
Moods for moderns
Memory lingers
I let you into
Foreign fingers
Moods for moderns (x4)
I never thought that would see the day
I never thought that I would give you away
(chorus)
Moods for moderns
Let them break us
Strong and sudden
Foreign fingers
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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237
LANDSCAPE WITH FIGURES by carlos bulosan
Homeward again under foreign stars,
history was a strange gush of wind from memory
that came to echo waterfalls of those years:
home to find the place lost among
galaxies of signs. The hills were gone. The river
trail was forgotten... Trying to remember meadowlark
and those who perished in the vanishing land
(bones in the earth where our parents died poor) ,
the journey fell into heavy tides of flowing
scorn that echoed and reechoed time there.
The sun was most unkind to the place:
history: names of men: patterns of life:
all that distant floodtide heaved and moved,
breaking familiar names that immortal tongues
clipped for the heart to cry, 'Home is a foreign address,
every step toward it is a step toward three hundred years
of exile from the truth...'
It was not homeward
to the first known land, nor escape
to white sea sprays blossoming on inland shore,
nor love leaping the boundaries naked in the soul,
but a vast heritage of war and destruction breaking
too soon for the living and willing to die.
Life is a foreign language. Every man mispronounced it...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This is the very devilish thing about foreign affairs: they are foreign and will not always conform to our whim.
quote by James Reston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This is the devilish thing about foreign affairs they are foreign and will not always conform to our whim.
quote by James Reston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This is the devilish thing about foreign affairs: they are foreign and will not always conform to our whim.
James Reston in New York Times (12 June 1968)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.
quote by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A foreign cock can never crow in a foreign country.
After Rain
After the rain, the forest's sleek, as
Between the pines, the moon startles my heart,
And I smile and think of home, as
A foreign guest in a foreign land.
poem by Yue Fu
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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