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Excellence always sells.

quote by Earl Nightingale
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peace Sells

What do you mean, I dont believe in god?
I talk to him every day.
What do you mean, I dont support your system?
I go to court when I have to.
What do you mean, I cant get to work on time?
I got nothing better to do
And, what do you mean, I dont pay my bills?
Why do you think Im broke? huh?
Chorus
If theres a new way,
Ill be the first in line.
But, it better work this time.
What do you mean, I hurt your feelings?
I didnt know you had any feelings.
What do you mean, I aint kind?
Im just not your kind.
What do you mean, I couldnt be president, of the united states of america?
Tell me something, its still we the people, right?
Chorus (repeat)
If theres a new way Ill be the first in line, but, it better work this time. can you put a price on peace?
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace sells...,but whos buying?
Peace sells...,but whos buying?
Peace sells...,but whos buying?
Peace sells...,but whos buying?
No, peace sells...

song performed by Megadeth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peace Sells... But Who's Buying? (live)

What do you mean, "I don't believe in God"?
I talk to him every day.
What do you mean, "I don't support your system"?
I go to court when I have to.
What do you mean, "I can't get to work on time"?
I got nothing better to do
And, what do you mean, "I don't pay my bills"?
Why do you think I'm broke? Huh?
If there's a new way,
I'll be the first in line.
But, it better work this time.
What do you mean, "I hurt your feelings"?
I didn't know you had any feelings.
What do you mean, "I ain't kind"?
I'm just not your kind.
What do you mean, "I couldn't be president,
Of the United States of America"?
Tell me something, it's still "We the people", right?
If there's a new way
I'll be the first in line,
But, it better work this time.
Can you put a price on peace?
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
No, peace sells

song performed by Megadeth
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Time Of Day

All the ghosts in the schoolyard
Young rebels with no dreams
Dying of old age
At seventeen
Some blame their mothers
For this unforgiving world
Others point the finger
At the flag the wind unfurls
But I say
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
Theres a face in the mirror
You dont recognize
So you shatter the lights
cause they sting your bloodshot eyes
You walk on with a stranger
Who rolls your soul up in his wad
You place your trust in him
Like you once placed it in god
Well I say
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
Caught between the cyclone fence and a red brick wall
Yeah, you melt like chocolate in the sun
Then you see your angel walking with his high-tops on
And he hands you heaven hotter than a loaded gun
(the time of day)
Dont you give him
(the time of day)
Dont you give him
(the time of day)
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
All the ghosts in the schoolyard
Young rebels with no dreams

[...] Read more

song performed by Gino Vanelli
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Torture

Welcome to the torture chamber
said the sign above the entrance
laughinh as it taked you by the hand
Looking as i maniac savage
inside you can sense the anguish
theatre of pain has just begun
Mr.Torture gives pain
with his whips and his chains
he knows just what you crave
Mr. Torture
If youre feeling alone
then just pick up your phone
dial 18 double 0 Mr. Torture
Mr. Torture sells pain
Only sixty sents a minute
for his special brand of singing
phone guaranteed to blow your mind
You can catch him on a website
has a live chat every weeknight
cyber-torture soon coming your way
Mr Torture sells pain
to the houswives in Spain
he knows just what you crave
Mr Torture
If youre feeling alone
then just pick up your phone
dial 18 double 0 Mr. Torture
Mr Torture sells pain
Handcaffed,bounded,chained and blinded
body, soul and mind ignated
every sense is torn and ripped apart
Hes been banned in twenty countries
though he does it for money
he gets pleasure by hearing you scream
Mr. Torture gives pain
with his whips and his chaines
he knows just what you crave Mr. Torture
If youre feelin alone
then just pick up your phone
dial 18 double 0 Mr. Torture
Mr. Torture sells pain

song performed by Helloween
Added by Lucian Velea
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She Sells

(ferry/jobson)
Now youre talking in headlines
Up to the minute and free
Stop press, hold the front page
Up as a mirror
Are you reading me?
Watch you walking in waltz time
A jigsaw puzzle in tune
Or are you faking a straight line
To suit yourself too soon
Rather nouveau than never
Contemporary ideal
Some natural kind of poet might slow it
But she sells more my speed
She sells country and modern
Ancient western song
Of oriental confusion
You so right, me so wrong
Now youre fixing to fly me-
Auto-erotic, please,
On the break that youre gliding.
Your lingeries a gift-wrap
Slip it to me
Nine till five
The daily grind
Made-up lies
Make up my mind
Same machine consuming you
Consuming you
Oh why
She sells
I need
Oh why love why
She sells
I need.

song performed by Roxy Music
Added by Lucian Velea
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Consistent Excellence

Go...
Ask anyone of your neighbors,
How difficult it is...
To produce consistent excellence.
With a doing done you do,
To ensure your life...
Is lived to make sense.
With the best from yourself,
To show those your excellence...
Is not some luck that has been sent.
Your excellence is what is meant.

Go...
Ask anyone of your neighbors,
And when you are done...
Ask your friends and family too,
If consistent excellence with a bit of sweat...
Is something done you know they do,
For themselves.
And nothing from them to you to prove.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sex Kills

I pulled up behind a cadillac;
We were waiting for the light;
And I took a look at his license plate-
It said, just ice.
Is justice just ice?
Governed by greed and lust?
Just the strong doing what they can
And the weak suffering what they must?
And the gas leaks
And the oil spills
And sex sells everything
And sex kills ...
Sex kills ...
Doctors pills give you brand new ills
And the bills bury you like an avalanche
And lawyers havent been this popular
Since robespierre slaughtered half of france!
And indian chiefs with their old beliefs know
The balance is undone-crazy ions-
You can feel it out in traffic;
Everyone hates everyone!
And the gas leaks
And the oil spills
And sex sells everything
And sex kills ...
Sex kills ...
All these jackoffs at the office
The rapist in the pool
Oh and the tragedies in the nurseries-
Little kids packin guns to school
The ulcerated ozone
These tumors of the skin-
This hostile sun beating down on
This massive mess were in!
And the gas leaks
And the oil spills
And sex sells everything
And sex kills ...
Sex kills ...
Sex kills ...
Sex kills ...
Sex kills ...

song performed by Joni Mitchell
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ox Cart Man

In October of the year,
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,
counting the seed, counting
the cellar's portion out,
and bags the rest on the cart's floor.

He packs wool sheared in April, honey
in combs, linen, leather
tanned from deerhide,
and vinegar in a barrel
hoped by hand at the forge's fire.

He walks by his ox's head, ten days
to Portsmouth Market, and sells potatoes,
and the bag that carried potatoes,
flaxseed, birch brooms, maple sugar, goose
feathers, yarn.

When the cart is empty he sells the cart.
When the cart is sold he sells the ox,
harness and yoke, and walks
home, his pockets heavy
with the year's coin for salt and taxes,

and at home by fire's light in November cold
stitches new harness
for next year's ox in the barn,
and carves the yoke, and saws planks
building the cart again.

poem by Donald Hall
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Journey To Lisbon

Winter Journey to Lisbon

Up rua Garrett I walked and it’s steep, in Baixa, the old heart
of Lisbon, past a shop that sells lottery tickets that sits beside
a shop that sells religious artifax, which is next door to a shop
that sells Cartier watches, if you buy a ticket and win, there is
money to decorate you mother’s grave and to buy a watch for
yourself. At the top of the street there is café Brasilia it used to
be Fernando Pessoa’s drinking den, the place is full of solemn,
nice Portuguese who, dressed for the occasion, drink nice cups
of coffee, their forefathers used looked down on Fernando,
irreverent poets and writers must go and drink elsewhere.

The master poet is now a statue sits outside in the rain and has
his picture taken by tourists, one wonders what he thinks of it all
as he sees the statue of Antonio Ribero Chiado, a poet who lived
in the sixteen hundred, the Largo is called after him he is bald and
is dressed like monk. From Largo Chiado I could see the harbour
where tug boats ply their trade on grey waters; the church
“Incarnacao” where Antonio used to pray is beautifully restored,
but empty god had left by the backdoor, the front door was too
heavy, but I saw woman weeping near a statue of Christ, “opium
for the people? ” Yes, why not?

It is getting dark the Portuguese are swallowed up by the Metro
as middle aged men with folded cardboard boxes, look for a shop
doorway where to bed down; and over this scene hovers Amalia,
the great Fado singer, she came from poverty too, famous in her
own life time she had the sense to be a friend of the powerful and
made it to the top. When her friends toppled from power she was
out in the cold, but not for long the Portuguese quickly forgave her.
Fine rain falls on Fernando’s hat and Antonio’s bald head, empty
streets the city sleeps and leaves the space to cats, the sleepless,
whores and their sad clients.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Simplistic Solutions: Sexual Discrimination Sells

Advertisement companies use sex
(unisex maximizes
gender hormonal appeals)
because sex sells sells sells baby.

Such sweeping statements
are compelling indictments
against civilized society

(supposedly male dominated
but at the lower end of the scale
that’s not a bowl of cherries either baby

- like get real poor men suffer ladies)

and cannot be struck legitimately
from decades past sexual
discrimination extant public records.

People who indiscriminately hate
(their frustrated gendered
class bound inequality position)

need someone else to blame
(for failure or lack of ultimate

effort applied
to all attempts

made in hopes
of attaining success.)

Wrongs individually committed
(by gender / class / race)
are often erroneously judged

(indicted indignantly)

ranted against
an entire gender class
race inappropriately.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.

quote by Aristotle
Added by Lucian Velea
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my friends at PH

we must be hope
and excellence
we are both
compassion
and valor

easily we can get badness
in quantity
the road is wide and smooth
and popular
lying close by
in our houses

in front of excellence
the gods have put
sweat, and a long
and narrow road
steep and
obstructed

we shall be the yardsticks
of quality
we now get used
to this environment where
excellence and
refinement are at
most expected.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Court Of Love

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.

The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right

No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.

Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,

That is entitled thus, 'The Court of Love.'
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.

But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Growth of Love

1
They that in play can do the thing they would,
Having an instinct throned in reason's place,
--And every perfect action hath the grace
Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood--
These are the best: yet be there workmen good
Who lose in earnestness control of face,
Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base
Reach to their end by steps well understood.
Me whom thou sawest of late strive with the pains
Of one who spends his strength to rule his nerve,
--Even as a painter breathlessly who stains
His scarcely moving hand lest it should swerve--
Behold me, now that I have cast my chains,
Master of the art which for thy sake I serve.

2
For thou art mine: and now I am ashamed
To have uséd means to win so pure acquist,
And of my trembling fear that might have misst
Thro' very care the gold at which I aim'd;
And am as happy but to hear thee named,
As are those gentle souls by angels kisst
In pictures seen leaving their marble cist
To go before the throne of grace unblamed.
Nor surer am I water hath the skill
To quench my thirst, or that my strength is freed
In delicate ordination as I will,
Than that to be myself is all I need
For thee to be most mine: so I stand still,
And save to taste my joy no more take heed.

3
The whole world now is but the minister
Of thee to me: I see no other scheme
But universal love, from timeless dream
Waking to thee his joy's interpreter.
I walk around and in the fields confer
Of love at large with tree and flower and stream,
And list the lark descant upon my theme,
Heaven's musical accepted worshipper.
Thy smile outfaceth ill: and that old feud
'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce;
And nature now dearly with thee endued
No more in shame ponders her old excuse,
But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude,
So kindly hath she grown to her new use.

4

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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The Example of Vertu : Cantos VIII.-XIV.

Capitalum VIII.

Dame Sapyence taryed a lytell whyle
Behynd the other saynge to Dyscrecyon
And began on her to laugh and smyle
Axynge her how I stode in condycyon
Well she sayd in good perfeccyon
But best it is that he maryed be
For to eschewe all yll censualyte
I knowe a lady of meruelous beaute
Spronge out of hyghe and noble lynage
Replete with vertue and full of bounte
Whiche vnto youth were a good maryage
For she is comen of royall apparage
But herde it wyll be to gete her loue
Without youth frayltye do sore reproue
I kneled downe than vpon my kne
Afore dame Sapyence with humble chere
Besechynge her of me to haue pyte
And also Dyscrecyon her syster dere
Than dame Sapyence came me nere
Saynge youth wyll ye haue a wyfe
And her to loue durynge her lyfe
Ye madame that wolde I fayne
Yf that she be both fayre and bryght
I wyll her loue euer more certayne
And pleas her alway with all my myght
Of suche a persone wolde I haue a syght
With all my herte now at this houre
Wolde to god I had so fayre a floure
Than sayd dyscrecyon there is a kynge
Dwellynge fer hens in a fayre castell
Of whome I oft haue herd grete talkynge
Whiche hath a doughter as I you tell
I trowe that youth wyll lyke her well
She is both good eke fayre and pure
As I report me vnto dame Nature
But yf that youth sholde her go seke
Ye must syster than hym well indue
With your grete power so good and meke
That he all frayltye may eschue
For by the way it wyll oft pursue
On hym by flatery and grete temptacyon
That shall brynge hym in tribulacyon
As for that sayd she he shall not care
For he shall theym sone ouercome
And of theyr flatery ryght well beware
For I to hym shall gyue grete wysedome
Theyr dedes to withstande & make theym dōme
Wherfore dere syster as I you pray

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Hawes
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The Pastime of Pleasure : The First Part.

Here begynneth the passe tyme of pleasure.

Ryyght myghty prynce / & redoubted souerayne
Saylynge forthe well / in the shyppe of grace
Ouer the wawes / of this lyfe vncertayne
Ryght towarde heuen / to haue dwellynge place
Grace dothe you guyde / in euery doubtfull cace
Your gouernaunce / dothe euermore eschewe
The synne of slouthe / enemy to vertewe
Grace stereth well / the grace of god is grete
Whiche you hathe brought / to your ryall se
And in your ryght / it hath you surely sette
Aboue vs all / to haue the soueraynte
Whose worthy power / and regall dygnyte
All our rancour / and our debate and ceace
Hath to vs brought / bothe welthe reste and peace
Frome whome dyscendeth / by the ryghtfull lyne
Noble pryuce Henry / to succede the crowne
That in his youthe / dothe so clerely shyne
In euery vertu / castynge the vyce adowne
He shall of fame / attayne the hye renowne
No doubte but grace / shall hym well enclose
Whiche by trewe ryght / sprange of the reed rose
Your noble grace / and excellent hyenes
For to accepte / I beseche ryght humbly
This lytell boke / opprest with rudenes
Without rethorycke / or colour crafty
Nothynge I am / experte in poetry
As the monke of Bury / floure of eloquence
Whiche was in tyme / of grete excellence
Of your predecessour / the .v. kynge henry
Vnto whose grace / he dyde present
Ryght famous bokes / of parfyte memory
Of his faynynge with termes eloquent
Whose fatall fyccyons / are yet permanent
Grounded on reason / with clowdy fygures
He cloked the trouthe / of all his scryptures
The lyght of trouthe / I lacke connynge to cloke
To drawe a curtayne / I dare not to presume
Nor hyde my mater / with a mysty smoke
My rudenes connynge / dothe so sore cōsume
Yet as I maye / I shall blowe out a fume
To hyde my mynde / vnderneth a fable
By conuert colour / well and probable
Besechynge your grace / to pardon myne ignoraunce
Whiche this fayned fable / to eschewe ydlenesse
Hane so compyled / now without doubtaunce
For to present / to your hye worthynesse
To folowe the trace / and all the parfytenesse
Of my mayster Lydgate / with due exercyse

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Hawes
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I don't do something because I think it will sell 30 million albums. I couldn't care less. If it sells one, it sells one.

quote by Oscar Peterson
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To the moralist prostitution does not consist so much in the fact that the woman sells her body, but rather that she sells it out of wedlock.

quote by Emma Goldman
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Nobody reads a mystery to get to the middle. They read it to get to the end. If it's a letdown, they won't buy anymore. The first page sells that book. The last page sells your next book.

quote by Mickey Spillane
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If it sells, it sells. If it doesn't sell, I'll go make a movie.

quote by Ice T
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