Inspirational quotes with shiftless.
Actually, this is a poem my father once showed me, a long time ago. It has been bastardized many times, in many ways, but this is the original:The Cold Within Six men trapped by happenstance,in bleak and bitter coldEach possessed a stick of wood,or so the story's told. Their dying fire in need of logs,the first man held his back For of the faces round the fire,he noticed one was black. One man looking cross the way, saw one not of his churchAnd could not bring himself to givethe fire his stick of birch. The third one sat in tattered clothes,he gave his coat a hitchWhy should his log be put to useto warm the idle rich?The rich man just sat back and thoughtof the wealth he had in store And how to keep what he had earnedfrom the lazy, shiftless poor.The black man's face bespoke revengeas the fire passed from his sight,For all he saw in his stick of woodwas a chance to spite the white.And the last man of this forlorn groupdid naught except for gain,Giving only to those who gave,was how he played the gameThe logs held tight, in death's stillhands,was proof of human sinThey didn't die from the cold without,they died from the cold within.
The Cold Within"Six humans trapped in happenstanceIn dark and bitter cold, Each one possessed a stick of wood, Or so the story's told.The first woman held hers backFor of the faces around the fire,She noticed one was black.The next man looking across the waySaw not one of his church,And couldn't bring himself to giveThe fire his stick of birch.The third one sat in tattered clothesHe gave his coat a hitch,Why should his log be put to use,To warm the idle rich?The rich man just sat back and thoughtOf the wealth he had in store,And how to keep what he had earned,From the lazy, shiftless poor.The black man's face bespoke revengeAs the fire passed from sight,For all he saw in his stick of woodWas a chance to spite the white.The last man of this forlorn groupDid naught except for gain,Giving only to those who gave,Was how he played the game.The logs held tight in death's still handsWas proof of human sin,They didn't die from the cold without,They died from the cold within.
Inside, Harrison came face to face witha small man wearing immense plus fours.“Looking for someone?” asked the small man.“Yes, the fire chief.”“Who’s he?”By now prepared for this sort of thing, Harrisonspoke as one would to a child. “See here, Mister, thisis a fire-fighting outfit. Somebody bosses it. Somebodyorganizes the whole affair, fills forms, pressesbuttons, shouts orders, recommends promotions,kicks the shiftless, grabs all the credit, transfers allthe blame and generally lords it around. He’s themost important man in the bunch and everybodyknows it.” His forefinger tapped imperatively on theother’s chest. “And he is the fellow I’m going to talkto if it’s the last thing I do.”“Nobody is more important than anyone else.How can he be? I think you’re crazy.”“You’re welcome to think what you please but Iam telling you that—.”A shrill bell clamoured, cutting off his sentence.
When I am idle and shiftless my affairs become confused when I work I get results ... not great results but enough to encourage me.
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