tears : Dictionary / Wörterbuch (BEOLINGUS, TU Chemnitz)

Proverbs, aphorisms, quotations (English)	by Linux fortune

My tears stuck in their little ducts, refusing to be jerked. -- Peter Stack, movie review His performance is so wooden you want to spray him with Liquid Pledge. -- John Stark, movie review
Men ought to know that from the brain and from the brain only arise our pleasures, joys, laughter, and jests as well as our sorrows, pains, griefs and tears. ... It is the same thing which makes us mad or delirious, inspires us with dread and fear, whether by night or by day, brings us sleeplessness, inopportune mistakes, aimless anxieties, absent-mindedness and acts that are contrary to habit... - Hippocrates (c. 460-c. 377 B.C.), The Sacred Disease
love, n.: When it's growing, you don't mind watering it with a few tears.
After two or three weeks of this madness, you begin to feel As One with the man who said, "No news is good news." In twenty-eight papers, only the rarest kind of luck will turn up more than two or three articles of any interest... but even then the interest items are usually buried deep around paragraph 16 on the jump (or "Cont. on ...") page... The Post will have a story about Muskie making a speech in Iowa. The Star will say the same thing, and the Journal will say nothing at all. But the Times might have enough room on the jump page to include a line or so that says something like: "When he finished his speech, Muskie burst into tears and seized his campaign manager by the side of the neck. They grappled briefly, but the struggle was kicked apart by an oriental woman who seemed to be in control." Now that's good journalism. Totally objective; very active and straight to the point. -- Hunter S. Thompson, "Fear and Loathing '72"
The Commandments of the EE: (1) Beware of lightning that lurketh in an uncharged condenser lest it cause thee to bounce upon thy buttocks in a most embarrassing manner. (2) Cause thou the switch that supplieth large quantities of juice to be opened and thusly tagged, that thy days may be long in this earthly vale of tears. (3) Prove to thyself that all circuits that radiateth, and upon which the worketh, are grounded and thusly tagged lest they lift thee to a radio frequency potential and causeth thee to make like a radiator too. (4) Tarry thou not amongst these fools that engage in intentional shocks for they are not long for this world and are surely unbelievers.
"No program is perfect," They said with a shrug. "The customer's happy-- What's one little bug?" But he was determined, Then change two, then three more, The others went home. As year followed year. He dug out the flow chart And strangers would comment, Deserted, alone. "Is that guy still here?" Night passed into morning. He died at the console The room was cluttered Of hunger and thirst With core dumps, source listings. Next day he was buried "I'm close," he muttered. Face down, nine edge first. Chain smoking, cold coffee, And his wife through her tears Logic, deduction. Accepted his fate. "I've got it!" he cried, Said "He's not really gone, "Just change one instruction." He's just working late." -- The Perfect Programmer
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all they Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
'Twas midnight on the ocean, Her children all were orphans, Not a streetcar was in sight, Except one a tiny tot, So I stepped into a cigar store Who had a home across the way To ask them for a light. Above a vacant lot. The man behind the counter As I gazed through the oaken door Was a woman, old and gray, A whale went drifting by, Who used to peddle doughnuts Its six legs hanging in the air, On the road to Mandalay. So I kissed her goodbye. She said "Good morning, stranger", This story has a morale Her eyes were dry with tears, As you can plainly see, As she put her head between her feet Don't mix your gin with whiskey And stood that way for years. On the deep and dark blue sea. -- Midnight On The Ocean
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright Where the hammer? Where the chain? In the forests of the night, In what furnace was thy brain? What immortal hand or eye What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? Dare its deadly terrors clasp? Burnt in distant deeps or skies When the stars threw down their spears The cruel fire of thine eyes? And water'd heaven with their tears On what wings dare he aspire? Dare he laugh his work to see? What the hand dare seize the fire? Dare he who made the lamb make thee? And what shoulder & what art Tyger, Tyger, burning bright Could twist the sinews of they heart? In the forests of the night, And when thy heart began to beat What immortal hand or eye What dread hand & what dread feet Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? Could fetch it from the furnace deep And in thy horrid ribs dare steep In the well of sanguine woe? In what clay & in what mould Were thy eyes of fury roll'd? -- William Blake, "The Tyger"
we will invent new lullabies, new songs, new acts of love, we will cry over things we used to laugh & our new wisdom will bring tears to eyes of gentle creatures from other planets who were afraid of us till then & in the end a summer with wild winds & new friends will be.
When you get what you want in your struggle for self And the world makes you king for a day, Just go to a mirror and look at yourself And see what that man has to say. For it isn't your father or mother or wife Whose judgement upon you must pass; The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life Is the one staring back from the glass. Some people may think you a straight-shootin' chum And call you a wonderful guy, But the man in the glass says you're only a bum If you can't look him straight in the eye. He's the fellow to please, never mind all the rest, For he's with you clear up to the end, And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test If the man in the glass is your friend. You may fool the whole world down the pathway of life And get pats on the back as you pass, But your final reward will be heartaches and tears If you've cheated the man in the glass.
Won't Somebody Please Think Of The Microsoft Shareholder's Children? The Evil Monopoly will soon be a duopoly of MICROS~1 and MICROS~2 now that Judge Jackson has made his ruling. Geeks everywhere are shedding tears of joy, while Microsoft investors are shedding real tears. But not everybody is ecstatic about the ruling. "It dawned on me today that if Microsoft is broken up, we won't have anyone to bash anymore. We can have that," said Rob Graustein, the founder of the new "Save Microsoft Now! Campaign". Rob continued, "I know what you're thinking! I have not been assimilated... er, hired... by Microsoft. I'm not crazy. I haven't been paid off. My life as a geek revolves around bashing Microsoft. I mean, I own the world's largest collection of anti-Microsoft T-shirts and underwear. It's time to take a stand against the elimination of Geek Enemy #1." Most observers agree that Mr. Graustein's brain has gone 404. "This guy is nuts! Support Microsoft? I can't believe I'm hearing this. Even fake news sites couldn't make up this kind of insanity."
8GB Ought To Be Enough For Anybody REDMOND, WA -- In a shocking move, Microsoft has revealed that the new Xbox console will only contain an 8 gigabyte hard drive. This implies that the machines will use a version of the Windows operating system that fits within only 8GB. Squeezing Windows into such a small footprint must certainly be one of the greatest technological achievements ever crafted by Microsoft's Research & Assimilation Department. "I can't believe it," said one industry observer who always happens to show up when this Humorix reporter needs to quote somebody. "To think that they were able to strip away the easter egg flight simulators, the multi-gigabyte yet content-free Help files, and all of the other crap that comes bundled with Windows is simply remarkable. I don't even want to think about all of the manpower, blood, sweat, and tears required to distill Windows into only 8 gigabytes of bare essentials. Wow!" Hard drive manufacturers are deeply disturbed over the news. Explained one PR flack at Eastern Analog, "We depend on Microsoft to continually produce bloated software that becomes larger and larger with each passing day. We can't sell huge 100GB drives if Microsoft Windows only occupies a measly 8 gigs! They will never buy a new drive if Microsoft doesn't force them!"
It is the wisdom of crocodiles, that shed tears when they would devour. -- Francis Bacon
Men ought to know that from the brain and from the brain only arise our pleasures, joys, laughter, and jests as well as our sorrows, pains, griefs and tears. ... It is the same thing which makes us mad or delirious, inspires us with dread and fear, whether by night or by day, brings us sleeplessness, inopportune mistakes, aimless anxieties, absent-mindedness and acts that are contrary to habit... -- Hippocrates "The Sacred Disease"
A young married couple had their first child. Their original pride and joy slowly turned to concern however, for after a couple of years the child had never uttered any form of speech. They hired the best speech therapists, doctors, psychiatrists, all to no avail. The child simply refused to speak. One morning when the child was five, while the husband was reading the paper, and the wife was feeding the dog, the little kid looks up from his bowl and said, "My cereal's cold." The couple is stunned. The man, in tears, confronts his son. "Son, after all these years, why have you waited so long to say something?". Shrugs the kid, "Everything's been okay 'til now".
I opened the drawer of my little desk and a single letter fell out, a letter from my mother, written in pencil, one of her last, with unfinished words and an implicit sense of her departure. It's so curious: one can resist tears and "behave" very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window... or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed... or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses. -- Letters From Colette
On this morning in August when I was 13, my mother sent us out pick tomatoes. Back in April I'd have killed for a fresh tomato, but in August they are no more rare or wonderful than rocks. So I picked up one and threw it at a crab apple tree, where it made a good splat, and then threw a tomato at my brother. He whipped one back at me. We ducked down by the vines, heaving tomatoes at each other. My sister, who was a good person, said, "You're going to get it." She bent over and kept on picking. What a target! She was 17, a girl with big hips, and bending over, she looked like the side of a barn. I picked up a tomato so big it sat on the ground. It looked like it had sat there a week. The underside was brown, small white worms lived in it, and it was very juicy. I stood up and took aim, and went into the windup, when my mother at the kitchen window called my name in a sharp voice. I had to decide quickly. I decided. A rotten Big Boy hitting the target is a memorable sound, like a fat man doing a belly-flop. With a whoop and a yell the tomatoee came after faster than I knew she could run, and grabbed my shirt and was about to brain me when Mother called her name in a sharp voice. And my sister, who was a good person, obeyed and let go -- and burst into tears. I guess she knew that the pleasure of obedience is pretty thin compared with the pleasure of hearing a rotten tomato hit someone in the rear end. -- Garrison Keillor, "Lake Wobegon Days"
She cried, and the judge wiped her tears with my checkbook. -- Tommy Manville
The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.
Waste not fresh tears over old griefs. -- Euripides
By the way, I can hardly feel sorry for you... All last night I had to listen to her tears, so great they were redirected to a stream. What? Of _course_ you didn't know. You and your little group no longer have any permissions around here. She changed her .lock files, too. -- Kevin M. Bealer, commenting on the private life of a Linux nerd
"There is no Father Christmas. It's just a marketing ploy to make low income parents' lives a misery." "... I want you to picture the trusting face of a child, streaked with tears because of what you just said." "I want you to picture the face of its mother, because one week's dole won't pay for one Master of the Universe Battlecruiser!" -- Filthy Rich and Catflap
To understand this important story, you have to understand how the telephone company works. Your telephone is connected to a local computer, which is in turn connected to a regional computer, which is in turn connected to a loudspeaker the size of a garbage truck on the lawn of Edna A. Bargewater of Lawrence, Kan. Whenever you talk on the phone, your local computer listens in. If it suspects you're going to discuss an intimate topic, it notifies the computer above it, which listens in and decides whether to alert the one above it, until finally, if you really humiliate yourself, maybe break down in tears and tell your closest friend about a sordid incident from your past involving a seedy motel, a neighbor's spouse, an entire religious order, a garden hose and six quarts of tapioca pudding, the top computer feeds your conversation into Edna's loudspeaker, and she and her friends come out on the porch to listen and drink gin and laugh themselves silly. -- Dave Barry, "Won't It Be Just Great Owning Our Own Phones?"
After twelve years of therapy my psychiatrist said something that brought tears to my eyes. He said, "No hablo ingles." -- Ronnie Shakes