If the poor overweight jogger only knew how far he had to run to work off the calories in a crust of bread he might find it better in terms of pound per mile to go to a massage parlor.
quote by Christiaan Barnard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Crying For Bread
"Please, lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
The suit fits you splendidly--that you'll allow.
Oh! don't say tomorrow! I see you are going;
But this will not hinder long--please pay me now.
Ma work'd all night for you! ev'ry minute;
Now she lies groaning with pain in her head;
And there by the pantry (with not a thing in it),
Sits poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
"On! driver, on! they have all gone before us,
And I will not be late at the ball," Beauty said;
And wintry winds echoed her answer in chorus
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!
"Please lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
I'll run and get change for you. Don't call me bold--
But how could you dance tonight all the time knowing
That we were left suffering, hungry and cold?
Ma looks so wild! she keeps calling for Daisy;
That was the name of my sister that's dead.
Oh! what shall I do, with my Ma going crazy,
And poor little Theodore cryiing for bread?
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
"Please lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
She must have some medicine--that let me buy.
Now, don't speak of beggars! 'tis money you're owing:
Do please, pay me part of it--else we must die."
On the wheels roll'd, and Fidele returned weeping;
Ah! in her absence a spirit had fled,
And morning light found her a weary watch keeping,
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
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An Autumn Reverie
Alas! Beautiful Summer now hath fled,
And the face of Nature doth seem dead,
And the leaves are withered, and falling off the trees,
By the nipping and chilling autumnal breeze.
The pleasures of the little birds are all fled,
And with the cold many of them will be found dead,
Because the leaves of the trees are scattered in the blast,
And makes the feathered creatures feel downcast.
Because there are no leaves on the trees to shield them from the storm
On a windy, and rainy, cloudy morn;
Which makes their little hearts throb with pain,
By the chilling blast and the pitiless rain.
But still they are more contented than the children of God,
As long as they can pick up a worm from the sod,
Or anything they can get to eat,
Just, for instance, a stale crust of bread or a grain of wheat.
Oh! Think of the little birds in the time of the snow,
Also of the little street waifs, that are driven to and fro,
And trembling in the cold blast, and chilled to the bone,
For the want of food and clothing, and a warm home.
Besides think of the sorrows of the wandering poor,
That are wandering in the cold blast from door to door;
And begging, for Heaven's sake, a crust of bread,
And alas! Not knowing where to lay their head.
While the rich are well fed and covered from the cold,
While the poor are starving, both young and old;
Alas! It is the case in this boasted Christian land,
Where as the rich are told to be kind to the poor, is God's command.
Oh! Think of the working man when he's no work to do,
Who's got a wife and family, perhaps four or two,
And the father searching for work, and no work can be had,
The thought, I'm sure, 'tis enough to drive the poor man mad.
Because for his wife and family he must feel,
And perhaps the thought thereof will cause him to steal
Bread for his family, that are starving at home,
While the thought thereof makes him sigh heavily and groan.
Alas! The pangs of hunger are very hard to hide,
And few people can their temper control,
Or become reconciled to their fate,
Especially when they cannot find anything to eat.
Oh! Think of the struggles of the poor to make a living,
Because the rich unto them seldom are giving;
Wereas they are told he that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the Lord,
But alas! they rather incline their money to hoard.
Then theres the little news-vendors in the street,
Running about perhaps with bare feet;
And if the rich chance to see such creatures in the street,
In general they make a sudden retreat.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Shameless Popularity
That I do not find myself accepted,
By those who have acquired
A false sense of themselves...
Is fine!
I sleep well at night.
And I have a strong appetite,
For life!
To sacrifice the peace of mind I like...
For shameless popularity?
One must be burdened with and carry.
That is something I leave my deeds to do.
Wouldn't you?
If you knew...
You were the possessor,
Of such tremendous talents!
'You are certainly in no need,
Of an ego massage.'
You are right about that!
In fact...
You can massage my neck and back.
I am feeling a bit of tension,
From the affliction of this greatness.
Not to mention the attention...
Not solicited.
But leaves me stressed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Contentment
Bed and bread are all I need
In my happy day;
Love of Nature is my creed,
Unto her I pray;
Sun and sky my spirit feed
On my happy way.
To no man I bow the head,
None may master me;
I will eat my crust of bread
Lauding liberty;
And upon my truckle bed
Glory to be free.
You who grab for sordid gold,
You who fight for fame,
Shiny dross your fingers hold,
Empty is your aim.
--Soon we fatten graveyard mould,
Rich and poor the same.
So from world of want and woe
I retreat with dread;
Tuned to Nature glad I go
With my bite of bread:
Praising God I lay me low
On my truckle bed.
poem by Robert William Service
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Work Hard,
Work Hard,
Work hard and strive on and on,
This is the Living Bread that Hold's this Conscience,
It is only through me that I find Trust worth an Honour,
Living with that Bread,
I take the reward as the Great Covenant from God,
work hard on earth like Birds that build nest with Honour,
Work hard regardless of Status,
Was is a Disillusion of God's Trust towards Mankind,
Whilst Iam taking this Bread that I may feed on the GOOD spirit.
poem by Abdul Karim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pancake Parlor
The pancake parlor is a great place to meet,
Where you can enjoy, your favorite meal you want to eat;
Go anytime of the day, they're open right thru, till 1am its true,
And such great service, and pleasant, to me and to you.
They've got a menu, at a reasonable price, to afford,
And you're not kept waiting to keep you so bored;
The seating is comfortable, so you won't be sore,
And as I said the price is okay, won't leave you poor.
Try the great menu, with entree', main course and sweet,
From steak to fries, pancakes with the lot, is a treat;
Salads of every kind, with dressings, make it complete,
Then icecream sundaes, or fruit salad as a sweet.
Yes! Go to the parlor the next meal you eat out,
Take your friends and tell them you'll shout;
A lovely drink, of iced lemon or orange tea,
Maybe something hot, like chocolate, with your tea.
Thanks all you staff, at the pancake parlor, your great,
To cheer up the lonely, when they have no mate;
And you will find, to go there you don't need to explain,
Why you chose to eat there, your privacy with you will remain.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Shadows on the Floor
Saturday night! Saturday night!
The hope that lingered has taken to flight;
From morning till evening, the weary week through,
In vain has he battled for something to do.
Poor man! emptyhanded, how can he return
To those whose fate hangs on the pence he may earn?
How can he reply to his questioner sweet --
"Did Papa bring Papa's girl somethin' to eat?"
Out of employ! out of employ!
Distress in the cottage where once there was joy;
How frightful the shadows that fall on the floor
When Want and Starvation appear at the door!
Wasting away! Wasting away!
His poor wife grows paler each sorrowful day,
Yet suffers in silence, and never complains, --
Reserving for others the crust that remains.
His fearful forebodings he seeks to disguise;
But now the child's prattle brings tears to his eyes;
"If Ma doze to Heaven den I mus' do, too;
But Pa, I'll frow down bread and butter for you."
Struggling for life! Struggling for life!
In spite of his courage bourne down in the strife;
Had not he the wife and the baby to save,
How willingly would be he down in the grave!
Reflections more later creep into his mind --
The promise is false, "If ye seek ye shall find."
What was it his dear little innocent said?
"Does Dod fordits us when He takes daily bread!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work Hard on Labours,
Work Hard on Labours,
Work hard and strive on and on,
This is the Living Bread that Hold's this Conscience,
It is only through me that I find Trust worth an Honour,
Living with that Bread,
I take the reward as the Great Covenant from God,
work hard on earth like Birds that build nest with Honour,
Work hard regardless of Status,
War is a Disillusion of God's Trust towards Mankind,
Whilst Iam taking this Bread that I may feed on the GOOD WITNESS SPIRIT agains't evil from Birds.
poem by Abdul Karim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think in terms of family, in terms of relationships, in terms of work, competition to be the favorite, to be the noticed, to be the one - I don't know if it exists for all personalities, but I know for sure it did with me.
quote by Marcia Gay Harden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think in terms of family, in terms of relationships, in terms of work, competition to be the favorite, to be the noticed, to be the one - I don't know if it exists for all personalities, but I know for sure it did with me.
quote by Marcia Gay Harden
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mind Your Calories!
Avoid extra calories;
Take no chance to turn obese;
Burn more calories in you;
Be active and joyful too.
Use the stairs and not the lift;
Exercise well, stay most fit;
Walk for health, some miles at dawn;
To do things the hard way- Learn.
Do your daily chores yourself;
Keep empty your fridge, food-shelf;
Enter house by the back-door;
Sit for less hours, walk some more.
Walk uphill whenev’r you can;
Eat less; work more for health, man;
Use the ramp, avoid plain floor;
Lazy mind makes life a bore.
Fast-foods, never take at all;
Eat lesser starch, consume dhal;
Drink more water if you can;
Work hard and stay healthy, man.
Extra food can poison you;
Fat lessens your life-span too;
Count your calories you take;
Life is worth-while, if you make!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-24-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Payment
A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.
I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.
I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.
Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’
I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
O how I
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work work work work work work work work
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work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tunnel
Toil's a tunnel, there's no way out
For fellows, the like o' me;
A beggar wi' only a crust an' a clout
At the worst o' the worst is free;
but I work to eat, an' I eat to work;
It's always the same old round,
And I dassent fail for the day I shirk
They'll shovel me underground.
I guess God meant it to be that way,
For a man must make his bread;
I was born to bondage, to earn my pay,
To slave to the day I'm dead;
To live in a tunnel, to die in a ditch -
That's just what us fellows do;
For the poor must be makin' the rich more rich,
An' the many must serve the few.
Aye, we live in a tunnel, most o' us,
A-fearin' to lose our job;
But who has the right to gripe an' cuss
So the goblet's hot on the hob.
An' I mustn't be havin' the wife complain,
An' I can't let the childer fast:
So I'll toil in my tunnel an' drag my chain,
Clank! Clank! Clank! to the last.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Assurances
How far could I walk,
how many a mile
if I knew you would be there?
As many steps as I could take
over hills and stones alike.
And it would be a glorious hike
if I knew you would be there.
I would not mind the blisters.
I would not feel the pain.
I would welcome all of it
if I knew you would be there.
But there are no assurances
that my travel and travails,
that I would gladly bear
would have me find you there.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’
As Christ the Lord was passing by,
He came, one night, to a cottage door.
He came, a poor man, to the poor;
He had no bed whereon to lie.
He asked in vain for a crust of bread,
Standing there in the frozen blast.
The door was locked and bolted fast.
‘Only a beggar!’ the poor man said.
Christ the Lord went further on,
Until He came to a palace gate.
There a king was keeping his state,
In every window the candles shone.
The king beheld Him out in the cold.
He left his guests in the banquet-hall.
He bade his servants tend them all.
‘I wait on a Guest I know of old.’
‘’Tis only a beggar-man!’ they said.
‘Yes,’ he said; ‘it is Christ the Lord.’
He spoke to Him a kindly word,
He gave Him wine and he gave Him bread.
Now Christ is Lord of Heaven and Hell,
And all the words of Christ are true.
He touched the cottage, and it grew;
He touched the palace, and it fell.
The poor man is become a king.
Never was man so sad as he.
Sorrow and Sin on the throne make three,
He has no joy in mortal thing.
But the sun streams in at the cottage door
That stands where once the palace stood.
And the workman, toiling to earn his food,
Was never a king before.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Close To Greatness
at one stage in my life
I met a man who claimed to have
visited Pound at St. Elizabeths.
then I met a woman who not only
claimed to have visited
E.P.
but also to have made love
to him—she even showed
me
certain sections in the
Cantos
where Ezra was supposed to have
mentioned
her.
so there was this man and
this woman
and the woman told me
that Pound had never
mentioned a visit from this
man
and the man claimed that the
lady had had nothing to do
with the
master
that she was a
charlatan
and since I wasn't a
Poundian scholar
I didn't know who to
believe
but one thing I do
know: when a man is
living
many claim relationships
that are hardly
so
and after he dies, well,
then it's everybody's
party.
my guess is that Pound
knew neither the lady or the
gentleman
or if he knew
one
or if he knew
both
it was a shameful waste of
madhouse
time.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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So I was always passionate about it and felt that it was sort of the golden thread inside me in terms of what I was supposed to do in terms of work but I think I have relaxed a lot in terms of the actual experience and actually enjoy it more and enjoy the people more.
quote by Barbara Hershey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Find My Way
I don't know how to let you go
I've given to you all of me.
All that will ever be,
We share the same heart and soul
I want you to believe in me
See through my eyes and you will know
I'll take my chance that you will come home to me
Even if it takes some time for you to work it out
I'll be there.
I've still got a ways to go,
So far away from home.
Inside I always knew,
I'd Find My Way to you.
I've still got a ways to go,
So far away from home.
Inside I always knew,
I'd Find My Way to you.
If I could be everything you want
If I could change everything that I have done
Only you'd know where I have gone
I wanna prove I am worthy to be called yours
I need you more than I ever have
And I don't wanna stay, try to find me if you can
If I get lost along the way, please don't forget me
Know that I'll be here.
I've still got a ways to go,
So far away from home.
Inside I always knew,
I'd Find My Way to you.
I've still got a ways to go,
So far away from home.
Inside I always knew,
I'd Find My Way to you.
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll be there, I'll be there
I've still got a ways to go,
So far away from home.
Inside I always knew,
I'd Find My Way to you.
I've still got a ways to go,
So far away from home.
Inside I always knew,
I'd Find My Way to you.
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll be there, I'll be there
I'll Find My Way to you
song performed by by P.O.D.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom
Written by stevie nicks and mike campbell.
Dim and wavering
On a wind-blown night
Whose honour, whose anger
Cold and quivering
As was the wind-blown night
Into which shed fallen, fallen
Freedom, well its a thing that is fleeting
Freedom is standing next to you
My intentions were clear
I was with him
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Beautiful as you are
With that high spirit
Morning star of evil hit me
Cut me like a knife
Cool and collected
She became that with time
Totally rejected
Freedom, well its a thing that is fleeting
Freedom is standing next to you
My intentions were clear
I was with him
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Its all in the eyes
Its all in the way that you look
Its all in the way that you say very little
Its all in the way that you talk
Look at me with daggers
It wont do you any good
All the looks that youve used on me
Dont work now that youve fallen, fallen, fallen
Freedom, well its a thing that is fleeting
Freedom is standing next to you
My intentions were clear
I was with him
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Look at me with daggers
It wont do you any good
All the looks that youve used on me
Dont work now that youve fallen
All the looks that youve used on me
Dont work now that youve fallen
Freedom
Freedom
Everyone knew
Poor little fool
Poor little fool
Poor little fool
Freedom
Come with me
Poor little fool
Freedom
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Architecture is involved with the world, but at the same time it has a certain autonomy. This autonomy cannot be explained in terms of traditional logic because the most interesting parts of the work are non-verbal. They operate within the terms of the work, like any art.
quote by Thom Mayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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