Quotes About Poverty

Ten men in our country could buy the whole world and ten million can't buy enough to eat.

There are five issues that make a fist of a hand that can knock America out cold. They're lack of jobs, obesity, diabetes, homelessness, and lack of good education.

The trouble with being poor is that it takes up all of your time.

The trouble with being poor is that it takes up all your time.

The poverty of Christ was without a singular vow, and without beggary.

HOW MUCH WEALTH should we acquire? According to Seneca, our financial goal should be to acquire "an amount that does not descend to poverty, and yet is not far removed from poverty." We should, he says, learn to restrain luxury, cultivate frugality, and "view poverty with unprejudiced eyes.

The "trickle-down" theory: the principle that the poor, who must subsist on table scraps dropped by the rich, can best be served by giving the rich bigger meals.

Only the poet has any right to be sorry for the poor, if he has anything to spare when he has thought of the dull, commonplace rich.

And many a poor man that has roved,Loved and thought himself beloved,From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

Lui qui aurait voulu pouvoir offrir le ciel Si je pouvais t'offrir le bleu secret du ciel Brodé de lumière d'or et de reflets d'argents Le mystérieux secret, le secret éternel De la nuit et du jour, de la vie et du temps Avec tout mon amour je le mettrais à tes pieds Mais tu sais je suis pauvre et je n'ai que mes rêves Alors c'est de mes rêves qu'il faut te contenter Marche doucement, car tu marches sur mes rêves

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet ; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Se avessi il drappo ricamato del cielo, Intessuto dell'oro e dell'argento e della luce, I drappi dai colori chiari e scuri del giorno e della notte Dai mezzi colori dell'alba e del tramonto, Stenderei quei drappi sotto i tuoi piedi: Invece, essendo povero, ho soltanto sogni; E i miei sogni ho steso sotto i tuoi piedi; Cammina leggera, perché cammini sui miei sogni.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

It's the anarchy of povertydelights me.

I walk back streetsadmiring the housesof the very poor.

Another great evil arising from this desire to be thought rich; or rather, from the desire not to be thought poor, is the destructive thing which has been honoured by the name of speculation; but which ought to be called Gambling.

Good government is known from bad government by this infallible test: that under the former the labouring people are well fed and well clothed, and under the latter, they are badly fed and badly clothed.

Another great evil arising from this desire to be thought rich; or rather, from the desire not to be thought poor, is the destructive thing which has been honored by the name of speculation; but which ought to be called Gambling.

To be poor and independent is very nearly an impossibility.

To suppose such a thing possible as a society, in which men, who are able and willing to work, cannot support their families, and ought, with a great part of the women, to be compelled to lead a life of celibacy, for fear of having children to be starved; to suppose such a thing possible is monstrous.

Thousands upon thousands are yearly brought into a state of real poverty by their great anxiety not to be thought poor.

Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.

He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the want that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.

I broke the spell that held me long, The dear, dear witchery of song. I said, the poet's idle lore Shall waste my prime of years no more, For Poetry, though heavenly born, Consorts with poverty and scorn.