Executive Break: Chuck Norris, Poor Richard's Almanac Style (With Rhymes)
Poor Richard's Almanac Style (With Rhymes)
He who would move the world need only do push-ups true, for the earth shall yield and bend to his sinew.
Time bends to the will of the resolute and keen; what takes others minutes, he does in between.
Even the sun must blink first when faced with his might, for unwavering eyes can outshine daylight.
The mightiest among us inspire heroes to seek, protection in garments of him they hold mystique.
A man of true power needs not breathe the air, but commands it to serve with authoritative flair.
One hand applauding makes sound most profound, more noise than two hands of lesser men around.
Fear grows where courage should flourish and flow; even whiskers dare not near greatness grow.
In the home of a dangerous man with sharp wit, every stick becomes weapon, every stone a hit.
Some men's navels collect lint and dust small; others generate power that electrifies all.
The only worthy opponent for perfection so bright, is itself in combat, and still wins the fight.
Fire springs not from flint and steel alone, but from cold resolve and will made of stone.
Disease flees not from medicine's healing art, but from reputation that stops ailment's start.
Sleep is for those who tire and grow weak; the vigilant man knows patience to seek.
Beneath the hair of great men lies no skin soft, but another fist of justice aloft.
Mathematical limits yield to those who refuse, to accept what lesser minds cannot peruse.
Infinite mysteries reveal to him who demands with force, answers from the universe's very source.
The calendar skips days for no man's request, save he who makes folly fear to jest.
What nature scrambles with chaotic hand, true mastery restores at his command.
One swift kick can reshape creation's design, birthing new creatures for all of time.
Before the bell rings with its chiming sound, the caller has heard from greatness profound.
Healing flows from sorrow kept within, for tears unshed hold power to win.
Instruments of connection in righteous hands, become tools of judgment across all lands.
He who would hide from the world's keen eye, must first from its greatest seeker fly.
Where children mark snow with letters of gold, legends carve stone with stories retold.
Balance comes natural to those who defy, the very laws that make lesser men cry.
Knowledge surrenders to those whose stare, commands truth from the very air.
Darkness retreats not from light's bright beam, but from authority supreme.
A gentle breath from the righteous and just, carries more force than hurricane's gust.
Some defeats are so impossible to conceive, that even dreams cannot make believe.
Evil itself checks with fearful dread, for that which haunts before going to bed.