| (no subject) |
[Jan. 8th, 2010|10:09 am] |
"Here the driver broke into a trot, and the old man started to run behind the hearse—sobbing loudly, but with the motion of his running ever and anon causing the sobs to quaver and become broken off. Next he lost his hat, the poor old fellow, yet would not stop to pick it up, even though the rain was beating upon his head, and a wind was rising and the sleet kept stinging and lashing his face. It seemed as though he were impervious to the cruel elements as he ran from one side of the hearse to the other—the skirts of his old greatcoat flapping about him like a pair of wings. From every pocket of the garment protruded books, while in his hand he carried a specially large volume, which he hugged closely to his breast. The passers-by uncovered their heads and crossed themselves as the cortege passed, and some of them, having done so, remained staring in amazement at the poor old man. Every now and then a book would slip from one of his pockets and fall into the mud; whereupon somebody, stopping him, would direct his attention to his loss, and he would stop, pick up the book, and again set off in pursuit of the hearse."
-Dostoevsky, Poor Folk
The old man is the father of the one that is dead and in the hearse. The books belonged to the son. I just found this scene so heartbreaking. fjsgkffjgf. :( |
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| Ralph Waldo Emerson |
[Jan. 8th, 2010|03:59 pm] |
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We are too civil to books. For a few golden sentences we will turn over and actually read a volume of four or five hundred pages. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 7th, 2010|08:26 pm] |
"You don't understand what I mean," says her mother. "I'm trying to tell you. What perturbs me, in the few quiet moments I have when not worrying about feeding myself and my ugly daughters, is that life has wrung from me any ability to respond to the beauty of the world. I'm not sure I ever had the ability in the first place, even as a child. Whether it be Young Woman with Tulips," she goes on, holding her hand up high, "or this portrait of a burgher, or that study of a sleeping housemaid, or, for that matter, the moon that spills its cold light on this floor. I derive no pleasure from any of these effects. I look on them coldly and without interest. Is it my eyes, I wonder, or is it my soul that is bruised?"
-Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, Gregory Maguire |
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| 'Two Caravans' by Marina Lewycka |
[Jan. 7th, 2010|11:58 pm] |
Yola was in a foul mood. She had discovered that morning, don't ask how, that the Slovak women who shared their hotel room had no pubic hair. How could this be permitted? Presumably they were not born this way -- well, presumably they were, but acquired it in the natural course of things, and had taken unnatural steps to remove it. There are many bad things that can be said about communism, but one thing is certain, in communist times women did not abuse their pubic hair in this way -- a practice which is unnatural, unsightly, undignified and, without being too specific, potentially dangerous. |
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| the windhover; gerard manley hopkins |
[Jan. 7th, 2010|01:44 pm] |
I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing! |
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| Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler |
[Jan. 7th, 2010|12:01 pm] |
...The ultimate truth is penultimately always a falsehood. He who will be proved right in the end appears to be wrong and harmful before it.
But who will be proved right? It will only be known later. Meanwhile he is bound to act on credit and to sell his soul to the devil, in the hope of history's absolution. |
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| Natural selection in practice is always amusing to observe. |
[Jan. 7th, 2010|02:58 am] |
♥ The Darwin Awards, named in honor of Charles Darwin, salute the improvement of the human genome by honoring those who accidentally remove themselves from it - thereby ensuring that the next generation is descended from one less idiot. We applaud the heroic self-sacrifice of these noble men and women, who gave their all to improve the human race.
Of necessity, this Award is usually bestowed posthumously.
♥ In order to qualify for a Darwin Award a person must remove himself from the gene pool via an "astounding misapplication of judgement." Three liters of sherry up the butt can only be described as astounding.
♥ This is a true Darwin Award trifecta: two people die, while in the act of procreation, due to an astonishingly poor decision. Bottom line: If you put yourself in a precarious "position" at the edge of a pointy roof, you may well find yourself coming and going at the same time.
♥ The Darwin Awards provide ample evidence that huimans have no problem shuffling off this mortal coil as a result of plain old bad decisions. But adding mind-addling drugs to the decision-making process further impairs judgment and increases risk-taking behavior, setting the stage for some amusingly lethal acts of stupidity. From jumping into a bear cage while drunk (page 223) to partaking in alcohol enemas (page 4) acute inebriation has been the impetus behind many Darwin Awards.
♥ In a world full of wonders man invented boredom. So work time becomes playtime. If you work in an office, you reproduce your naughty bits on the copy machine. If you work for an arc welding company? A plastic bucket, welding materials, and a single spark can combine for a playdate with a bang.
♥ Any story that begins, "Well I was building a pipe bomb," can never end well.
♥ FAQ: How can I avoid a Darwin Award?
Take a few personal pledges:
"I will keep pointy metal objects away from electrical wires."
"I will not suck bees into a vacuum cleaner."
"I will not disable the safety."
"No rooftop romantic interludes for me!"
Beware of the following ideas:
"Instead of following standard procedure..."
"Attempting to impress the lady..."
"So he could save himself time..."
"They tested the ice by jumping up and down."
"A case of beer went into the planning."
"He is still convinced that the toadstool is harmless."
"He refused to let anyone call an ambulance."
"He thought he could outsmart the police."
"The diver had kissed hundreds of sharks."
"He deceived the radiation control supervisor."
"It's a nice snake. Nothing can happen."
Heed good advice:
"Never surf on a flooded street."
"We urge people not to drive with a burning grill in the vehicle."
"The stupidity of cutting through power cables should be obvious."
"Tossing random chemicals down the drain is not wise."
"Only an idiot would jump into the bear cage."
~~The Darwin Awards: Next Evolution, Chlorinating the Gene Pool by Wendy Northcutt. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 7th, 2010|01:26 am] |
A great deal has been written about Aptesia Fallarme, most of it exaggerated and most of it scurrilous. The fair-minded Tulse Luper said, "She was a waterfall on legs". Majority Powels said, "She was a creature designed to render the services of an oasis".
The water poured from her skin, from the corners of her mouth, from her nose. As to the orifices more specialised for the expulsion of water the audiences were rarely disappointed. And in the little bathrooms of the suburbs the water splashed upon the carpet and they clapped and threw coins into the bath. In summer she was asked to stand on the bare patches of the lawn in the garden. |
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| Knowing versus caring |
[Jan. 6th, 2010|09:29 pm] |
In reference to a conversation I was just having:
"No one can read two thousand books. In the four hundred years I have lived, I've not read more than a half dozen. And in any case, it is not the reading that matters, but the rereading. Printing, which is now forbidden, was one of the worst evils of mankind, for it tended to multiply unnecessary texts to a dizzying degree."
And in reference to pretty much my view of power:
"Elections were called, wars were declared, taxes were levied, fortunes were confiscated, arrests were ordered, and attempts were made at imposing censorship--but no one on the planet paid any attention."
--Jorge Luis Borges, "A Weary Man's Utopia" |
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