Maria, lonely prostitute on a
street of pain, You, at least,
hail me and speak to me While a
thousand others ignore my
face. You offer me an hour of
love, And your fees are not as
costly as most. You are the
madonna of the lonely, The
first-born daughter in a world of
pain. You do not turn fat men
aside, Or trample on the
stuttering, shy ones, You are
the meadow where desperate
men Can find a moment's
comfort. Men have paid
more to their wives To know a
bit of peace And could not walk
away without the guilt That
masquerades as love. You do not
bind them, lovely Maria, you
comfort them And bid them
return. Your body is more
Christian than the
Bishop's Whose gloved hand
cannot feel the dropping of my
blood. Your passion is as
genuine as most, Your caring as
real! But you, Maria,
sacred whore on the endless
pavement of pain, You, whose
virginity each man may make his
own Without paying ought but
your fee, You who know nothing
of virgin births and immaculate
conceptions, You who touch
man's flesh and caress a
stranger, Who warm his bed to
bring his aching skin
alive, You make more sense than
stock markets and football
games Where sad men beg for
virility. You offer yourself
for a fee - and who offers himself
for less? At times you are
cruel and demanding - harsh and
insensitive, At times you are
shrewd and deceptive - grasping and
hollow. The wonder is that at
times you are gentle and
concerned, Warm and
loving. You deserve more
respect than nuns who hide their
sex for eternal love; Your fees
are not so high, nor your prejudice
so virtuous. You deserve more
laurels than the self-pitying
mother of many children, And
your fee is not as costly as
most. Man comes to you
when his bed is filled with brass
and emptiness, When liquor has
dulled his sense enough To know
his need of you. He will come
in fantasy and despair,
Maria, And leave without
apologies. He will come in
loneliness - and perhaps Leave
in loneliness as well. But you
give him more than soldiers who win
medals and pensions, More than
priests who offer
absolution And sweet-smelling
ritual, More than friends who
anticipate his death Or
challenge his life, And your
fee is not as costly as
most. You admit that your
love is for a fee, Few women
can be as honest. There are
monuments to statesmen who gave
nothing to anyone Except their
hungry ego, Monuments to
mothers who turned their
children Into starving, anxious
bodies, Monuments to Lady
Liberty who makes poor men
prisoners. I would erect a
monument for you - who give
more than most - And for a
meager fee. Among the
lonely, you are perhaps the
loneliest of all, You come so
close to love But it eludes
you While proper women march to
church and fantasize In the
silence of their rooms, While
lonely women take their
husbands' arms To hold them
on life's surface, While
chattering women fill their closets
with clothes and Their lips
with lies, You offer love for a
fee--which is not as costly as
most-- And remain a lonely
prostitute on a street of
pain. You are not immoral,
little Maria, only tired and
afraid, But you are not as
hollow as the police who pursue
you, The politicians who jail
you, the pharisees who scorn
you. You give what you promise
- take your paltry fee -
and Wander on the endless,
aching pavements of pain. You
know more of universal love than
the nations who thrive on
war, More than the churches
whose dogmas are private vendettas
made sacred, More than the tall
buildings and sprawling
factories Where men wear
chains. You are a lonely
prostitute who speaks to me as I
pass, And I smile at you
because I am a lonely man.

It is impossible to win gracefully
at chess. No man has yet said
"Mate!" in a voice which failed to
sound to his opponent bitter,
boastful and malicious.

A.A. Milne

God waits to win back his own
flowers as gifts from man's hands.

Rabindranath Tagore

At the base of it was the urge, if
you wanted to play football, to
knock someone down, that was what
the sport was all about, the will
to win closely linked with contact.

George Plimpton

Most of the money you'll win at
poker comes not from the brilliance
of your own play, but from the
ineptitude of your opponents.

Lou Krieger

Even thus last night, and two
nights more I lay,And could not win
thee, Sleep, by any stealth:So do
not let me wear to-night
away.Without thee what is all the
morning's wealth?Come, blessed
barrier between day and day,

William Wordsworth

All normal people love meat. If I
went to a barbeque and there was no
meat, I would say, "Yo Goober! 
Where's the meat?"  I'm trying to
impress people here, Lisa. You
don't win friends with salad.

Matt Groening

All who would win joy, must share
it; happiness was born a twin.

Lord Byron

The greatest feeling in the world
is to win a major league game. The
second-greatest feeling is to lose
a major league game.

Chuck Tanner

Nobody will ever win the Battle of
the Sexes. There's just too much
fraternizing with the enemy.

Henry Kissinger