Quotes about hereditary, page 3
I call that mind free which jealously guards its intellectual rights and powers, which calls no man master, which does not content itself with a passive or hereditary faith, and receives new truth as an angel from Heaven.
quote by Woody Allen
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm Done
Ok ... I'm done
I'm done with you and
I'm done with me
you don't have to stay
but please don't leave
I'm glad it happened and sad
we couldn't prevent it
I'm useless to myself and helpful to others
I guess craziness is hereditary
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Woodstock Park
Here in a little rustic hermitage
Alfred the Saxon King, Alfred the Great,
Postponed the cares of king-craft to translate
The Consolations of the Roman sage.
Here Geoffrey Chaucer in his ripe old age
Wrote the unrivalled Tales, which soon or late
The venturous hand that strives to imitate
Vanquished must fall on the unfinished page.
Two kings were they, who ruled by right divine,
And both supreme; one in the realm of Truth,
One in the realm of Fiction and of Song.
What prince hereditary of their line,
Uprising in the strength and flush of youth,
Their glory shall inherit and prolong?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Flights of Fancy - Acrostic Sonnet
For generations, since prehistory,
Life rising symbolised the soul’s redemption.
In flights of fancy all religions mention
Gesture rites to set bright spirit free.
‘Here’ and ‘now’ mean little. Ecstasy
Takes man’s kaa beyond mundane convention
Seeking enlightenment where apprehension
Or instinct’s fears, dissolves, and where ‘to be’
For once is not an empty phrase. ‘To see’
For once may stand for inner comprehension,
Adds up to enlightenment’s obtention –
Never can be gift hereditary.
Create within your mind that freedom where
Your soul discovers flightpath through the air...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Neigh in the western sky
Threesome was in tie-break from time to time.
You see a slight difference otherwise it's very hard to choose the beauteous.
The triangular trendsetters treble the song of life.
The magical gypsy sisters, triplets on their way home with Nick-knacks.
A roll-call in a rodeo but my handsome slapdash cowboy!
Be careful because a gypsy girl belongs to a Romany prince.
It's a hereditary.
Let alone!
Please do not try to transgress and let down yourself.
It could be an ordeal with the opposite.
I dedicate this with condolence to one of my in-laws* Mr.Neil.Panditharathne who passed away today of a prolonged coma.
(30, Sunday, July 2006)
*my elder daughter's Father-in-law
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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To His Grace The Duke Of Buckingham And Normanby, At The Camp Before Philipsburgh.
Return, brave Youth! suspend thy Martial Fire,
Nor, like great Berwick, in the Field expire.
Illustrious Exile! thou art gone at last;
Thy Toils, and various Dangers now are past:
The royal Blood, which flow'd in Berwick's Veins,
Is now pour'd out on hostile German Plains:
But tho' in Dust thy mortal Part be laid,
Yet shall thy dear--bought Laurels never fade:
Tho' to a foreign Prince's Service ty'd,
You liv'd with Glory, and with Glory dy'd.
MUSE, look not back, nor vainly mourn the Fate,
Which robb'd Britannia of an Arm so great.
On the sad Scene may Princes turn their Eye;
And from Oppression's fatal Footsteps fly;
Of arbitrary Pow'r the Danger see,
To British Monarchs the forbidden Tree;
Which, like the first, forbid by Pow'r divine,
Hurts not themselves alone, but taints their Line.
[...] Read more
poem by Mary Barber
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Jarl’s Wake Youth’s Dream
Bright wake frozen horizon
snow crystals chill heavy cipher.
Still heard hoary ghost glorified voice.
Voice vibrating Viking furied forth.
Hunting on fierce defiant Arctic wind
pacing out time run eternal packed ice.
“Rage destined exile famed
birth right blade Jarl seize.
Strive death, sin stained,
birthmark fate be birth price.
Purposeless, plebeian spilt salt lust,
tempts base shame straw death.
Dying, death bound be outcast
warrior dies dust outsider doomed.
Hurled with savage savoured thrust;
darts, skilled flown, hawk prey, fled throw.
Quiver, between convulsive, rich walls,
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Alexander III
The world in mourning for a Russian Tsar!
A despot of the nineteenth century
Mourned by the nations that have made men free!
Ye captives of his rule! where'er ye be,
Whether in dungeons or in mines afar—
Wretches who mourn, yet mourn not for the Tsar,—
Forgive the tears that seem a wrong to grief
Barren of comfort and without relief!—
The Tsar was Russia's martyr,—as ye are!
He asked for peace, and she ordained him strife.
A Slav of simple heart, disliking show,
She bade him every lowly hope forego;
And placing on his brow her crown of woe,
Gave him a sovereignty with perils rife,
And 'neath his sceptre hid the assassin's knife.
So, masked as Fear, she broke his nerves of steel
Upon the circle of her racking wheel,
And set a horror at his door of life!
[...] Read more
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Instincts
Thinking about human interactions and behavior
I believe that's why we may need scriptures and a savior
Learned components and expressions are ample
But predatory instincts are voiced daily by example
Our dominant motivational forces are aggression and sex
And they are often lurking in the shade and leave us perplex
Even if our genetic interrelations of instincts are hiding
I feel their forces within me and am most often abiding
I am saying that forces of instinctual drives are calling
And only my innate behavior gives me reason for stalling
The way I give in to you is it really a hereditary reaction
Or only me on an infinite quest for habitual satisfaction
I classify you as my genetically predetermined property
Triggering my prodigious instincts that brings out the real me
You really don't know that I feel constructivism and fear
Whenever there is a threat that's keeping you from being near
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poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Lucifer Of The Torch
O Reverend Ravlin, once with sounding lung
You shook the bloody banner of your tongue,
Urged all the fiery boycotters afield
And swore you'd rather follow them than yield,
Alas, how brief the time, how great the change!
Your dogs of war are ailing all of mange;
The loose leash dangles from your finger-tips,
But the loud 'havoc' dies upon your lips.
No spirit animates your feeble clay
You'd rather yield than even run away.
In vain McGlashan labors to inspire
Your pallid nostril with his breath of fire:
The light of battle's faded from your face
You keep the peace, John Chinaman his place.
O Ravlin, what cold water, thrown by whom
Upon the kindling Boycott's ruddy bloom,
Has slaked your parching blood-thirst and allayed
The flash and shimmer of your lingual blade?
Your salary-your salary's unpaid!
[...] Read more
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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