Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble.
quote by Benjamin Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble.
quote by Benjamin Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The best memory is that which forgets nothing but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.
The best memory is that which forgets nothing, but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.
Injuries we write in marble, kindnesses in dust.
Write injuries in dust, But kindnesses in marble.
Write injuries in dust, But kindnesses in marble. [Fr., Eerivez les injures sue le sable, Mais les bienfaits sur le marbre.]
Write injuries in the sand, kindnesses in marble.
Benefits grow old betimes, but injuries are long livers.
I've come to accept that the life of a frontrunner is a hard one, that he will suffer more injuries than most men and that many of these injuries will not be accidental.
Types of injuries
Injuries from the sports sooth.
Injuries from the assaults loom.
Your sufferings are inconsistent
With the effects but the causes.
22.05.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I don't care if you are religious or not and I think the message is that at the end of the day, everybody has to mature and everybody has to heal and mend their own injuries, emotional injuries, on their own pace.
quote by Boris Kodjoe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 41
A company of vagabonds met a dervish, spoke insulting words to him, struck him and otherwise molested him; whereon he complained to his superior and explained the case. The pir replied: ‘My son, the patched frock of dervishes is the garment of resignation and who, wearing it, cannot bear injuries is a pretender not entitled to the frock.’
A large river will not become turbid from stones.
The Arif who feels aggrieved is shallow water yet.
If he injures thee, bear it
Because pardon will purify thee from sin.
O brother, as the end is dust, be dust before thou art turned into dust.
Dust 2...
If dust could only talk
What would we hear it say?
Before it's brushed aside
Just as it's swept away
It's just the evidence
It's of no consequence
It's only flesh and bone
Why don't you leave it alone?
If dust could only speak
Caught in a falling beam
If dust could only cry
If dust could only scream
For it's the single witness that might testify
Could I spit out the truth?
Or would you rather just swallow a lie?
But dust is always caught behind a coat of pain
Beneath the marble fingernails of kings and saints
And in the theatre curtain where they hang a drape
Or in the ticket pocket where your hands escape
Before they start to wander
Or they start to shrink
You rub your eye a little and appear to blink
And then she caught you staring
She knows what you're thinking
What got into you is not a ghost as such
It was just dust
Here comes the juggernaut
Here come The Poisoners
They choke the life and land
And rob the joy from us
Why do they taste of sugar?
Oh, when they're made of money
Here come the Lamb of God
And the butcher's boy, Sonny
Well, I believe we just
Become a speck of dust
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The number of electrical injuries cared for in hospitals in the US is estimated at as many as 50,000; the cost of these injuries on the US economy is estimated at over one billion dollars per year.
quote by Richard Neal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No One Can Stop Us To Write
and they must know the reason why,
simple enough
we are writers and our essence is to write
for writing's sake
nothing aimed nothing gained nothing lost
we write because we are here
and we are here because we write
we write because if we do not
we no longer become ourselves
we lose our salt we become just like any
flesh, rotten, infected with bacteria
foul, and finally become just dust
on the corner of the road
we write and we keep on writing
because we are
we do not need the praise
or the condemnation
we do not need an audience
or an empty space
we write because we are
that is our essence and no one can stop us
except perhaps when the word is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Benefits
The love benefits from the Creator had made us what we are today,
Like the love benefits to your souls and that of mine.
Fromgenerations unto generations,
With the Universe being created out of love for you and i to live in;
And, there are more to learn from when it comes to love.
Love benefits,
It comes straight from the heart;
But ture love makes you grow without any question.
Love has no age and true love beautifies your body,
But love has it's specialities when you are in the mood;
And it makes you do things that you don't even think of.
It comes strainght from the heart,
Love changes the way you feel, talk and moves;
But when love calls on you,
You will always take care of your clothes.
Love benefits,
Matured love enhances your status-quo;
And you are the benefits of the changes in me.
What is love got to do?
It does many things than you think of,
Because it comes straight from the heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Write the bad things that are done to you in sand, but write the good things that happen to you on a piece of marble.
Dear Diary
i am writing like i am talking to you dear diary
my true friend
mama and papa died a long time ago
and i am left with some wounds and scabs and
some injuries that refuse to hear about those
that must die and go away
today, i will tell you something but i will not write it
in your pages
i am happy because i do not think anymore
i am happier because i do not have to write anymore
i am happiest because now i live in my mind away from the
the cage of your pages, i have learned to live and fly away like a bird
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Are We?
WHAT ARE WE?
What are we?
Dust of the earth
Dust of the stars
Thinking dust
Dreaming dust
Loving dust
Dust of Dust
God’s Dust
What are we?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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