When I draw something, the brain and the hands work together.
quote by Tadao Ando
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
But if cattle and horses or lions had hands, or were able to draw with their hands and do the work that men can do, horses would draw the forms of the gods like horses, and cattle like cattle, and they would make their bodies such as they each had themselves.
quote by Xenophanes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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50%
Honestly, ma'am,
I must say that I despise work,
For I put only 50% into it,
And I know that is mediocrity for you,
But that is my full effort to me.
Now, I cannot stand working
Behind a cubicle,
With people telling me what to do,
For I hate being bossed around,
And it is so boring in here.
I would rather work in a place
Where I could work with my hands
Or use my brain to do something creative
And innovative unlike
All of the paperwork we do here,
But since the work is so boring here,
I cannot help but give my 50%,
And I know it is half of
What you want from me,
But I rest my case.
Good day, ma'am.
poem by James Roberts
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To One Who Bade Him Work
EACH day Work bids my heart anew,
Fold wings and watch my brain at play;
But brain and heart will fly your way,
And find their natural home in you!
Come to me--'tis the only way!
For heart and brain have had to learn
Such carrier-pigeon feats of flight,
That were you here, my heart's delight,
My brain and heart to Work would turn,
Spread wings, and flutter from your sight.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Lost in the Cycle
Work work work work, work work work work, work work work work
STOP
and
do
nothing
'cause there is nothing to do
even though there is always something to do
but why would you do that?
Stay up
No sleep
Go to sleep
Peace
Except not
Because the brain still says 'Go! '
When you say
'No!
Rest! '
No Rest
Come back to consciousness?
You never left,
did you?
Begin repeat
poem by Jessica Cummings
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My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I was one who liked to work with my hands as well as my brain.
quote by William Standish Knowles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Brain
I used to be an A student
I never used to complain
I used to be a truant
But I'm still the same
Bad bad brain
Bad bad brain
I used to go to parties
I used to drink champagne
Now I'm beginning to feel the strain
Bad bad brain
I used to be in show biz
I used to have fortune and fame
I used to have pleasure and pain
I used to have a name
Bad bad brain
Now I'm on the Bowery
I can't remember my name
Bad bad brain
Bad bad brain
Bad bad brain...bad bad brain...
song performed by by Ramones from Road To Ruin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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A Stalemate
I do not give thanks to the hands that feed me
I work for those
Hands anyway
Writing his letters
His own contents
Not to my delight
I love somebody else, her hands are soft
Her thoughts so graceful
Touching me
Penetrating the deepest recesses of my brain
My soul jumps with joy
To the sight of her,
She eats me, I am half-consumed yet I
Sing of her
Kiss her all day
Yet what does she give me?
This death unto myself,
The hands that feed me caress me to no end
Helping me live, I understand this kindness perfectly
How I wish to love the feeding hands
How I wish to reeducate myself & learn to live on these hands
I am hardheaded, as always thinking about her all day all night long.
The heart has its own foolish reasons, while the feeding hands
Are patient, and silent, understanding my true longings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A man who works with his hands is a laborer; a man who works with his hands and his brain is a craftsman; but a man who works with his hands and his brain and his heart is an artist.
quote by Louis Nizer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ages to Ages
Work was with pain those days
Work was with lot of pain but with less gain.
Work was with lot of pain and more strain
Even though work was with lot of pain and more strain, most of the things were in vein.
Now-a-days work is of less strain and no pain, But with lot of gain.
Now-a-days enormous work is replaced by effective and efficient work.
It is the day of harmony and glare.
Now-a-days there is lesser strain and lot of gain.
But one day will come when there won’t be to humans any pain and strain because every thing will be done using machine's brain then no one will take a chance to know, that they have a brain.
poem by Narendra Kuppan
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To work with the hands or brain, according to our requirements and our capacities, to do that which lies before us to do, is more honorable than rank and title.
quote by Albert Pike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Young Poet In His 24th Year
Brain, work now as well as you can.
A one-sided passion is destroying him.
He's in a maddening situation.
Every day he kisses the face he worships,
his hands are on those exquisite limbs.
He's never loved before with this degree of passion.
But the beautiful fulfillment of love
is lacking, that fulfillment is lacking
which both of them must want with the same intensity.
(They aren't equally given to the abnormal form of sensual pleasure;
only he is completely possessed by it.)
And so he's wearing himself out, all on edge.
Then—to make things worse—he's out of work.
He manages somehow to borrow
a little here and there (sometimes
almost begging for it) and he just gets by.
He kisses those adored lips, excites himself
on that exquisite body—though he now feels
it only acquiesces. And then
he drinks and smokes, drinks and smokes;
and he drags himself to the cafés all day long,
drags the weariness consuming his beauty.
Brain, work now as well as you can.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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A free Park
that's the brain?
a stage set for the gods
to embark on their strategies
to be close to the soul and man
a free park nature roots itself
to grow in and out of us
that's the brain? nature's
handiwork, the weight
of its spirit and intelligence
at work, at work
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted
When Earth's last picture is painted
And the tubes are twisted and dried
When the oldest colors have faded
And the youngest critic has died
We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it
Lie down for an aeon or two
'Till the Master of all good workmen
Shall put us to work anew
And those that were good shall be happy
They'll sit in a golden chair
They'll splash at a ten league canvas
With brushes of comet's hair
They'll find real saints to draw from
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul
They'll work for an age at a sitting
And never be tired at all.
And only the Master shall praise us.
And only the Master shall blame.
And no one will work for the money.
No one will work for the fame.
But each for the joy of the working,
And each, in his separate star,
Will draw the thing as he sees it.
For the God of things as they are!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Wage-Slaves
Oh, glorious are the guarded heights
Where guardian souls abide--
Self-exiled from our gross delights--
Above, beyond, outside:
An ampler arc their spirit swings--
Commands a juster view--
We have their word for all these things,
No doubt their words are true.
Yet we, the bond slaves of our day,
Whom dirt and danger press--
Co-heirs of insolence, delay,
And leagued unfaithfulness--
Such is our need must seek indeed
And, having found, engage
The men who merely do the work
For which they draw the wage.
From forge and farm and mine and bench,
Deck, altar, outpost lone--
Mill, school, battalion, counter, trench,
Rail, senate, sheepfold, throne--
Creation's cry goes up on high
From age to cheated age:
"Send us the men who do the work
"For which they draw the wage!"
Words cannot help nor wit achieve,
Nor e'en the all-gifted fool,
Too weak to enter, bide, or leave
The lists he cannot rule.
Beneath the sun we count on none
Our evil to assuage,
Except the men that do the work
For which they draw the wage.
When through the Gates of Stress and Strain
Comes forth the vast Event--
The simple, sheer, sufficing, sane
Result of labour spent--
They that have wrought the end unthought
Be neither saint nor sage,
But only men who did the work
For which they drew the wage.
Wherefore to these the Fates shall bend
(And all old idle things )
Werefore on these shall Power attend
Beyond the grip of kings:
Each in his place, by right, not grace,
Shall rule his heritage--
The men who simply do the work
For which they draw the wage.
Not such as scorn the loitering street,
Or waste, to earth its praise,
Their noontide's unreturning heat
About their morning ways;
But such as dower each mortgaged hour
Alike with clean courage--
Even the men who do the work
For which they draw the wage--
Men, like to Gods, that do the work
For which they draw the wage--
Begin-continue-close that work
For which they draw the wage!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Four Letter 'Work' Song
Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.
Buddy Bee Anthony
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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Ambidexterity
Was born with this quaint skill
But blessed in my perplexity
I use both hands which I feel
Explains the Creativity.
With either hand - yes, I can write
With them I cook, and paint or sew
I draw with the left, that's alright
Write with the right hand, even so.
There is no conflict in my brain
No stress or anxiety at all
Though my arteries do cause me pain
I am quite happy I am normal!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Maggies Farm
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more.
No, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
Well, I wake up in the morning
Fold my hands and pray for rain.
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin me insane
Its a shame
The way she makes me
Scrub the floor
I aint gonna work on, nah
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more.
I aint gonna work for maggies brother no more
Nah, I aint gonna work for maggies brother no more
Well, he hands you a nickel
And he hands you a dime
And he asks you with a grin
If youre havin a good time
Then he fines you every time you slam the door
I aint gonna work for, nah
I aint gonna work for maggies brother no more
I aint gonna work for maggies pa no more
No, I aint gonna work for maggies pa no more
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks
The national guard stands around his door
I aint gonna work, nah
I aint gonna work for maggies pa no more
I aint gonna work for maggies ma no more
No, I aint gonna work for maggies ma no more
Well, she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law
And everybody says
Shes the brains behind pa
Shes sixty-eight, but she says shes twenty-four
I aint gonna work for, nah
I aint gonna work for maggies ma no more
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
No, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
Well I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them
They sing while they slave and just get bored
I aint gonna work on, nah
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Trinity
the brain, mind and me
it has to be a trinity
three entities sailing
the cosmos trying
to outdo each other
the brain is generous
letting the mind wander
in and out while me - i -
try to work out the best deal
in the crowdy sojourn
the brain tinkles with
god's act of
predestination
sealed in tightly, foolproof
you think you are in control
yet in the end you have to
concur you are way out of hand -
one mystic takes you
by the head, one other
slips in and out
the brain keeps itself known
sometimes in touch
sometimes out,
sometimes even trying
to let you know
the pool of secrets
it holds over you
all nervous you could only wish
you are out of this bewildering
soul draining situation
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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