Quotes about Rich and poor
No, I'm not rich. Compared to striking miners and work-less actors very rich: compared to successful stockbrokers and businessmen I expect I would be considered nearly poor.
Four Lyrics from Dunhuang
Tune: “Eternal Longing”
He was a traveler west of the river,
with wealth and eminence rare in this world.
All day long in vermilion towers
...dancing and singing songs.
The cup filled again and again, till he's drunk as mud;
lightly, lightly trading golden goblets,
wearing out the day tasting joys, pursuing pleasures—
Some people are rich and never go home.
He was a traveler west of the river;
only he knew how lonely he was,
dust and dirt covering his face,
all day long being cheated by others.
Morning after morning standing by the west gate of the market,
the wind blowing the tears that came down in two streams,
gazing toward his native land so many roads away—
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Canto the Fourth
Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning;
Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.
But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man, -- and, as we would hope, -- perhaps the devil,
That neither of their intellects are vast:
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
We know not this -- the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.
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A Prayer for my Daughter
Once more the storm is howling and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's Wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come,
Dancing to a frenzied drum,
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
May she be granted beauty and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,
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I've been rich and I've been poor. Rich is better.
I cannot sufficiently admire the divine tact of thus training the chosen race for centuries in religion before even hinting the shining secret of eternal life. He behaves like the rich lover in a romance who woos the maiden on his own merits, disguised as a poor man, and only when he has won her reveals that he has a throne and palace to offer. For I cannot help thinking that any religion which begins with a thirst for immortality is damned, as a religion, from the outset. Until a certain spiritual level has been reached, the promise of immortality will always operate as a bribe which vitiates the whole religion and infinitely inflames those very self-regards which religion must cut down and uproot.
Voices in the Wind
Once honor ruled while necessity and obedience made it a common courtesy
Slowly like sand in an hourglass time flowed while life was lived
Death celebrated and memories stored
Tepid breezes emboldened by a perfect sun caressed the planet
Then like a thief in the night tempest dredged from the bowels of hell
Beseeched the planet and the voice in the wind was silenced
Turmoil ruled the planet and war became the glorified hero assessing his power over all living tribes
Under the yoke of dread the people labored the strong grew wicked and disagreeable
Not only life but nature turned her back upon such disrespect
Brazen disregard and poor judgment had altered the gift of the onetime perfect plan
Foul air and water, the oceans emptied of its bountiful creatures
Warfare became a daily pitch, greed, terror, bombs and death
Answered was only the trumpet's call for destruction
Heed the voice in the Wind for time is short to heal the wounds
In the end nothing will matter
When nourishment flows from your breast mother instill love, not hate, compassion not neglect
Neither Jew nor Arab, black or white, rich or poor has preference in the terrestrial realm
Most wonderful is the beauty of a morning meadow in the sunrise compared to barren rubble strewn over the land
It has been said before, how many years counted by the hundreds have to pass like sand through the hourglass
Before we all realize that all is nothing and nothing is all.
The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets and to steal bread.
For all the gold and silver stolen and shipped to Spain did not make the Spanish people richer. It gave their kings an edge in the balance of power for a time, a chance to hire more mercenary soldiers for their wars. They ended up losing those wars anyway, and all that was left was a deadly inflation, a starving population, the rich richer, the poor poorer, and a ruined peasant class.
The poor wish to be rich, the rich wish to be happy, the single wish to be married, and the married wish to be dead.
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