C Burke Quotes

The great milestones of civilization always have the whiff of utopia about them at first. According to renowned sociologist Albert Hirschman, utopias are initially attacked on three grounds: futility (it’s not possible), danger (the risks are too great), and perversity (it will degenerate into dystopia). But Hirschman also wrote that almost as soon as a utopia becomes a reality, it often comes to be seen as utterly commonplace. Not so very long ago, democracy still seemed a glorious utopia. Many a great mind, from the philosopher Plato (427–347 B.C.) to the statesman Edmund Burke (1729–97), warned that democracy was futile (the masses were too foolish to handle it), dangerous (majority rule would be akin to playing with fire), and perverse (the “general interest” would soon be corrupted by the interests of some crafty general or other). Compare this with the arguments against basic income. It’s supposedly futile because we can’t pay for it, dangerous because people would quit working, and perverse because ultimately a minority would end up having to toil harder to support the majority.

There's a space in me. It's a dead space. I know that, because I can't feel anything. But that's what hurts, the nothingness. It's agony.

C. S. Lewis once said, “If you read history, you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. . . . Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.

The silhouettes of houses slipped past before I could catch them and remember the people we were leaving behind. In a couple of hours they would wake and find us gone, far away, so as not to remind them of their pain and what our family now meant to this town. My name is Tom Brennan and this is my story.

You ask me, you think dead forgotten. But they no forgooten because teh dead like to follow. They stay close.

Members of the 1860 Burke and Wills expedition to cross Australia fell prey to scurvy or starved in part because they refused to eat what the indigenous Australians ate. Bugong-moth abdomen and witchetty grub may sound revolting, but they have as much scurvy-battling vitamin C as the same size serving of cooked spinach, with the additional benefits of potassium, calcium, and zinc.

New Iberia is not New Orleans and we do not share its violent history, one that in the past has included a homicide rate equaled only by that of Washington, D.C. Here, whites and people of color work and live side by side. But nonetheless a peculiar kind of racial ill ease still exists in our small city on Bayou Teche. Maybe it’s indicative of the shadow that the pre–civil rights era still casts upon all the states of the old Confederacy. Perhaps we fear our own memories. I think as white people we know deep down inside ourselves the exact nature of the deeds we or our predecessors committed against people of color. I think we know that if our roles were reversed, if we had suffered the same degree of injury that was imposed upon the Negro race, we would not be particularly magnanimous when payback time rolled around. I think we know that in all probability we would cut the throats of the people who had made our lives miserable.

CORPORAL BURKE GRINNED, no humor in his expression but plenty of satisfaction as he jammed the throttle of the M7 Abrams main battle tank, flattening the tiny import in front of him to a mashed pulp as he rumbled over it.

This got anything to do with that wild-goose chase Officer Burke went on earlier?” the policeman asked. Allie saw Dub’s face flush. “Yeah,” he mumbled. The policeman sighed. “All right. Let’s go inside.” He opened the door of the cab, and Dub and Allie got out. “Whew,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It’s the puppies,” Allie explained. “They’re not very clean.” With a grimace, the policeman said, “I can see this is going to be one of those nights.” You can say that again, thought Allie.

C. S. Lewis once said, “If you read history, you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. . . . Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.”9

Francisco no ejerció un barrido sistemático de las presencias conservadoras en la curia romana, en parte para no concentrar las resistencias internas y también para no ahogar críticas al debate sinodal sobre las reformas pastorales. Tres cardenales de tradición conservadora ocuparon puestos de relieve en su gobierno, como era el caso de Pell, miembro del C9 y titular de la Secretaría de la Economía, el cardenal Gerhard Müller, de la Congregación para la Doctrina de la Fe, y Marc Ouellet, prefecto de la Congregación de los Obispos. Los consideraba interlocutores leales. Ellos, como el cardenal Burke, tendrían voz y voto en el Sínodo Extraordinario de 2014.

In an era when no individual can know or do everything needed to carry out the work that serves customers, it's more important than ever for people to speak up, share information, contribute expertise, take risks, and work with each other to create lasting value. Yet, as Edmund Burke wrote more than 250 years ago, fear limits our ability for effective thought and action – even for the most talented of employees. Today's leaders must be willing to take on the job of driving fear out of the organization to create the conditions for learning, innovation, and growth.

C. S. Lewis once said, “If you read history, you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. . . . Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.”9

Oxford scholar C. S. Lewis, an atheist turned believer, wrestles with the idea of hell in his book The Problem of Pain and concludes that God does not send anybody to hell: “I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful, rebels to the end; that the doors of hell are locked from the inside . . . [to] enjoy forever the horrible freedom [from God] they have demanded.

Edmund Burke wrote, “He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper.

In the 20th century after WWII, Ralph Burke Tyree led the transformation and appreciation of the South Pacific’s serene beauty with his art. Furthermore he was the premier artist in American iconic movement of the Tiki revolution which emanated from Hawaii and California. He likely painted thousands of different pieces, initially oils on board, mostly wahines, au naturale. Starting in 1960 he switched to oils on black velvet with the portraiture nudity, more demure or sometimes a silhouette in a jungle scene.

Alexander McCall Smith, Janet Evanovich, John Grisham, Mary Higgins Clark, Robert Crais, C. J. Box, Diane Mott Davidson, James Lee Burke, and Laura Lippman, but there were also fresh names, wonderful writers all, Mary Saums, Dorothy Howell, David Fuller, Charles Finch, Megan Abbott, Christopher Fowler, Patricia Briggs, Deanna Raybourn, and Donis Casey.

Ohhh…fuck,” Burke groaned, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, shunting a half ton of debris off his back. “You guys…dead?” “Just wishing,” Mehn replied as he shifted some more material

Anyway, I wanted to tell you this story, since it just rolled into my gourd while I was into that 1950 Lighthouse shot. I never told you about the Legend of the Gigantic Fart, did I?” “Put the beer in a paper bag. Let’s get it on the road.” “No, man, this story became a legend and is still told in the high schools around the county. You see, it was at the junior prom, a very big deal with hoop dresses and everybody drinking sloe gin and R.C. Cola outside in the cars. Now, this is strictly a class occasion if you live in a shitkicker town. Anyway, we’d been slopping down the beer all afternoon and eating pinto-bean salad and these greasy fried fish before we got to the dance. So it was the third number, and I took Betty Hoggenback out on the floor and was doing wonderful, tilting her back like Fred Astaire doing Ginger Rogers. Then I felt this wet fart start to grow inside me. It was like a brown rat trying to get outside. I tried to leak it off one shot at a time and keep dancing away from it, but I must have left a cloud behind that would take the varnish off the gym floor. Then one guy says, ‘Man, I don’t believe it!’ People were walking off the floor, holding their noses and saying, ‘Pew, who cut it?’ Then the saxophone player on the bandstand threw up into the piano. Later, guys were shaking my hand and buying me drinks, and a guy on the varsity came up and said that was the greatest fart he’d ever seen. It destroyed the whole prom. The saxophone player had urp all over his summer tux, and they must have had to burn the smell out of that piano with a blowtorch.” Buddy was laughing so hard at his own story that tears ran down his cheeks. He caught his breath, drank out of the beer glass, then started laughing again. The woman behind the bar was looking at him as though a lunatic had just walked into the normalcy of her life.