Quotes about prop, page 9
This Show Is Over
STOP!
What are you doing over there?
'Breaking down the set!
Why? '
What on Earth are you talking about?
Breaking down what set?
'This one.
The one you're looking at!
Ooohh!
You're one of the ones who fell into a deep sleep! ?
I attempted to awaken you myself.
And nothing I could do,
Would awaken you.'
Is this some kind of hoax?
You put that setting back.
And who is that...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Dog And His Master
NO better Dog e'er kept his Master's Door
Than honest Snarl, who spar'd nor Rich nor Poor;
But gave the Alarm, when any one drew nigh,
Nor let pretended Friends pass fearless by:
For which reprov'd, as better Fed than Taught,
He rightly thus expostulates the Fault.
To keep the House from Rascals was my Charge;
The Task was great, and the Commission large.
Nor did your Worship e'er declare your Mind,
That to the begging Crew it was confin'd;
Who shrink an Arm, or prop an able Knee,
Or turn up Eyes, till they're not seen, nor see.
To Thieves, who know the Penalty of Stealth,
And fairly stake their Necks against your Wealth,
These are the known Delinquents of the Times,
And Whips and Tyburn. testify their Crimes.
But since to Me there was by Nature lent
An exquisite Discerning by the Scent;
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poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Integrity
Immortal life is something to be earned,
By slow, self-conquest, comradeship with pain,
And patient seeking after higher truths.
We cannot follow our own wayward wills
And feed our baser appetites and give
Loose reins to foolish tempers, year on year,
And then cry, 'Lord, forgive me, I believe --'
And straightway bathe in glory. Men must learn
God's system is too great a thing for that;
The spark divine dwells in each soul, and we
Can fan it to a steady flame of light,
Whose lustre guilds the pathway of the tomb
And shines on through eternity, or else
Neglect it till it simmers down to death
And leaves us but the darkness of the grave.
Each conquered passion feeds the living flame;
Each well-borne sorrow is a step toward God.
Faith cannot rescue, and no blood redeem
The soul that will not reason and resolve.
Lean on thyself, yet prop thyself with prayer,
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Old Front Gate
W'en daih's chillun in de house,
Dey keep on a-gittin' tall;
But de folks don' seem to see
Dat dey's growin' up at all,
'Twell dey fin' out some fine day
Dat de gals has 'menced to grow,
W'en dey notice as dey pass
Dat de front gate's saggin' low.
W'en de hinges creak an' cry,
An' de bahs go slantin' down,
You kin reckon dat hit's time
Fu' to cas' yo' eye erroun',
'Cause daih ain't no 'sputin' dis,
Hit's de trues' sign to show
Dat daih's cou'tin goin' on
W'en de ol' front gate sags low.
Oh, you grumble an' complain,
An' you prop dat gate up right;
But you notice right nex' day
Dat hit's in de same ol' plight.
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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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John Skelton
What could be dafter
Than John Skelton’s laughter?
What sound more tenderly
Than his pretty poetry?
So where to rank old Skelton?
He was no monstrous Milton,
Nor wrote no “Paradise Lost,”
So wondered at by most,
Phrased so disdainfully,
Composed so painfully.
He struck what Milton missed,
Milling an English grist
With homely turn and twist.
He was English through and through,
Not Greek, nor French, nor Jew,
Though well their tongues he knew,
The living and the dead:
Learned Erasmus said,
Hic ’unum Britannicarum
Lumen et decus literarum.
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poem by Robert Graves
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Of Uprightness and Sincerity
Wouldst thou be very upright and sincere?
Wouldst thou be that within thou dost appear,
Or seem to be in outward exercise
Before the most devout, and godly wise?
Yea, art thou thus when no eye doth thee see
But that which is invisible? and be
The words of God in truth thy prop and stay?
And do they in thy conscience bear more sway
To govern thee in faith and holiness,
Than thou canst with thy heart and mouth express?
And do the things that truly are divine,
Before thee more than gold or rubies shine?
And if, as unto Solomon, God should
Propound to thee, What wouldst thou have? how would
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poem by John Bunyan
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The Veil
THE SISTER
Why, brother, why upon me stare?
Why do your brows so fiercely lower?
Your eyes like funeral torches glare,
Beneath their gloomy looks I cower.
Why do I see your sashes rent?
Why have you thrice your fingers laid
Upon the sheath? What dire intent
Makes you half draw the glittering blade?
FIRST BROTHER
Raised you today your veil, and face displayed!
SISTER
Home from the bath my path I took—
Brothers! Look not so terribly!—
And I was hidden from the look
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poem by Victor Hugo
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A Psalm Of Subjection
Nurse your 'unconquerable soul,'
But diligently bear in mind
That Life is not a wayward stroll,
For Circumstance asserts control,
And fiercely prods you up behind.
This dictum you can safely trust —
Growl you may, but Go you must.
Though you may shaft with all your might,
And kick against the goad, like Paul,
Though you may prop, and squeal, and bite,
You still put up a losing fight —
Unconquerable soul, and all.
Still subject to Compulsion's thrust,
Growl you may, but Go you must.
Have done with bluff, for Satan's sake,
A bulrush never can be strong.
You're overmatch'd — make no mistake —
The option is to bend or break;
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poem by Joseph Furphy
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Lean Attrition
Didn’t get anything right on Friday, spent
the weekend frightened that Monday would
be the same, yet I turned on Avira Webguard
all by myself without any help
A sign that I might be able to handle my work,
even though it feels like descending into a long,
boring fall down a meaningless rabbit-hole –
terms to be double-checked
Typography of paramount importance – for a
client who throws the text away after scanning,
such a waste; playing Monopoly - awarded marks
and special acquisitions for getting things right
Though everything is meaningless; the process
should be fun, the result has no importance,
we destroy our own copies; walking in the
sun is important, not dying in a chair
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Garlic Bushels To Dream Of
I deep dreamed an auspicious dream
before I was breath awakened awoke;
portent dream foretold prophesised
future specific part of prophet’s life.
Mesmerized contest prophet played
in prophetic dream was choice rigid
staunch rapid rough like taut traffic
in prop forward pig skin control quest
as confusing as scrum rugby played
in a tight forward position always is.
I could not dream tell if I crossed
a victorious try line to triumph score
or if I was beaten bodily into ground
but dive winning drive to strive
was reverent cherished symbolic
auspices of future struggles in life
hail always strife thundering chaos
as time suspended adrenalin rush.
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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