He swore a hesitant fealty to the empty throne, shining gilt in the low-light, returned to his waiting retinue and they thundered back into the forests. The thought of his new charge hung heavily over his shoulders like a leaden cloak, and made him blind to his ride for much of the foggy night. He wished that he could toss it off, reneg and be free. But before day broke weakly among the branches, the image of his burden changed to involve silver trimming. A fine fur collar caressed his neck. Silk lined the inside and held him warmly and softly as his mother never did. The outside was brocaded with intricate scenes of battles and angels revealing in him a splendor his past had denied. His yoke became his pride, and as he emerged from the forest into the sunny dewy fields, he only wished that he was quicker in festooning it with added weight.
I am wealthy in ways you could never comprehend. Yes, I do not have physical possessions the way you do. But I have self confidence. Love. Friendships. Things with a value that is too abstract to your worthless mind.
Wealthy. I think it’s one of those words that mean different things in different contexts. It is subjective. Everyone is wealthy in their own way; wealth cannot simply be measured in terms of economical property. It is much more than that.
there was a man. he was rich. he gave all of his money to the poor. he had no money left. what was he to do?
he got the money right.
he lived happily ever after.
He captivates you with a single look. That look though, it’s loaded. It has more than you could ever hope to see in someone’s eyes. What is there? It’s hope. It’s love. It’s support. It’s respect. Maybe no one else sees what you see. Maybe everyone does. But the point is, you get that look and you know it’s only for you because it doesn’t seem possible that this could happen to anyone else, nothing like this.
I am wealthy. My pockets weigh more than your house and the luxuries of life are at my doorstep.
I am wealthy with physical and material things. Wealthy with the weight of fortune and fame.
But inside, I am burdened by these things I carry. I have a house but not a home. A shell of an empty being. An abyss hiding behind a mask of gold and diamonds.
I hold concrete things but I will always be a crumbling mess on the inside.
I’d be poor had it not been for my father’s wealth. I was never destined to be wealthy on my own, I know that. I’m an utter failure, that’s for sure. I’m not talented at all, but I still survive. I’ve got my parent’s hard work, after all. Maybe I never got to explore my talents, because I never felt the need for them. Though, I do want them.
The man had no lack of money and for this reason he did not feel the worry when the reports of devastation and famine among the poor started coming in. He had never felt hungry and couldn’t imagine a world where he was.
capitalism is the devil of society yet the provider of great wealth to those who can work its deepest darkest tunnels! a contradiction of great magnitude within itself yet a force which the human race as a whole has deemed the only logical route to providing wealth to the population of the globe, with great wealth comes great sorrow.
I am. In this word, an eternity falls behind. Of course, I worked long and hard to achieve this, passing my life by to gain these riches. Now I am older- I sit in my study, living in a daydream of a life made from my imagination.
When she was born, it was a joyous event throughout the family. All relatives, from across the globe, flew to Vienna to greet the new arrival. The mother had swathed the baby in golden silk on return to their home, a sprawling estate with land that went on for miles. The father would stand in the doorway of the girl’s bedroom, watching the nursemaids croon over the child.
Now something I wouldn’t mind being although money is the root of all evil! Wealthy isn’t as important as being healthy. No point being wealthy and not healthy, or happy. You can have a wealth of information too. I’d much rather have health and happiness. Meeting a wealthy man might be quite nice though!
He was obviously born to money, but had lost it at some point – his clothes were nice, but they were covered with the grime that comes from living in a cardboard box by the tracks. He was also begging and ranting, going on and on about how he “used to be the owner of the glory that surrounds all of you!” The closest to glory thing Luther could find was the five pounds of marijuana stuffed into the rafters of the old station.
My entire life has been an arrow, an arrow aimed at the most desirable thing in existence–wealth. I learnt early on that an as attractive woman I would have to sacrifice much to reach my goal–dignity and self-respect chief among them.
When I got my money I had nothing left, not even my dignity and self-respect
some people who are wealthy are really snotty. some are very generous. if i was wealthy i would help a lot of people in need. sometimes i wish i was more wealthy so i could help people who dont have as much as others. wealth causes a lot of problems in this world today
wealthy
a word of the poor in heart
the cold in character
the elite in the business game of survival of the fittest
what does your wealth truly buy you
you cannibal of cash
Having more than you need
To feed
Your soul
And to keep you
Accountable
Jaded and lost
Beyond what matters most
The houses
The lies
The emptiness
Inside
Wealth is something that she’s always had. She never thought about what would happen if it were to suddenly be gone. She never thought that it would go anywhere.
the wealthy use the capitalist system to make the poor poorer. This is the reason we have so many issues. Now, I’m not saying being wealthy is bad, I am just saying being wealthy and not caring about others is bad. ALso wealth is subjective: You can be wealthy but fiscally broke. The idea is that you have lost of happiness and are content with what you have.
wealthy is as wealthy does. it is a mindset. you have to live like it in order for it to come into fruition. let the money serve you and don’t treat it like it is the last money you will ever have.
In Nuevo Laredo there’s a boy who offers you loose chicklets from a cardboard box. His cheeks are dusky and dusty and sunwarm, his feet are cracked and brown. He’ll laugh if you buy a chicklet. He’ll cry if you don’t. You’re nothing to him. A resource. A walking money machine. And he is nothing to you.
Those cows in the yard they have been there ever since I was a little kid. I know the farmer always kept them well fed, it was clear they were the key to his wealth.
The wealthy dogs only shitted on the left side of the street, filled with red fire hydrants and a plethora of shimmering bermuda grass to comfort their paws mid squat; the strays passed by on the left, hoping to find a loose shoe to chew or drain to sniff into, delving themselves into the liberation without a leash.
You can be it in so many ways. But most often only one. A person with a lot of money. But a person with a lot of money is not neccessarily wealthy in all aspects. For instance, are they wealthy in smiles?
I felt the slickness of my palms sliding over the coins, aware that my mother had treasured them like nothing in this world. They were all she had, felt she needed. I missed her sometimes and wished that I had her passion and desire, though I knew it led her nowhere and gave her nothing.
My wealthy mind has been healthy and clever for a while! Why don’t you hire me to make the general public hear you out for an hour? Maybe even more than one, honey. Let’s do a world of good for bankruptcy! It’s great for your health, if you listen to me!
The wealthy man stood atop his pristine new yacht. This 60-footer was state of the art, and fresh off the showroom floor. With his boat shoes squeaking against the gleaming white, he stood, and walked to the bow.
“You should be grateful, my lady.” he said suddenly, his voice harsh as it cut through the woods’ own silence.
“And what reason would I have to be so?” I asked.
“You’re pretty, you’re smart, and, unlike most noble daughters, your father carries your sex with no shame and much love. In this world, that makes you wealthier than most kings.” he eyed me, the firelight making his irises burn lavender. “You should be grateful”
I scoffed. “If my father truly loved me, you wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here.”
He was silent for a long moment, busying himself with stoking the fire and, when he finally spoke, his words were accompanied by the crackle and hiss of green wood. “Don’t forget what I’ve said in the days ahead, princess; it just may save your life,”
The high heels. The diamond ring. The long brunette hair that always seemed to glisten, no matter where she was or what she was doing. If only she was an wealthy as her bank account suggested.
I am a wealthy and successful man, and you are what? A thief? A common criminal?
You stand in front of me, unconcerned by the bat I am threatening you with.
I have every right to kill you. What makes you think you can just come in here and take things that I worked for, Things that I spent years struggling with my competitors for. Things that celebrate my triumph and the fact that I am a winner?
You don’t answer.
We struggle. Despite my armament you beat me. It seems easy for you. You don’t even seem to be trying.
“What do you want?” I ask, from the floor looking up at you.
You don’t answer.
“Just take whatever things you want and get out. The police will be on their way.”
“I’m not here for your things,” you say. “I’m here for you.”
She was never a wealthy woman. It wasn’t until her parents died that she found out the money they’d been hiding. She felt betrayed underneath her sorrow and confusion, wanted to know why and how and what. But she couldn’t ask. There was no one to ask still alive.
Clara Tankman was a very wealthy girl with very poor ambitions. And by poor, I do not mean mediocre – I mean impoverished, penniless. A word that many critics would claim was synonymous with “artistic.”
You see, three months back, Clara watched her father die, took seventy-five percent of his inheritance, and gave it all away to those she viewed as less fortunate. She sent the other twenty-five percent of it to her mentally disabled brother, before she took off to Morocco with only five hundred dollars to her name.
rich cats and fat men, suits and cigars fill and cloud the room but they’re imaginary: all of this is what you think it might be but isn’t. money, money money money money. She picks a five dollar note out of his wallet and shoves it down her bra. Nobody’s wealthy anymore, or if they are, they’re fat and abhorrent, all greasy blonde hair and mining magnate fashion trends.
He swore a hesitant fealty to the empty throne, shining gilt in the low-light, returned to his waiting retinue and they thundered back into the forests. The thought of his new charge hung heavily over his shoulders like a leaden cloak, and made him blind to his ride for much of the foggy night. He wished that he could toss it off, reneg and be free. But before day broke weakly among the branches, the image of his burden changed to involve silver trimming. A fine fur collar caressed his neck. Silk lined the inside and held him warmly and softly as his mother never did. The outside was brocaded with intricate scenes of battles and angels revealing in him a splendor his past had denied. His yoke became his pride, and as he emerged from the forest into the sunny dewy fields, he only wished that he was quicker in festooning it with added weight.
I am wealthy in ways you could never comprehend. Yes, I do not have physical possessions the way you do. But I have self confidence. Love. Friendships. Things with a value that is too abstract to your worthless mind.
Wealthy. I think it’s one of those words that mean different things in different contexts. It is subjective. Everyone is wealthy in their own way; wealth cannot simply be measured in terms of economical property. It is much more than that.
there was a man. he was rich. he gave all of his money to the poor. he had no money left. what was he to do?
he got the money right.
he lived happily ever after.
The new Lincoln looks awesome.
He captivates you with a single look. That look though, it’s loaded. It has more than you could ever hope to see in someone’s eyes. What is there? It’s hope. It’s love. It’s support. It’s respect. Maybe no one else sees what you see. Maybe everyone does. But the point is, you get that look and you know it’s only for you because it doesn’t seem possible that this could happen to anyone else, nothing like this.
The wealthy shall inherit the Earth.
I am wealthy. My pockets weigh more than your house and the luxuries of life are at my doorstep.
I am wealthy with physical and material things. Wealthy with the weight of fortune and fame.
But inside, I am burdened by these things I carry. I have a house but not a home. A shell of an empty being. An abyss hiding behind a mask of gold and diamonds.
I hold concrete things but I will always be a crumbling mess on the inside.
I’d be poor had it not been for my father’s wealth. I was never destined to be wealthy on my own, I know that. I’m an utter failure, that’s for sure. I’m not talented at all, but I still survive. I’ve got my parent’s hard work, after all. Maybe I never got to explore my talents, because I never felt the need for them. Though, I do want them.
The man had no lack of money and for this reason he did not feel the worry when the reports of devastation and famine among the poor started coming in. He had never felt hungry and couldn’t imagine a world where he was.
capitalism is the devil of society yet the provider of great wealth to those who can work its deepest darkest tunnels! a contradiction of great magnitude within itself yet a force which the human race as a whole has deemed the only logical route to providing wealth to the population of the globe, with great wealth comes great sorrow.
He knows it’s not everything, but wealth must be something.
I am. In this word, an eternity falls behind. Of course, I worked long and hard to achieve this, passing my life by to gain these riches. Now I am older- I sit in my study, living in a daydream of a life made from my imagination.
When she was born, it was a joyous event throughout the family. All relatives, from across the globe, flew to Vienna to greet the new arrival. The mother had swathed the baby in golden silk on return to their home, a sprawling estate with land that went on for miles. The father would stand in the doorway of the girl’s bedroom, watching the nursemaids croon over the child.
Now something I wouldn’t mind being although money is the root of all evil! Wealthy isn’t as important as being healthy. No point being wealthy and not healthy, or happy. You can have a wealth of information too. I’d much rather have health and happiness. Meeting a wealthy man might be quite nice though!
He was obviously born to money, but had lost it at some point – his clothes were nice, but they were covered with the grime that comes from living in a cardboard box by the tracks. He was also begging and ranting, going on and on about how he “used to be the owner of the glory that surrounds all of you!” The closest to glory thing Luther could find was the five pounds of marijuana stuffed into the rafters of the old station.
My entire life has been an arrow, an arrow aimed at the most desirable thing in existence–wealth. I learnt early on that an as attractive woman I would have to sacrifice much to reach my goal–dignity and self-respect chief among them.
When I got my money I had nothing left, not even my dignity and self-respect
some people who are wealthy are really snotty. some are very generous. if i was wealthy i would help a lot of people in need. sometimes i wish i was more wealthy so i could help people who dont have as much as others. wealth causes a lot of problems in this world today
wealthy
a word of the poor in heart
the cold in character
the elite in the business game of survival of the fittest
what does your wealth truly buy you
you cannibal of cash
Having more than you need
To feed
Your soul
And to keep you
Accountable
Jaded and lost
Beyond what matters most
The houses
The lies
The emptiness
Inside
Wealth is something that she’s always had. She never thought about what would happen if it were to suddenly be gone. She never thought that it would go anywhere.
the wealthy use the capitalist system to make the poor poorer. This is the reason we have so many issues. Now, I’m not saying being wealthy is bad, I am just saying being wealthy and not caring about others is bad. ALso wealth is subjective: You can be wealthy but fiscally broke. The idea is that you have lost of happiness and are content with what you have.
wealthy is as wealthy does. it is a mindset. you have to live like it in order for it to come into fruition. let the money serve you and don’t treat it like it is the last money you will ever have.
Oh to be wealthy! To sit in the lap of luxury enjoying fulfilling relationships, financial freedom and the complete adventurous and purposeful life.
это точка, сменю почерк и начну все с красной строчки тотчас.
проходи молча мимо, люблю тебя сильно, твое имя было бы в рифму тут.
In Nuevo Laredo there’s a boy who offers you loose chicklets from a cardboard box. His cheeks are dusky and dusty and sunwarm, his feet are cracked and brown. He’ll laugh if you buy a chicklet. He’ll cry if you don’t. You’re nothing to him. A resource. A walking money machine. And he is nothing to you.
Those cows in the yard they have been there ever since I was a little kid. I know the farmer always kept them well fed, it was clear they were the key to his wealth.
The wealthy dogs only shitted on the left side of the street, filled with red fire hydrants and a plethora of shimmering bermuda grass to comfort their paws mid squat; the strays passed by on the left, hoping to find a loose shoe to chew or drain to sniff into, delving themselves into the liberation without a leash.
You can be it in so many ways. But most often only one. A person with a lot of money. But a person with a lot of money is not neccessarily wealthy in all aspects. For instance, are they wealthy in smiles?
The gold glitters and reflects his unwholesome cheeks. His child-like eyes grow large and evil. From poverty to riches. From innocence to debauchery.
money trees is the perfect place for shade and thats just how i feel.
I felt the slickness of my palms sliding over the coins, aware that my mother had treasured them like nothing in this world. They were all she had, felt she needed. I missed her sometimes and wished that I had her passion and desire, though I knew it led her nowhere and gave her nothing.
My wealthy mind has been healthy and clever for a while! Why don’t you hire me to make the general public hear you out for an hour? Maybe even more than one, honey. Let’s do a world of good for bankruptcy! It’s great for your health, if you listen to me!
The wealthy man stood atop his pristine new yacht. This 60-footer was state of the art, and fresh off the showroom floor. With his boat shoes squeaking against the gleaming white, he stood, and walked to the bow.
“You should be grateful, my lady.” he said suddenly, his voice harsh as it cut through the woods’ own silence.
“And what reason would I have to be so?” I asked.
“You’re pretty, you’re smart, and, unlike most noble daughters, your father carries your sex with no shame and much love. In this world, that makes you wealthier than most kings.” he eyed me, the firelight making his irises burn lavender. “You should be grateful”
I scoffed. “If my father truly loved me, you wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here.”
He was silent for a long moment, busying himself with stoking the fire and, when he finally spoke, his words were accompanied by the crackle and hiss of green wood. “Don’t forget what I’ve said in the days ahead, princess; it just may save your life,”
The high heels. The diamond ring. The long brunette hair that always seemed to glisten, no matter where she was or what she was doing. If only she was an wealthy as her bank account suggested.
I am a wealthy and successful man, and you are what? A thief? A common criminal?
You stand in front of me, unconcerned by the bat I am threatening you with.
I have every right to kill you. What makes you think you can just come in here and take things that I worked for, Things that I spent years struggling with my competitors for. Things that celebrate my triumph and the fact that I am a winner?
You don’t answer.
We struggle. Despite my armament you beat me. It seems easy for you. You don’t even seem to be trying.
“What do you want?” I ask, from the floor looking up at you.
You don’t answer.
“Just take whatever things you want and get out. The police will be on their way.”
“I’m not here for your things,” you say. “I’m here for you.”
She was never a wealthy woman. It wasn’t until her parents died that she found out the money they’d been hiding. She felt betrayed underneath her sorrow and confusion, wanted to know why and how and what. But she couldn’t ask. There was no one to ask still alive.
Clara Tankman was a very wealthy girl with very poor ambitions. And by poor, I do not mean mediocre – I mean impoverished, penniless. A word that many critics would claim was synonymous with “artistic.”
You see, three months back, Clara watched her father die, took seventy-five percent of his inheritance, and gave it all away to those she viewed as less fortunate. She sent the other twenty-five percent of it to her mentally disabled brother, before she took off to Morocco with only five hundred dollars to her name.
rich cats and fat men, suits and cigars fill and cloud the room but they’re imaginary: all of this is what you think it might be but isn’t. money, money money money money. She picks a five dollar note out of his wallet and shoves it down her bra. Nobody’s wealthy anymore, or if they are, they’re fat and abhorrent, all greasy blonde hair and mining magnate fashion trends.