En.Citatepedia^®.ro

At the Mendacity Institute

The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
'Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide.'
'Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside.'
'We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth.'
'We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths.'
'By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind.'
'They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind.'
'With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great.'
'Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state.'
'When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind.'
'If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind.'

We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.

' The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists.'

' You can count on me not to inform them.'
I said, without moving my lips.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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The 'Truth

How do we know we are speaking the truth.
Because we got it from a 'reliable' source,
And who told you it was a 'reliable' source.
Ha, Is there any thing that is really called the truth.
For, every 'truth' told in this twisted and sinister world,
A lie is invented, concocted, told.
And when a question is asked, and the truth is required,
And if told, many events, considered dire,
Happen in response,
A white lie is told.
But the whitest lie, considered the truthful lie,
Thought up by those considered wise and selfless,
Is really the darkest, blackest, most deceiving lies of all.
Over time stories, true stories, turn to myths, myths to legends.
so why not lies, white lies too.
Centuries, years, maybe even weeks and days,
Turns the most deceiving and evil lies into the 'truth'.
So I come back to my original question,
But don't misconstrue my words,
For I dear not defy the truth,
The truth, so rare, that passes us unnoticed, unseen, undetected,
The rare truth that exists in this dark, sinister world.
So yes,
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
The truth, the truth, the lie.

poem by Michael Devenish
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The Lying Truth

How do we know we are speaking the truth.
Because we got it from a 'reliable' source,
And who told you it was a 'reliable' source.
Ha, Is there any thing that is really called the truth.
For, every 'truth' told in this twisted and sinister world,
A lie is invented, concocted, told.
And when a question is asked, and the truth is required,
And if told, many events, considered dire,
Happen in response,
A white lie is told.
But the whitest lie, considered the truthful lie,
Thought up by those considered wise and selfless,
Is really the darkest, blackest, most deceiving lies of all.
Over time stories, true stories, turn to myths, myths to legends.
so why not lies, white lies too.
Centuries, years, maybe even weeks and days,
Turns the most deceiving and evil lies into the 'truth'.
So I come back to my original question,
But don't misconstrue my words,
For I dear not defy the truth,
The truth, so rare, that passes us unnoticed, unseen, undetected,
The rare truth that exists in this dark, sinister world.
So yes,
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
The truth, the truth, the lie.

poem by Michael Devenish
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Everything Is Kiling Me....

As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me

poem by Adnan Zahedi
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Working Class Hero

As soon as you're born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so f***ing crazy you can't follow their rules.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still f***ing peasants as far as I can see.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

There's room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill.
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be.

If you want to be a hero well just follow me,
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.

song, music by John Lennon, lyrics by John Lennon from John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (11 December 1970)
Submitted by anonym
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Stories

when we were young stories were told
That I'd kiss you sweet like
People said there was a connection between us
Now that we're old stories are told
Of how I hold you tight
Whenever I see those people I tell them they were right

Stories will be told
From when our children are young
until they're old
About our endless love
We must have had a blessing from above

Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time

Until the sun won't rise
Oh

song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Working Class Hero

(alan jackson/don sampson)
A callused right hand
Holds a shiny gold watch
For thirty years spent on the clock
But you wont see no tears
>from this workin class hero
Hes always been hard as a rock
But he knows hes too old
To really start over
Besides he just wouldnt know how
I guess hes just glad
That hes not alone
But hes got to wonder what now
cause theres no hall of fame for that working class hero
No statute carved out of stone
And his greatest reward is the love of a woman
And his children
So after hes gone
That old working class hero lives on
That three-bedroom house
He built in the 50s
Seems so much bigger today
With just him and mama
And not many bills
cause all of the kids moved away
What hes done with his life
Might not be remembered
But hes got every right to be proud
cause the blood sweatin years
Of this workin class hero
Is really what livins about
cause theres no hall of fame for that working class hero
No statute carved out of stone
And his greatest reward is the love of a woman
And his children
So after hes gone
That old workin class hero lives on
Yes, that workin class hero lives on
That workin class hero lives on

song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Class has a sense of humor. It knows that a good laugh is the best lubricant for oiling the machinery of human relations. Class never makes excuses. It takes its lumps and learns from past mistakes. Class bespeaks an aristocracy unrelated to ancestors or money. Some extremely wealthy people have no class at all, while others who are struggling to make ends meet are loaded with it. Class is real. You can't fake it. Class never tries to build itself up by tearing others down. Class is already up and need not attempt to look better by making others look worse. Everyone is comfortable with the person who has class because he is comfortable with himself. If you have class, you've got it made. If you don't have class, no matter what else you have, it won't make up for it.

quote by Ann Landers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heritage Hills Class Of Eighty-One

Heritage Hills Class of Eighty One
Here it is, the year two thousand eleven
Thirty years, thirty years, where did it go
Saddened to learn a few are gone on to Heaven

Heritage Hills Class of Eighty One
My, oh my, where did the time fly
Wow…victories, tears, joy, and fun
Being a grandparent is love not to deny

Heritage Hills Class of Eighty One
Some led the life of the moth to the flame
Many went on to higher knowledge
Knowing happiness in a life that's tame

Heritage Hills Class of Eighty One
One time Providence dealt us a course unknown
We handled it, conquered it, survived it
Now, we bask in seeing our children grown

Heritage Hills Class of Eighty One
Yes, we are middle aged and gray
A few aches, a few pains, but no complaints
It's class reunion time…oh what a great day

poem by Charles Hancock
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My class

My class is a funny class
When the teacher is not in
Our class is a circus
That will conquer the school

We have acrobats
We have clowns
and we even have elephants

My class is a noisy class
When the teacher is not in
Our class is a market
That will conquer the school

We have hawkers
We have fruiterers
and we even have butchers

No matter what
A circus or a market
We enjoy our class
When the teacher is not in

poem by Sarah Ally
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Alf’s Eighth Bit

Vex not thou the banker's mind
(His what?) with a show of sense,
Vex it not, Willie, his mind,
Or pierce its pretence
On the supposition that it ever
Was other, or that this cheerful giver
Will give, save to the blind.

Come not anear the dark-browed sophist
Who on the so well-paid ground
Will cheerfully tell you a fist is no fist,
Come not here
With 2 and 2 making 4 in reason,
Knowest thou not the truth is never in season
In these quarters or Fleet St.?

In his eye there is death, I mean the banker's,
In his purse there is deceit,
It is he who buys gold-braid for the swankers
And gives you Australian iced rabbits' meat
In place of the roast beef of Britain,
And leaves you a park bench to sit on
If you git off the Embankment.

This is the kind of tone and Solemnity
That used to be used on the young,
My old man got no indemnity
But he swaller'd his tongue.
Like all his class was told to hold it in those days,
To mind their ‘p’s’ and their ‘q’s’ and their ways
An' be thankful for occasional holidays.

I don't quite see the joke any more,
Or why we should stand to attention
And lick the dirt off the floor
In the hope of honourable mention
From a great employer like Selfridge
Or a buyer of space in the papers.
I'm getting too old for such capers.

poem by Ezra Pound
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Ride My See-saw

Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
I worked like a slave for years,
Sweat so hard just to end my fears.
Not to end my life a poor man,
But by now, I know I should have run.
Run, run my last race,
Take my place
Have this number
Of mine.
Run, run like a fire,
Dont you run in
In the lanes
Run for time.
Left school with a first class pass,
Started work but as second class.
School taught one and one is two.
But right now, that answer just aint true.
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
My world is spinning around,
Everything is lost that I found.
People run, come ride with me,
Lets find another place thats free.
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
Ride, my see-saw.
Ride, ride, ride, my see-saw.
Ride, my see-saw...

song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A School Is So Not Cool

School Is Not So Cool

School, School, School,
A school is not cool
We're here 5 days a week
8 hours a day.
School, School, School,
A school is not cool.
People laugh when we fall
we just have to make a call.
School, School, School
A school is not cool.
We have to work hard to get good grades
I'm not going to do it no more
I do it every day.
We can’t go on the grass
We can’t bother another class
We can’t save spots at lunch
We have to go as a bunch.
We have 3 minutes in the hall
I'm always late what a ball.
We have to pay attention
if not we get detention.
School, School, School,
A school is not cool.
They have too many rules
they play us as fools
if we get A's
the parents jump Hip Hip Hooray.
If we get F's
we tell them we need to take a rest.
We always have homework
we never have class work
they have to many rules
they need to take it cool.
School, School, School,
A school is so not cool!

poem by Fahed Sharaf
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for Claribelle

Life is a polite woman.
I have always told you that in class.
I delight in the politeness of a woman.
Outside the class.

When i fall in love, i keep it
to myself. There is no courage for
me to say it. I keep my own joys.

You are a polite woman.
I named you my own Life.
The class do not know that.
I keep it upon myself as a
lovely burden. I keep sorrows too.
Secretly, like
a divine burden, an un-confessed
sin.

Sometimes, i have not told you
before you left, i also mumble upon
myself, without any wish
that i may understand what i
try to hide,
completely. Soon i forget and then
I am happy again.

That is what life is all about.
I am polite too.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Class Today

White snow stained black
The wound's closed
But hardly healed
Hands start frozen
Listening the air
That sounds like girl's chirp and boy's bark
No class today, children
No daily exam and calculation
I give you time to think
Before you're too old to regret
The years not going back
Leave it empty room
The world contaminated
And you inherite that
My tears fall
You lost in war
All the shout, shout, shout
No class today, my child
No another laugh and cry
I give us time to remember
The innocence soul's gone
By release you tomorrow
No class today, children
No peaceful boring day
I give my time to prepare
Smile good bye next morning

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Truth And Lies

Honesty flying around
The stories inconsistent
You tell me one thing
Another tells me different

Is there any truth left?
Are your words true words?
I know a lie's alive
I've been assured and reassured

Truth and lies
Fake or real
Messin' with my mind
Just take and steal

I'm not seeing straight
Literally, no lie
My eye for truth
Has been shot down, died

No mistakes and yet regret
Comes here and there and then
But when I step back
The situations a win-win

If your story is but true
I will believe it so
I will have made up my mind
Eyesight no longer blind

If only your mouth speaks truth
And your words are lies
I will pay attention & mention
And your story, you will revise

Ill mention your flawed words
Ill bring to notice:
Your story, you told it
My poem, I wrote this

Never in an ever
Fall for a clear lie
I see much much more
There's truth in my eye

poem by Jared Bradford
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08' Graduate

This poem is dedicated especially to the Graduating Class of 2008 from Mitchell County High but also to all Graduates of 2008 (the best class)

What more can I say,
other than that we've been waiting too long for this day,
this day will live in our memories as one of the best days.
Today is the day that we graduate.
Its a sad-happy occasion
because we're leavin behind our best years
just like we will leave our joyous tears
right here on this field.
Before now, at this moment,
I could only imagine how it would feel
to wear this cap and gown,
to walk across this stage,
to get my diploma,
and to have my family
to be so proud of me...
Now that its here, I'm wondering 'how could it be
that these final four years
went by so quick? '
To know that after this day, many of our friends
we may never see again,
that we will be moving on to bigger things in life
fearing nothing except fear itself
because we know watever we do
we will only find success
because success is not an option,
its our way of life...
We are the greatest class to ever graduate.
We are the class of 2008...

poem by Chris Hall
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In The Art Class

I look around this joyful room,
Amongst the peaceful teens
This is perhaps the only class
Where students are not machines

In the art class they’ll smile
In the art class they’ll yell
In the art class they‘ll be kind
And not raise a hell

Many teachers wonder why this is so
Many teachers wonder where the secret lies
The secret to peaceful teens, which enjoy their work
The secret to the students without depressed cries

The students wonder how they could not get it
How they could not understand
How the teachers don’t realise
That in the art room there are no demands

In the maths class there are complications
In the English room there is language
But in the art room there is only creativity
It is that which students which to salvage

The art teacher is simple and kind
The art teacher doesn’t lecture or scream
The art teacher doesn’t force them to be equal
And make a most horrendous scene

No, in the art class they are not equal
But the differences they admire
They have a writer, a painter and a sculptor
And they have freedom to aspire

Freedom is what the students wish
The students wish to be treated like people
In the art class they are treated as such
In other classes they are believed incapable

The students will always be at peace in the art room
There will be no fights, no pain, and no scorn
The other teachers will wonder what the secret is
But their attempts to find out will always be forlorn

poem by Lenore Lee
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Besides paid white laborers, there was everywhere a class of white servants bound without wages for a term of years, and a more miserable class of Negro slaves.

quote by Albert Bushnell Hart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clinton left the White House with all the class of an XFL halftime show.

quote by Bill Maher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Many Lies ?

Once there were times,
Once there were reasons filled with rhymes,
Everything shared, everything told
You keep me so warm,
Protect me from all those mighty storms
And dreams seem so old
So look at us now, just look at us now,
With our hands on our hearts
And lines on our brow
How many lies must we tell?
How many lies must we see?
How many times must we say, its for the best?
And leave truth as the casualty?
Do you read through the lines,
Or believe the tv and the times?
Where can we find more ways to see?
You strain on the truth,
And make believe all when you cry wolf,
And the lies youre giving me
So look at us now, just look at us now,
With our hands on our hearts
And lines on our brow
How many lies must we tell?
How many lies must we see?
How many times must we say, its for the best?
And leave truth as the casualty?
Oh, well the truth is hard,
So when they write the book,
Fictions what you wanna be
Well, its your freedom of choice,
But you know that lies, are the cancer of democracy
Youve painted your face,
And now youve tainted your words
And now youre ready and armed with love
Well if youre head is steady,
And your soul is ready,
Were going up above
So whatever you wanna be,
Just come on along with me,
If theres truth in our hearts,
Maybe we can break free
How many lies must we tell?
How many lies must we see?
How many times must we say, its for the best?
And leave truth as the casualty?
How many lies must we tell?
How many lies must we see?
How many times must we say, its for the best?
And leave truth as the casualty?
How many times must we say, its for the best?
And leave nothing, yeah

song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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