The Man in the Arena
The Man in the Arena
Find what you love, to that be true
Care less for what “they“ think of you.
Follow your internal muse
Dare to take risks and pay your dues.
Some such succeed and triumphs gain,
Others strive but all in vain.-
For both their place can never be
Out in the dark periphery.
In the end our lives are spent
Pursing dreams or paying rent
The choice is ours to play our role
Don’t be a cold and timid soul.
Though our faces be marred by dust and sweat
we are the ones they won't forget.
Not the faceless critic in his seat
who knows neither victory nor defeat
J.M.
“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”-President Theodore Roosevelt
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood who strives valiantly who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause who at best, knows the triumph of high achievement and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy course; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt (1910)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not the critic who counts, not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled or how the doer of deeds might have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause and who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not the critic that counts not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or the doer of deeds could have them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the Arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood who strives valiantly who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming but he who does actually strive to do the deed who knows the great devotion who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails while daring greatly, knows that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls, who know neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again. Because there is no effort without error and shortcomings, he who knows the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the high achievement of triumph and who at worst, if he fails while daring greatly, knows his place shall never be with those timid and cold souls who know neither victory nor defeat".
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause who at best, if he wins, knows the thrills of high achievement, and, if he fails, at least fails daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
quote by John F. Kennedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far better is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the grey twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.
Theodore Roosevelt in The Man in the Arena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The poorest way to face life is to face it with a sneer. There are many men who feel a kind of twisted pride in cynicism; there are many who confine themselves to criticism of the way others do what they themselves dare not even attempt. There is no more unhealthy being, no man less worthy of respect, than he who either really holds, or feigns to hold, an attitude of sneering disbelief toward all that is great and lofty, whether in achievement or in that noble effort which, even if it fails, comes to second achievement. A cynical habit of thought and speech, a readiness to criticize work which the critic himself never tries to perform, an intellectual aloofness which will not accept contact with life's realities — all these are marks, not as the possessor would fain to think, of superiority but of weakness.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song Of The Pacifist
What do they matter, our headlong hates, when we take the toll of our Dead?
Think ye our glory and gain will pay for the torrent of blood we have shed?
By the cheers of our Victory will the heart of the mother be comforted?
If by the Victory all we mean is a broken and brooding foe;
Is the pomp and power of a glitt'ring hour, and a truce for an age or so:
By the clay-cold hand on the broken blade we have smitten a bootless blow!
If by the Triumph we only prove that the sword we sheathe is bright;
That justice and truth and love endure; that freedom's throned on the height;
That the feebler folks shall be unafraid; that Might shall never be Right;
If this be all: by the blood-drenched plains, by the havoc of fire and fear,
By the rending roar of the War of Wars, by the Dead so doubly dear. . . .
Then our Victory is a vast defeat, and it mocks us as we cheer.
Victory! there can be but one, hallowed in every land:
When by the graves of our common dead we who were foemen stand;
And in the hush of our common grief hand is tendered to hand.
Triumph! Yes, when out of the dust in the splendour of their release
The spirits of those who fell go forth and they hallow our hearts to peace,
And, brothers in pain, with world-wide voice, we clamour that War shall cease.
Glory! Ay, when from blackest loss shall be born most radiant gain;
When over the gory fields shall rise a star that never shall wane:
Then, and then only, our Dead shall know that they have not fall'n in vain.
When our children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be;
When we thank our God for our grief to-day, and blazon from sea to sea
In the name of the Dead the banner of Peace . . . that will be Victory.
poem by Robert William Service
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Once More I Rise
Once more I rise
My eyes, my lungs filled with dust
From the arena floor
You are too strong, my worthy foe
The crowd clamors for my blood
Once more I rise
One last time before I fall, finally and forever
But I do not rise for you
Nor certainly for the pleasure of jeering voices
Fomenting hate, though they know not whom
They so despise
In a way, I die for them
I represent their dark souls
In my disgrace, I somehow give them hope
Hope that they too can vanquish
Their enemies
But I do not choose to rise for them
And I most certainly do not rise for you,
Though, you are worthy
Of this final stand
A chance to prove the full strength of your hand
No, I do not rise for you but
For myself
My pride mostly
It is all that remains of my miserable life
Pride in the one I had hoped to be:
Victor in this dark arena
And so, as I rise
It is only pride that rises
And only pride that will fall
The rest of who I am or ever was
Remains buried in the dust
Nevermore to rise
Victims
An unassailable victory has been in demand,
To forgo is to relax and be polite like a mummy.
To abjure the heaven is to relate to disorder,
And where is now the victory? Where now?
My victim is completely with defeat,
His victory has cancelled due to defeat
And my revenge, for it is never wrong.
Revenge gave innocence to the soul.
My living is for the one who lives the longest,
The death of the victim is important;
Likewise, the life of a victim is so great
That I need to repent and be forgiven.
Sins are a waste of time to some who denounce,
They let evils destroy us, with sins to double.
Victims of displeasures need favours of greatness,
The whole year passes without a thought for others.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Try Again
What would you do
To get to me
What would you say
To have your way
Would you give up
Or try again
If I hesitate
To let you win
Or would you be yourself
Or play your role
Tell all the boys
Or keep it low
If I say no
Would you turn away
Or play me off
Or would you stay
[Chorus]
At first you succeed
Dust yourself off and try it again
You can dust it off and try it again
At first you succeed
Dust yourself off and try it again
You can dust it off and try it again
I went to you
You went to me
But I cant let it go
So easily
Not 'til I see
What this could be
Be eternity
Or just a week
Your chemistry
Is off the change
Is perfect now
But will it change
This aint a yes
This aint a no
Just do your thang
At first you succeed
Dust yourself off and try it again
You can dust it off and try it again
At first you succeed
Dust yourself off and try it again
You can dust it off and try it again
[Hook]
If you dont wanna throw it all away
Might be shy on the first date
What about the next date
um
song performed by by Aaliyah from Aaliyah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Harbour: Loss And Gain
When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.
I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.
But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Loss And Gain
When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.
I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.
But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Cold Case
My thirst water my heart, i war for blood - I do not know why, grilled by a sigh - I time my spell, which only multiply in hell - Silver chains bound my soul, i dig gold with a fork - I never question the answer - Boundaries laid to be broken, rails made of steel, fails - My direction blows in a circle, at 400 degrees, sold to cold - My mind locked in a chamber, it belongs to Doom - The bombs which litter this land, is made by Earth - The place, so advanced, we evolved from dust off a fallen star - We destroy, for power, we greed, the fall ofthe two towers - The innocent dies in the hands of God - The destruction of war, in the black souls, of men - My eyes burn, you will have your turn - If i was a god, i will smite the human race - cold case
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Love
Love, though it is not chill and cold,
But burning like eternal fire,
Is yet not of approaches bold,
Which gay dramatic tastes admire.
Oh timid love, more fond than free,
In daring song is ill pourtrayed,
Where, as in war, the devotee
By valour wins each captive maid;--
Where hearts are prest to hearts in glee,
As they could tell each other's mind;
Where ruby lips are kissed as free,
As flowers are by the summer wind.
No! gentle love, that timid dream,
With hopes and fears at foil and play,
Works like a skiff against the stream,
And thinking most finds least to say.
It lives in blushes and in sighs,
In hopes for which no words are found;
Thoughts dare not speak but in the eyes,
The tongue is left without a sound.
The pert and forward things that dare
Their talk in every maiden's ear,
Feel no more than their shadows there--
Mere things of form, with nought of fear.
True passion, that so burns to plead,
Is timid as the dove's disguise;
Tis for the murder-aiming gleed
To dart at every thing that flies.
True love, it is no daring bird,
But like the little timid wren,
That in the new-leaved thorns of spring
Shrinks farther from the sight of men.
The idol of his musing mind,
The worship of his lonely hour,
Love woos her in the summer wind,
And tells her name to every flower;
But in her sight, no open word
Escapes, his fondness to declare;
The sighs by beauty's magic stirred
Are all that speak his passion there.
poem by John Clare
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