There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things.
William Shakespeare in King Henry V
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
True Love.
It is the very tune of hearts, and rhythms
To all occasions truly musical.
He sticks as fast to her each whim as does
The scarabaeus to its curious ball,
As if life's very destiny were in it;
And as the thing would rather die than part
With what occasions her so much turmoil,
I swear by what I now of true love know,
He'd dare even death rather than banished be
From her who has become a part of him.
poem by Robert Crawford
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I have come to the conclusion that my subjective account of my motivation is largely mythical on almost all occasions. I don't know why I do things.
quote by J.B.S. Haldane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My mother told me on several different occasions that she was livin' her dream vicariously through me. She once said that I was getting' to do all the things that she would have wanted to have done.
quote by Buck Owens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But on those occasions when I do strongly disagree with the Democrats and I don't say anything, I think I forfeit my right to have people pay attention to me when I say the things that I don't like about what Republicans are saying.
quote by Barney Frank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When we recall the past, we usually find that it is the simplest things - not the great occasions - that in retrospect give off the greatest glow of happiness.
Business of Manufacture
The business of large scale manufacture
Is that of higher money amounts,
Over special issues, as the life tells.
It constricts the messages in the throats
As much as a python, and like they say
So much for reason and judgement.
The case is put on occasions, on certain occasions
That messengers are handed over from God to alleviate
The need for Manufacture, such as the exact rest
To be called Relaxation.
Then we are friendly, as an ocean of oil,
The oil of our father and mother,
The oil of helpers and fuel and fruit.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Bee is not afraid of me
111
The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially—
The Brooks laugh louder when I come—
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Pessimism
the hands of pessimism
touch the arms of the overconfident
and somehow
creates the scenes of vigilance
and though
nothing that bad happens
the consolation is there
like
sometimes my dear things like these
do happen
and we have no right to complain
these things are like the seasons
spring and autumn
winter and summer
day and night
like the faces we wear on occasions
of our human affairs
do you see how my eyes have put
upon themselves
the correct lenses? not for me to see clearly
but for me
to close my eyes and rest and sleep
only for a while, for soon i shall be prepared
for another crying game.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why do I love You, Sir?
"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—
The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—
The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Darling, Please Forgive Me
My darling, please forgive me for all the things I do wrong.
Bet you never thought it would be so bad first time I came along;
Especially during tough times when you needed a loved one there
To listen with an open mind and closed mouth and really care.
When I get mad and shout at you, please just consider the source…
I apologize for all the times I'm so nasty, inconsiderate and coarse.
I'm sorry for the many occasions I could have helped you out,
But sat at my desk shuffling piles of papers like a self-serving lout.
And for those other innumerable, thoughtless things I do
I beg your pardon, ask for forgiveness and please remember…
I'll always be deeply in love with you from every January through
Every December!
poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Mourners
LOW she lies, who blest our eyes
Through many a sunny day;
She may not smile, she will not rise--
The life hath past away!
Yet there is a world of light beyond,
Where we neither die nor sleep--
She is there, of whom our souls were fond--
Then wherefore do we weep?
The heart is cold, whose thoughts were told
In each glance of her glad bright eye;
And she lies pale, who was so bright,
She scarce seemed made to die.
Yet we know that her soul is happy now,
Where the saints their calm watch keep;
That angels are crowning that fair young brow--
Then wherefore do we weep?
Her laughing voice made all rejoice,
Who caught the happy sound;
There was gladness in her very step,
As it lightly touched the ground.
The echoes of voice and step are gone;
There is silence still and deep:
Yet we know she sings by God's bright throne--
Then wherefore do we weep?
The cheek's pale tinge, the lid's dark fringe;
That lies like a shadow there,
Were beautiful in the eyes of all--
And her glossy golden hair!
But though that lid may never wake
From its dark and dreamless sleep,
She is gone where young hearts do not break--
Then wherefore do we weep?
That world of light with joy is bright,
This is a world of woe:
Shall we grieve that her soul hath taken flight,
Because we dwell below?
We will bury her under the mossy sod,
And one long bright tress we'll keep;
We have only given her back to God--
Ah! wherefore do we weep?
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?
I see thee still in doublet wide,
And hose well kept, a world too slack,
So long and lean thou wert allied,
It struck me, with that curious back,
The Zoo giraffe. Thy brow was black,
Thy speech was awkward, action slow.
I whispered at thy first attack:
“And wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Thou wert then fifty and cross-eyed;
For acting never hadst the knack.
With stilted bow and Irving stride
Thou tookst the stage, and Jill and Jack
Both sniggered, when with damned clack
Thou talkedst of moons, and wrecked the show.
And here by Heaven, thou art back.
Oh, wherefore art thou Romeo?
This fellow was a lad of pride,
No prinked-out fool, with just a snack
Of bounder, and by Fate allied
To pale effeminates who smack
The rouge about. Thou art a quack!
Thy treatment brings the lover low.
Thou’rt living still our hearts to crack;
Oh, wherefore art thou Romeo?
ENVOY
No egotism dost thou lack,
Great scorn hast for the rival pro.,
And talk’st thou of thy art. Alack!
And wherefore art, thou Romeo?
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Why Do I Love You Madam? (a Parody Of Emily Dickenson's Poem Of The Day)
69
'Why do I love' You, Ma'am?
Because—
The River does not require the Clouds
To Rain—Wherefore when the Buffalo passes
Surely she cannot keep Her Grass
Because He does not know—and
Will not You— In the biblical sense of the word
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Dumbness be so—
The Eyelids—never asked an Iris
Wherefore they shut—when She was by-standing—
Because the Heart knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Murmur—
There be—preferred by Old Volkswagen—
The Dark Nights—Madam—constrains Me—
Because They're dark and cold and damp —and I smoke and drink—
Henceforth—Then—
I must pay thee so tenderly—
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bat, Bat, Come Under my Hat
(A Modernity)
Twelve good friends
Passed under her hat,
And devil a one of them
Knew where he was at.
Had they but known,
Then had they known all things, --
The littleness of great things,
The unmeasured immensity of small things.
They had known the Where and the Why,
The When and the Wherefore,
And how the Eternal
Conceived the Eternal, and therefore
Beginning began the Beginning;
They had apprehended
The ultimate virtue of sinning;
They had caught the whisper
That Vega vibrates to Arcturus,
Piercing the walls
Of heavy flesh that immure us.
But if they had known,
Then had there been no mystery;
And Life had been poorer,
And laughter unsurer,
And the shadow of death securer,
By lack of this brief history.
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Whatever That Is That Teases
My goal?
Is to live my life,
Without the selling of my soul.
Although I've been tempted on many occasions,
To go for the bling and satisfy my passions.
Or whatever that is that teases to leave.
But I often found myself comfortably dressed,
With no intentions to impress...
Anyone who could not comprehend,
The depths of my steadfast compassion.
Addressed to prioritized and within me stays.
There are some things I can not temporarily undo.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't invite me to secret chambers of your heart..!
my friend!
reveal not your secrets to me!
not on ankles
but on tongue
i wear my anklets!
wherever i go
it jingles out
all your secrets!
wherefore, friend!
bolt and lock
heart's holy chambers!
i am an autumn tree!
my lips' smallest tremor
sheds in thousands
secrets inflammable!
wherefore, friend,
invite me never
to secret chambers
of your heart!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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But wherefore thou alone
Wherefore with thee
Came not all hell broke loose
Is pain to them
Less pain, less to be fled, or thou than they
Less hardy to endure
Courageous chief,
The first in flight from pain, hadst thou alleged
To thy deserted host this cause of flight,
Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive.
quote by John Milton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Knee
Wherefore God had highly exlted him and given him a name
Which is above every name and at the feet of jesus
Every knee shall bow
Of things of heaven and of things of earth
And things under the earth and at the name of jesus
Every tongue shall confess that he is king
Under God the father
Christ is king, he is god
Who so you seek you deny
That in the begining was the word and the word was with god
The word was god. so why do you fight
Which were not born of blood, nor of the flesh
Nor of the will of man, but of god
The word became flesh and dwelt among us
And we beheld his glory
Full of grace and truth
Whos gonna bow down? every knee
Whos gonna confess? every tongue
2x
Prophets of the past, claim the son of man would come
With their hands lifted up and their eyes to the sky
They problaim the name of jesus christ
People may ask why, who do you live this way
But they know the truth, for he is the truth
Desperate is their lives, so whats the use
Heres on for the funky drummer: keep the rythems rollin
In your face, I got the bass, without a trace
Hes going, hes gone and Im on the microphone
And Im known to get rough
So thake some time out of my rhyme bro and strutt your stuff
Prophets were four, Ill show you whats in store
Give praises to my king so now can I get an encore?
And keep clapping, keep clapping, keep clapping, keep clapping
Hey, yo, what kappening brothers getting jacked
When you step up to me with that disrespect
I thinks its time for us to put your evil butt in check
And if you dont believe me, tell me who is next
And somebody tell the devil, that his match is met
From the word of god, so you know its the truth
And I tell you with power chump, so what ya gonna do?
Ill make it known again that were just spreading the good news
And well have your crews saying your jesus is one smooth
Whos gonna bow down? every knee
3x
Wherefore God has highly exalted him and given him a name
Which is above every name, and the feet of jesus,
Every knee shall bow
Of things of heaven, of things of earth, and things under earth
And at the name of jesus, every tongue shall confess that he is king
Under God the father
song performed by by P.O.D.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Those Who Cannot Say
'for those who cannot say they are sorry
our saying we are sure they are sorry
may not be enough to restore social divide...'
on appropriate occasions thus we may quietly
say your father mother sister brother friend
is sorry in front of him her nothing more
change subject neat then smoothly quickly...
families friends when simmering disgruntled tired
may say unfortunate things when upset moody
many an inappropriate comment is made grumpy...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Miles and miles of here and there
MILES and miles of here and there
Our eager river forced its way,
Bent to be it knew not where.
It had no rest in delay;
And for its haste it had no aim;
Wherefore go? But wherefore stay?
Here and there led both the same;
By any winding it could make
Near its secret goal it came.
When it reached the crystal lake
It knew its aim and found its rest;
All the miles were for love's sake.
Mid the blue hills of the west
Our river lies in the lake's breast.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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