Quotes about profession, page 3
Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 02
A sage, instructing boys, said to them: ‘O darlings of your fathers, learn a trade because property and riches of the world are not to be relied upon; also silver and gold are an occasion of danger because either a thief may steal them at once or the owner spend them gradually; but a profession is a living fountain and permanent wealth; and although a professional man may lose riches, it does not matter because a profession is itself wealth and wherever he goes he will enjoy respect and sit in high places, whereas he who has no trade will glean crumbs and see hardships:
It is difficult to obey after losing dignity
And to bear violence from men after being caressed.
Once confusion arose in Damascus.
Everyone left his snug corner.
Learned sons of peasants
Became the veziers of padshahs.
Imbecile sons of the veziers
Went as mendicants to peasants.
If you wanted thy father’s inheritance, acquire his knowledge
Because this property of his may be spent in ten days.
The Last Of The Romantics
Romanticism is dying away,
Those of us it was bred into are
Being snuffed out of society
The days of practicing propriety have come to an end
So slowly we dwindle away
We are the last petals on the red rose
Drifting away one by one
Our profession, that of the helpless romantic
Is no longer wanted
We are no longer wanted
We are no longer needed
Our deeds were not heeded
Common courting of the day consists of
Getting torn up then tearing that ass up
There is no more wining and dining
Or the holding of doors and pulling out chairs
Candle light dinners, or nights spent under the stars
The era of the “gentleman” has come to an end
Passion and compassion seeped out of society as drugs took their place
So where did all the poets and the playwrights go?
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poem by Christopher Taber
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Houghton's Bank
HOUGHTON'S BANK
Herd instinct wannabes beg bridge funds, but
Often, spendthrift, find requests for loans
Unsecured denied. Bank makes no bones
Grabbing from those who’d raise themselves from rut,
Hand extended, scored, endures deep cut,
Turns topsy-turvy projects, risk condones,
Obstructing time-vault access with crisp tones,
Neat writing on the wall cites scuttlebutt.
Banking’s a profession where the gut
Active role takes, stakes past winners, drones
Need putting in their place. Prudence postpones
Knackers’ needs, weeds, tightens screw, bolt and nut.
However write-offs rise as profits fall,
Because tight guidelines can’t encompass all.
13 July 1992 revised 2 January 2009
robi03_0581_robi03_0000 ASX_JXX
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bag, Pen and Pencils
'I need bag, pen and pencils'
Books and uniform are shown costly in bills
Mother has sold some of the metal utensils
I look helpless, sore and awkwardly feel
Whole world is open to me for struggle
How long parent can support and be able?
What can a little boy think of bright future?
I have no answer and not very much sure
Education has become now profession
It must be admitted with true confession
What are we going to impart to the children?
When they have no slight idea about future even
I recall those early days and feel elated
Teachers were seen with honor and highly respected
They may offer any kind of assistance at odd hours
Teaching profession was considered best and seen with honor
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Coed's Counselor
When I was about to graduate
I knew it was time to choose my fate,
So I went to the counselor down the hall,
A good looking man, and very tall.
At present I had but little conception
Of what to do or what direction.
He greeted me with a great big smile
As willing to go that extra mile.
And point me in the right direction
To help me make my life perfection.
He took one look at my bod, boobs, and hips,
And the words came slyly over his lips
“Roses are red and violets are blue,
I know just the right profession for you.”
You look like a goddess standing there
With your lucious lips and your golden hair.
With everything in just the right place,
You’ll send the rich Johns into outer space.
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poem by George Hunter
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The Family Fool
Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,
If you listen to popular rumour;
From morning to night he's so joyous and bright,
And he bubbles with wit and good humour!
He's so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse;
Yet though people forgive his transgression,
There are one or two rules that all Family Fools
Must observe, if they love their profession.
There are one or two rules,
Half-a-dozen, maybe,
That all family fools,
Of whatever degree,
Must observe if they love their profession.
If you wish to succeed as a jester, you'll need
To consider each person's auricular:
What is all right for B would quite scandalise C
(For C is so very particular);
And D may be dull, and E's very thick skull
Is as empty of brains as a ladle;
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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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To An Insolent Attorney
So, Hall McAllister, you'll not be warned
My protest slighted, admonition scorned!
To save your scoundrel client from a cell
As loth to swallow him as he to swell
Its sum of meals insurgent (it decries
All wars intestinal with meats that rise)
You turn your scurril tongue against the press
And damn the agency you ought to bless.
Had not the press with all its hundred eyes
Discerned the wolf beneath the sheep's disguise
And raised the cry upon him, he to-day
Would lack your company, and you would lack his pay.
Talk not of 'hire' and consciences for sale
You whose profession 'tis to threaten, rail,
Calumniate and libel at the will
Of any villain who can pay the bill
You whose most honest dollars all were got
By saying for a fee 'the thing that's not!'
To you 'tis one, to challenge or defend;
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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Profession Of Violence
Hey babe what we gonna do
No look behind me glances
Straight time this time
Well take our chances
Darling its been so long
Every lonely hour
What the sinner pulls the trigger
And the world turns sour
*whisper in the wind
Locked in silence
Profession of violence
Whisper on the wind
Locked in silence
Profession of violence
Try to pick up the pieces
Maybe move away
But the lifer
Was only yesterday
Down the halls of justice
The echoes never fade
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song performed by Ufo
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General Crossing
Its an old profession
Of subtle artillery.
Rough wheels meshing ---
Button out, button in.
The tall general will mine
A few bridges tonight,
Stroking soft machinery.
Fanfare at dawn
Courting green steel
Lined up for world war one
(two, three, four).
Its an old profession
Of subtle artillery.
Rough wheels meshing ---
On a landscape with no trees.
The tall general points
To the distance ---
Disconnects his power supply.
Writes a stiff note to his nearest
And dearest ---
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song performed by Jethro Tull
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I Shot The Sheriff
--chorus--
I shot the sheriff
--chorus--
Verse one:
I had to shoot the sheriff it was justifiable
He mistaked me for somebody who was liable
For all tha many murders l.a and war fields
We keep makin war shields
Streets keep souls
Young brothers loose control
I seem to maintain through this
Watch where ya kick it theyll put you in a twist
And it aint nobody like my down ass hommie
And tha police always tryin to pin some bullshit on me
I keep away from fools
They do crime and it attracts cops
Cops got guns and cuffs
And cells to stuff you in
--chorus--
Verse two:
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song performed by Warren G
Added by Lucian Velea
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