Ce We Are Quotes

Truthfully, Professor Hawking? Why would we allow tourists from the future muck up the past when your contemporaries had the task well in Hand?" Brigadier General Patrick E Buckwalder 2241C.E.

In the first century CE, Roman authorities punished St. Apollonia by crushing her teeth one by one with pliers. Colin often thought about this in relationship to the monotony of dumping: we have thirty-two teeth. After a while, having each tooth individually destroyed probably gets repetitive, even dull. But it never stops hurting.

Though there are things beyond our understanding, for the most part we are the architects of our own unhappiness.

But monotony doesn't make for painlessness. In the first century CE, Roman authorities punished St. Appollonia by crushing her teeth one by one with pliers. Colin often thought about this in relationship to the monotony of dumping: we have thirty two teeth. After a while, having each tooth individually destroyed probably gets repetitive, even dull. But it never stops hurting.

Presque tous les malheurs de la vie viennent des fausses idées que nous avons sur ce qui nous arrive. Connaître à fond les hommes, juger sainement des événements, est donc un grand pas vers le bonheur." ("Almost all our misfortunes in life come from the wrong notions we have about the things that happen to us. To know men thoroughly, to judge events sanely, is, therefore, a great step towards happiness.") [Journal entry, 10 December 1801]

What will they say, Ce, when we dance together? I want to do that. I want to hold you in my arms, in front of the entire damn world. Would you do that? Would you dance with me?

It is a sad and very melancholy scene, which must strike everyone who knows and feels that we also have to pass one day through the valley of the shadow of death, and “que la fin de la vie humaine, ce sont des larmes ou des cheveux blancs.” What lies beyond this is a great mystery that only God knows, but He has revealed absolutely through His word that there is a resurrection of the dead.

...we are the whole life that we have lived, its highs and lows, its fortunes and its hardships; we are the sum of the ghosts that haunt us...

They're constants, aren't they?" ... "Books are. That's why we like them so much. They seem immutable. They're not, of course. Not from the author's first draft to the tenth printing, but they seem like it.

We shall steal fire from the heavens, and I shall not repent, even for one minute- for what sort of God would condemn us to such a cold world without it? We are merely taking what should have been ours from the beginning.

Mimbrates are the bravest people in the world --probably because they don't have brains enough to be afraid of anything. Garion's friend Mandorallen is totally convinced that he's invincible." "He is," Ce'Nedra said in automatic defense of her knight. "I saw him kill a lion once with his bare hands." "...I heard him suggest to Barak and Hettar once that the three of them attack an entire Tolnedran legion." "Perhaps he was joking." "Mimbrate knights don't know how to joke," Silk told him. "I will not sit here and listen to you people insult my knight," Ce'Nedra said hotly. "We'renot insulting hi, Ce'Nedra," Silk told her. "We're describing him. He's so noble he makes my hair hurt." "Nobility is an alien concept to a Drasnian, I suppose," she noted. "Not alien, Ce'Nedra. Incomprehensible.

Je suis ce que je suis.” – Death “Is that a spell?” – Nick “It’s French, Nick. Means ‘I am what I am.’ Sheez, kid. Get educated. Read a book. I promise you it’s not painful.” – Death “I would definitely argue that. Have you seen my summer reading list? It’s nothing but girl books about them getting body parts and girl things I don’t want to discuss in class with my female English teacher. Maybe in the boys’ locker room and maybe with a coach, but not with a woman teacher in front of other girls who already won’t go out with me. Or worse, they’re about how bad all of us men reek and how we need to be taken out and shot ‘cause we’re an affront to all social and natural orders. Again – thanks, Teach. Give the girls even more reason to kick us down when we talk to one. Not like it’s not hard enough to get up the nerve to ask one out. Can you say inappropriate content? And then they tell me my manga’s bad. Riiight…Is it too much to ask that we have one book, just one, on the required reading list that says, ‘Hey, girls. Guys are fun and we’re okay. Really. We’re not all mean psycho-killing, bloodsucking animals. Most of us are pretty darn decent, and if you’ll just give us a chance, you’ll find out we’re not so bad.’” – Nick

The dragon spits fire, what extinguishes its tears. When we live in rancor, we are born to be old. (Le dragon crache du feu, - Ce qui éteint ses larmes. - Quand on vit de rancune, - On naît pour être vieux.)

We gaze up at the same stars, the sky covers us all, the same universe encompasses us. What does it matter what practical system we adopt in our search for the truth? Not by one avenue only can we arrive at so tremendous a secret. —SYMMACHUS, 384 C.E.

I suppose that is why it often makes me sad to read about history, or even natural history, as you do; I cannot help but think of everyone whose tale cannot fit in one book, those poor creatures who remain lost or forgotten. Do you think that one day, some Mary of the future will sketch our bones and wonder what we might have been in life?

If you put half as much effort in trying to make us work as you are in trying to rip us apart right now, we could be fucking unstoppable", he mutters softly. “We’d be everything.

Yes " Morrison said dryly. "I'm sure it would have helped with flying the car, if any of us had been calm and rational enough to think of taking a drum out and performing some theme music for your Jame's Bond meets Harry Potter special effects. But since we weren't, now I'm going to drum till you stop looking like something the cat dragged in. Don't argue with me.

Les contes de fées c'est comme ça. Un matin on se réveille. On dit: "Ce n'était qu'un conte de fées..." On sourit de soi. Mais au fond on ne sourit guère. On sait bien que les contes de fées c'est la seule vérité de la vie. Fairy tales are like that. One morning, we wake up and say, "It was only a fairy tale..." We put a smile on our face but deep inside, this isn't what we feel like doing. It's because we know full well that fairy tales are the only truth in life. [The English translation is Lucrèce Riminiac's.]

Now, I believe the best way for you to learn is immersion and since we can't teleport you all to France," he grinned at me, and there were once again sighs from the girls. "I'll be speaking only in French and will expect you to do the same. Is anyone here already proficient in the language?" I narrowed my eyes at him. He knew darn well I was fluent in French and several other languages. "Eveline, I believe your dad mentioned at dinner the other night that you are?" What was he doing? "Umm. Yes-" He shook his head at me. "En français s'il vous plait." More sighs from the class. I clenched my jaw and spoke rapidly. "Oui, Monsieur Smith. Je parle français. Qu'est-ce que tu veux?" Yes, Mr.Smith. I speak French. What do you want? His eyes smoldered and caressed my face as he delivered his swift reply, "Je veux plus de toi que vous imaginez, ma petit lueur.

Like, if we were to put all our weird pieces together, we may be able to make something. Something almost complete. Something beautiful.

Înseamnă că o iubești. Ți-e teamă pentru că e mai presus de tine, urăști pentru că te temi, iubești pentru că nu poți s-o spui. Pentru că poți iubi numai ceea ce nu ți se supune.

We had built here, in this half-ruined boat house on the edge of the Moray Firth, a temple to our own strange gods- to Chemistry and Anatomy and Electricity.

I suppose I knew on an intellectual level that graves weren't especially made for getting out of. I mean, you start with a hermetically sealed casket and then you dump six feet of dirt on top of it. Over time the earth gets compacted, which can't make it easy to dig through. So even if you're a very angry and determined zombie, you've kind of got your work cut out for you just escaping from the grave. Which was, I suppose, why we got hit with an initial wave of zombie bugs, birds and rodents. I bet some people would say if you've never picked undead mosquitoes out of your teeth, you've never lived. Under that definition, I'd be just as happy to have not lived, thanks.

This love meditation is adapted from the Visuddhimagga by Buddhaghosa, a 5th century C.E. systematization of the Buddha's teaching. We begin by practicing the love meditation on ourselves ("May I"). Until we are able to love and take care of ourselves, we cannot be much help to others. After that, we practice them on others ("May he/she/they") - first on someone we like, then on someone neutral to us, and finally on someone who makes us suffer. May I be peaceful, happy, and light in body and spirit. May I be safe and free from injury. May I be free from anger, afflictions, fear and anxiety. May I learn to look at myself with the eyes of of understanding and love. May I be able to recognize and touch the seeds of joy and happiness in myself. May I learn to identify and see the sources of anger, craving, and delusion in myself. May I know how to nourish the seeds of joy in myself every day. May I be able to live fresh, solid, and free. May I be free from attachment and aversion, but not indifferent. Love is not just the intention to love, but the capacity to reduce suffering, and offer peace and happiness. The practice of love increases our forbearance, our capacity to be patient and embrace difficulties and pain. Forbearance does mean that we try to suppress pain.

Deschideți ochii și vedeți cu ei tot ce puteți înainte să se închidă pe vecie .

Nous poursuivons ce qui nous fuit, nous fuyons ce qui nous poursuit. " We pursue what flees from us, flee from what pursues us.

The world is coming to an end,' Samantha said factually. 'Today is the last time we’ll walk upon this terrestrial soil. What bother are bills, when Earth is to be decimated?

Galen’s texts constitute an estimated 10 percent of all extant Greek literature dating before 350 CE, and we know that we are still missing much of what he wrote.

One thing was certain: we had done it now, snatched fire from the gods, stolen it down to Earth - and it was only a matter of time before we began to burn.

L’éternité ne fut jamais perdue. Ce qui nous a manqué Fut plutôt de savoir La traduire en journées, En ciels, en paysages, En paroles pour d’autres, En gestes vérifiables. Mais la garder pour nous N’était pas difficile Et les moments étaient présents Où nous paraissait clair Que nous étions l’éternité. Eternity never was lost. What we did not know was how to translate it into days, skies, landscapes, into words for others, authentic gestures. But holding on to it for ourselves, that was not difficult, and there were moments when it seemed clear to us we ourselves were eternity. Translation by Denise Levertov

Do you ever stop and wonder at all of this?' Kaity asked, gesturing around them while a robot rolled by. 'After what we’ve been through?' her husband said wryly. 'We are, after all, space travelers. We’ve voyaged light-years from Earth, to settle in lands both terrifying and fantastic. Little fazes us anymore...

We shall steal fire from the heavens, and I shall not repent, even for one minute – for what sort of god would condemn us to such a cold world without it? We’re merely taking what should have been ours from the beginning.

...we lay there in the dark for a split second before the beast galumphed toward us. Meabh, always quick with a sword, sprang to her feet and charged the dragon head-on while I mostly just wondered who or what I'd offended in a past life that this one was peopled by dragons. Except I didn't have any past lives, so apparently I'd offended somebody in this life and was facing instant karma. That didn't really improve anything, in my ever so humble opinion.

By the time of the arrival of Islam in the early seventeenth century CE, what we now call the Middle East was divided between the Persian and Byzantine empires. But with the spread of this new religion from Arabia, a powerful empire emerged, and with it a flourishing civilization and a glorious golden age. Given how far back it stretches in time, the history of the region -- and even of Iraq itself -- is too big a canvas for me to paint. Instead, what I hope to do in this book is take on the nonetheless ambitious task of sharing with you a remarkable story; one of an age in which great geniuses pushed the frontiers of knowledge to such an extent that their work shaped civilizations to this day.

I will always hold dear to my heart that fact that I was the first to see those golden eyes open, to see its reptilian pupils narrow and focus on my own- for in those eyes I saw, for the first time, proof that we had created something truly alive.

Only after something is done do we truly realise it cannot be undone. Never had a night seemed to me so ill-omened; never had a celebration seemed to me so unjust, so cruel. The music drifting on the breeze sounded like an incantation that conjured me like a demon. I felt excluded from the joy of these people as they laughed and danced. I thought about the terrible waste my life had become … How? How could I have come so close to happiness and not had the courage to seize it with both hands? What terrible sin had I committed that I was forced to watch love seep though my fingers like blood from a wound? What is love when all it can do is survey the damage? What are its myths and legends, its victories and its miracles if a lover is not prepared to rise above, to brave the thunderbolt, to renounce eternal happiness for one kiss, one embrace, one moment with his beloved? Regret coursed through my veins like a poisonous sap, swelled my heart with loathsome fury. I hated myself, this useless burden abandoned by the roadside.

As chemists, we must rename [our] scheme and insert the symbols Ba, La, Ce in place of Ra, Ac, Th. As nuclear chemists closely associated with physics, we cannot yet convince ourselves to make this leap, which contradicts all previous experience in nuclear physics.

So if you like her, if she strikes a chord, this one goes out to you: the angry women, the threatening women, the solitary and the abhorred; women with cold hearts and sharp tongues, who play with fire and fall in love with monsters; women who love women, women who didn’t know they were women at first but know better now, those who thought they were women at first but know better now. We shall be monsters, you and I.

Intelligence and compassion are the heart of what it means to be human. Help others where you can. That is clear enough. But a Creator may well want us to open our eyes, as well. If there is a judgment, God may not be particularly interested in how many hymns we sang or what prayers we memorized. I suspect He may instead look at us and say, “I gave you a brain, and you never used it. I gave you the stars, and you never looked.” —Marcia Tolbert, Centauri Days, 3111 C.E.

We founded this nation under the illusory notion of independence, that a man’s life is entirely distinct from the life of his neighbor; that the poisons in his water have no bearing on the cleanliness of his neighbor’s water; that the suffering of a laborer has no direct relationship to the purchaser of goods; that animals are objects for sale; that the health of the land is divorced from the health of the collective. We’ve turned freedom from tyranny into freedom from each other.

Qu'une goutee de vin tombe dans un verre d'eau; quelle que soit la loi du movement interne du liquide, nous verrons bientôt se colorer d'une teinte rose uniforme et à partir de ce moment on aura beau agiter le vase, le vin et l'eau ne partaîtront plus pouvoir se séparer. Tout cela, Maxwell et Boltzmann l'ont expliqué, mais celui qui l'a vu plus nettement, dans un livre trop peu lu parce qu'il est difficile à lire, c'est Gibbs dans ses principes de la Mécanique Statistique. Let a drop of wine fall into a glass of water; whatever be the law that governs the internal movement of the liquid, we will soon see it tint itself uniformly pink and from that moment on, however we may agitate the vessel, it appears that the wine and water can separate no more. All this, Maxwell and Boltzmann have explained, but the one who saw it in the cleanest way, in a book that is too little read because it is difficult to read, is Gibbs, in his Principles of Statistical Mechanics.

Dar Dumnezeu e doar un ochi alb si rece, un sfert de luna atarnand deasupra fumului, clipind într-una, in timp ce orașul e facut praf si pulbere.

First Rule of the coven is-" "We don't talk about the coven?" I joked, but my Fight Club reference was not well received.

Ce n'est pas la réalite.

Memories are truths we have chosen.

Suntem ceea ce iubim! We are what we love!

Most times, our fear is exactly what ends up hurting those we love.

I’ve always been yours. I was yours even when I shouldn’t have been, Auden. I’m yours now, the moment we fucking met, and every single day in between.

On est très loin de comprendre ce que c'est d'être aveugle, quand on ferme les yeux.

The sailor dies in what makes him live. We will die in the air and in hope. (Marin meurt dans ce qui le fait vivre. Nous mourrons dans l’air et dans l’espoir)

Ma duc la el, nestiind ce sa spun sau sa fac. Vreau sa-i iau furia. Sa-i inlatur tristetea. Sa-i netezesc cicatricea de pe fata. Sa-l repar. Dar nu stiu cum.

Ca inchipuiti mai sunt oamenii! De ce sa te obosesti sa compui muzica daca tacerea si vantul sunt mai cuprinzatoare? De ce sa aprinzi lampi daca intunericul, inevitabil, le va stinge?

You ever get the feeling your life is a string festooned with bells and tie4d to hundreds of others you don't know anything about? And that sometimes somebody pulls their string, and your bells ring?" Gary looked at me a long moment before rather gently saying, "Yes and no, darlin'. We all get that feeling from time to time. Difference is, with you, it could be real.

Tatal ei radiaza o mie de culori, opal, rosu-capsuna, ruginiu-inchis, verde crud; un miros de ulei si metal, senzatia de cheie potrivita in yala, zornaitul cheilor lui pe inel in timp ce merge.

[...] il te faut seulement comprendre que te retrouver à la case départ n'est pas une régression. Te retrouver quelque part, c'est une déjà une bonne chose en soi - cela veut dire que tu as conscience de ce que tu fais.

You seriously think you got some kind of god after you?” Gary asked. Marie nodded. Gary turned to me. “I vote we drop her off at a loony bin and run for the hills.” “Are you asking me to run away with you, Gary? After such a short, violent courtship?

It is the struggle of adversarial forces that generates the logic of strategy, which is always and everywhere paradoxical, and as such is diametrically opposed to the commonsense, linear logic of everyday life. Thus, we have, for example, the Roman si vis pacem, para bellum, if you want peace, prepare for war, or tactically, the bad road is the good road in war, because its use is unexpected—granting surprise and thus at least a brief exemption from the entire predicament of a two-sided human struggle.

The essence of the adolescent brain changes that are the essence of healthy ways of living throughout the life span spell the word essence itself: ES: Emotional Spark—honoring these important internal sensations that are more intense during adolescence but serve to create meaning and vitality throughout our lives. SE: Social Engagement—the important connections we have with others that support our journeys through life with meaningful, mutually rewarding relationships. N: Novelty—how we seek out and create new experiences that engage us fully, stimulating our senses, emotions, thinking, and bodies in new and challenging ways. CE: Creative Explorations—the conceptual thinking, abstract reasoning, and expanded consciousness that create a gateway to seeing the world through new lenses.

Nous sommes aussi l'ensemble des fantômes qui nous hantent... nous sommes plusieurs personnages en un, si convaincants dans les différents rôles que nous avons assumés qu'il nous est impossible de savoir lequel nous avons été vraiment, lequel nous sommes devenus, lequel nous survivra.

In the end, there are only two hard historical facts about Jesus of Nazareth upon which we can confidently rely: the first is that Jesus was a Jew who led a popular Jewish movement in Palestine at the beginning of the first century C.E.; the second is that Rome crucified him for doing so.

Buy’ce gal, buy’ce tal Vebor’ad ures alit Mhi draar baat’i meg’parjii’se Kote lo’shebs’ul narit A pint of ale, a pint of blood Buys men without a name We never care who wins the war So you can keep your fame —Popular drinking chant of Mandalorian mercenaries—approximate translation, edited for strong language

Lăncile genelor se dau la o parte, mă lasă să pătrund - și... Cum să descriu ce face cu mine acest ritual străvechi, stupid, minunat, când buzele ei le ating pe ale mele? Prin ce formulă să exprim această vijelie, care mătură totul din suflet, în afară de ea? Da, da, din suflet - n-aveți decât să râdeți, dacă vreți.

bikes have also been fundamental to early women’s liberation. While this will hopefully not be an issue in your civilization—you’re starting on a better foot than we ever did, seeing as you don’t have to labor under the hangover of thousands of years of patriarchy—it’s worth noting how something as simple as giving people the ability to cheaply transport themselves under their own power changed European society in the late 1800s CE. This newfound mobility not only allowed women to participate in civilization in ways they couldn’t before, but actually changed the way women saw themselves. They were no longer observers moved around by society: instead, they were active participants who could—and would—move themselves. The clothing women wore also changed in response to the bicycle, as demands for a new “rational dress” that allowed for a modicum of physical activity meant the end of the restrictive corsets, starched petticoats, and ankle-length skirts that had previously been worn.

There was the plague of Athens in 430 BCE. The plague of Justinian in 541 CE. The Black Death in 1347. The Spanish flu in 1918. There were gods of plagues in ancient times—not only the Greek god Apollo, but the Vedic god Rudra and the Chinese deity Shi Wenye. Plague is an old, familiar enemy. And so, in 2020, a plague once again appeared.

Few moderns may think of the linear development of human history in the same terms the old Christians used, but the modern world of ideas is unimaginable without the irreversible linearity of connection and direction they provided. Everyone on the planet recognizes the Christian scheme of marking and pointing time’s arrow, even when we noncommittally mark our dates BCE/ CE.

The number system we use today—the Hindu-Arabic system—was developed in India and seems to have been completed by around 700 CE. Indian mathematicians made advances in what would today be described as arithmetic, algebra, and geometry, much of their work being motivated by an interest in astronomy. The system is based on three key ideas: notations for the numerals, place value, and zero.

C'est ce que fait Dieu, chaque nuit. That's what God has to do every night on an infinite scale. He invented the whole universe, and now he has to pay attention to it. Otherwise all the stars will go out one by one. We complain that he sometimes doesn't get around to the things we want him to, but look up at the sky! Always more spectacular, the people say. Always more spectacular... Les gens en veulent toujours plus.

And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul? Assuredly, he said. And has not the soul an excellence also? Yes. And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that excellen- ce? She cannot. Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent, and the good soul a good ruler? Yes, necessarily. And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and injustice the defect of the soul? That has been admitted. Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man will live ill? That is what your argument proves. And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the reverse of happy? Certainly. Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable? So be it. But happiness and not misery is profitable. Of course. Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable than justice.

Les améliorations que rêvent quelques esprits généreux sont impossibles à réaliser dans ce siècle-ci; ces esprits-là oublient qu'ils sont de cent ans en avant de leurs contemporains, et qu'avant de changer la loi il faut changer l'homme. (The improvements dreamed of by a few liberal souls cannot come to pass in this century; those great minds forget that they are a hundred years ahead of their contemporaries, that before we can change the law we must change man.)

I did to my trouble see all the way that 'elle' did get as close 'a su marido' as 'elle' could, and turn her 'mains' away 'quand je' did endeavour to take one.... So that I had no pleasure at all 'con elle ce' night. When we landed I did take occasion to send him back a the bateau while I did get a 'baiser' or two, and would have taken 'la' by 'la' hand, but 'elle' did turn away, and 'quand' I said shall I not 'toucher' to answered 'ego' no love touching, in a slight mood.

O dieses ist das Tier, das es nicht giebt. Sie wußtens nicht und habens jeden Falls – sein Wandeln, seine Haltung, seinen Hals, bis in des stillen Blickes Licht – geliebt. Zwar war es nicht. Doch weil sie’s liebten, ward ein reines Tier. Sie ließen immer Raum. Und in dem Raume, klar und ausgespart, erhob es leicht sein Haupt und brauchte kaum zu sein È questo l’animale favoloso, che non esiste. Non veduto mai, ne amaron le movenze, il collo, il passo: fino la luce dello sguardo calmo. Pure “non era”. Ma perchè lo amarono, divenne. Intatto. Gli lasciavan sempre più spazio. E in quello spazio chiaro, etereo: serbato a lui – levò, leggiero, il capo. And here we have the creature that is not. But they did not allow this , and as it happens - his gait and bearing, his arched neck, even the light in his eyes - they loved it all. Yet truly he was not. But because they loved him the beast was seen. And always they made room. And in that space, empty and unbounded, he raised an elegant head, yet hardly fought for his existence. Oh ! C'est elle, la bête qui n'existe pas. Eux, ils n'en savaient rien, et de toutes façons - son allure et son port, son col et même la lumière calme de son regard - ils l'ont aimée. Elle, c'est vrai, n'existait point. Mais parce qu'ils l'aimaient bête pure, elle fut. Toujours ils lui laissaient l'espace. Et dans ce clair espace épargné, doucement, Elle leva la tête, ayant à peine besoin d'être.

For centuries after obtaining power during the reign of Constantine, Christians went on a censorship rampage that led to the virtual illiteracy of the ancient Western world and ensured that their secret would be hidden from the masses. The scholars of other schools/sects evidently did not easily give up their arguments against the historicizing of a very ancient mythological creature. We have lost the exact arguments of these learned dissenters because Christians destroyed any traces of their works. Nonetheless, the Christians preserved the contentions of their detractors through their own refutations. For example, early Church Father Tertullian (c. 160-220 CE), an 'ex-Pagan' and a presbyter at Carthage, ironically admitted the true origins of the Christ story and other such myths by stating in refutation of his critics, 'You say we worship the sun; so do you. Interestingly, a previously strident believer and defender of the faith, Tertullian later renounced orthodox Christianity after becoming a Montanist.

The pre-Easter Jesus is the historical Jesus. This Jesus is a figure of the past, a finite mortal human being born around the year 4 B.C.E. In his early thirties, after one to three years of public activity, he was executed by Roman authority (most likely in the year 30 C.E.). That Jesus—the flesh-and-blood Galilean Jewish peasant of the first century—is no more.6 The post-Easter Jesus is what Jesus became after his death. More specifically, the post-Easter Jesus is the Jesus of Christian tradition and experience (and both nouns are important).

Pendant que je leur parlais de leurs études, je regardais dans le rétroviseur leurs petites têtes hirsutes au regard vague. Peut-être que j'espérais qu'ils allaient me répondre sérieusement, qu'on allait arrêter là la comédie des enfants handicapés, que c'etait pas drôle, ce jeu, qu'on allait redevenir enfin sérieux comme tout le monde, qu'ils allaient enfin devenir comme les autres... J'ai attendu un moment la réponse. Thomas a dit plusieurs fois "Où on va, papa? Où on va, papa?" tandis que Mathieu faisait "vroum-vroum"... Ce n'était pas un jeu.

You have a great attitude whenever you race,” Nancy complimented. “Why thank you, Miss Cooper.” Dudeman’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Miss Cooper? Are we going all formal nowadays?” Kaity teased. “We just faced death together—twice—so let’s not be on a last-name basis!” Sharko grinned. He couldn’t resist building onto his wife’s quip. “Since you still won money,” he said cheekily, “why don’t you pay for lunch, Mr. Erskin.” “Gah!” Dudeman pretended to choke. “Remind me to get my name legally changed!” Excerpt From Defector (Starganauts Series, #3)

You say you were lucky that in the critical years between 100 and 800 C.E. Christianity went forward, and we were unlucky that during the same years Judaism went backward. Don’t you see that the real question is forward to what, backward to what?” Cullinane reflected for a moment and said, “By God, I do! That’s what’s been bugging me without my knowing it, because I hadn’t even formulated the question.” “My thought is that in those critical years Judaism went back to the basic religious precepts by which men can live together in a society, whereas Christianity rushed forward to a magnificent personal religion which never in ten thousand years will teach men how to live together. You Christians will have beauty, passionate intercourse with God, magnificent buildings, frenzied worship and exaltation of the spirit. But you will never have that close organization of society, family life and the little community that is possible under Judaism. Cullinane, let me ask you this: Could a group of rabbis, founding their decisions on Torah and Talmud, possibly have come up with an invention like the Inquisition—an essentially anti-social concept?

The de Sudeley mission of 1178 had its roots in the turbulent years of the 1st century CE when Roman legions were advancing on Jerusalem and secret scrolls, maps and artifacts were hidden in the tunnels below the subterranean area of the Temple Mount. As I have recounted, in the early years of the 12th century, these items were found by early members of the Knights Templar. More than fifty years later, after much planning, de Sudeley completed a mission likely first envisioned by his Templar predecessors in Jerusalem. He left a detailed log compiled during the voyage, describing the year he spent in Onteora with the community that guarded the scrolls. He recorded geographic sites he had been to, Native Americans he met, and the community of Welsh and Norse he lived with in the Hunter Mountain area. His account was added to the existing record kept by the Templars at Castrum Sepulchri. Latin was the common language at this time, and the monk who recorded de Sudeley's deposition used it to write the record entitled, "A Year We Remember." This account was then added to the writings from the earlier 12th century Templar excavations in Jerusalem to comprise parts of the Templar Document.

Father, we are uniquely capable of morality. We must be moral, because we can be moral. He stood very still as the words settled like silt to the floor of his veins. We can snatch from the air the abstractness of numbers, adding and subtracting and making logic from magic, and because we can, we do, and we must. We can build pyramids and sky-piercing towers, so we must. We can wrestle language from our grunting, so we must. We can map our physical mysteries with machines of our own making. We can classify the species of the earth, name every stone and streamlet. We can run a hundred miles, and we can walk on the face of the moon, so we must—and then we must go farther. We can, from the chaos of existence, extract meanings, which do not exist. We can make ourselves philosophers and scientists and priests. We can construct our unnatural civilizations—we can, and therefore we must. To starve our genes is to honor our genes. With fear and loathing we can stand on the necks of our parents and refuse them. We can evolve from simple to complex. We can choose survival of the species over survival of the self. We can say no to nature and form a conspiracy of doves. We are uniquely capable of morality, therefore we must be moral. That is our nature.

Jesus had been born during the reign of the emperor Augustus (r. 31 BCE–14 CE), who had brought peace to a war-weary world by defeating rival Roman warlords and declaring himself sole ruler of the Roman Empire. The ensuing peace seemed little short of miraculous, and throughout his far-flung domains, Augustus was hailed as “son of God” and “savior.” But the Pax Romana was enforced pitilessly by an army that was the most efficient killing machine the world had yet seen; the slightest resistance met with wholesale slaughter. Crucifixion, an instrument of state terror inflicted usually on slaves, violent criminals, and insurgents, was a powerful deterrent.

We circled around and came in from the northwest.” I lifted my wrist to show him the compass on my watch band, although I hoped that, being the pilot, he knew we’d approached from the northwest. “I was looking out the window. I saw a woman running down the street. There was a pack of dogs after her and a guy with a switchblade down the street in the direction she was running.” “Ma’am,” he said, still very patiently. I reached out and took a fistful of his shirt. Actually, at the last moment, I grabbed the air in front of his shirt. I didn’t think security could throw me out of the airport for grabbing air in a threatening fashion, not even in this post-9/11 age. “Don’t ma’am me . . .

When modern humans first invented computer ray tracing, they generated thousands if not millions of images of reflective chrome spheres hovering above checkerboard tiles, just to show off how gorgeously ray tracing rendered those reflections. When they invented lens flares in Photoshop, we all had to endure years of lens flares being added to everything, because the artists involved were super excited about a new tool they’d just figured out how to use. The invention of perspective was no different, and since it coincided with the Renaissance going on in Europe at the same time, some of the greatest art in the European canon is dripping with the 1400s CE equivalent of lens flares and hovering chrome spheres.

When we remember the Goddess and the old earth-based religion, we come back into contact with cycles and the eternal return that lets us face death without fear. It wasn't until 400CE that the Christian church declared that there were no cycles, no reincarnation. Until that time, everyone knew the obvious, that there certainly it life after death, and it is not only in the eternal realm. One of the joyous reclaimings that accompanies our re-membering is that we get over the insidious fear of the Death Goddess and realize she is only the other face of the Mother. In surrender to her, we leave the problem in her hands; in allowing ourselves to be used in the healing of the planet, we become part of the solution.

But to read a great Russian novel is to have an altogether different experience. The baseness, the beast in us, the misery of life, are there as plain to see as in the French book, but what we are left with is not despair and not loathing, but a sense of pity and wonder before mankind that can so suffer. The Russian sees life in that way because the Russian genius is primarily poetical; the French genius is not. Anna Karénina is a tragedy; Madame Bovary is not. Realism and Romanticism, or comparative degrees of Realism, have nothing to do with the matter. It is a case of the small soul against the great soul and the power of a writer whose special endowment is “voir clair dans ce qui est” against the intuition of a poet. If

Mais surtout, et cette recommandation est essentielle, que la volonté n’intervienne pas dans la pratique de l’autosuggestion ; car, si elle n’est pas d’accord avec l’imagination, si l’on pense : « Je veux que telle ou telle chose se produise », et que l’imagination dise : « Tu le veux, mais cela ne sera pas », non seulement on n’obtient pas ce que l’on veut, mais encore on obtient exactement le contraire. - But above all, and this recommendation is essential, that The Will, not intervene in the practice of autosuggestion; For if The Will disagrees with The Imagination, if one thinks, "I want such and such a thing to happen," and the imagination says, "You do, but it won't happen”, not only do we not get what we want, but we also get exactly the opposite.

This is even more puzzling than the Asian flushing gene’s failure to sweep through the world. As Tomáš Masaryk saw clearly, a culture that spends entire evenings consuming liquid neurotoxins—created at great expense and to the detriment of nutritious food production—should be at an enormous disadvantage compared to cultural groups that eschew intoxicants altogether. Such groups exist, and have for quite some time. Perhaps the most salient example is the Islamic world, which produced Ibn Fadlan. Prohibition was not a feature of the earliest period of Islam, but according to one hadith, or tradition, it was the consequence of a particular dinner at which companions of Mohammed became too inebriated to properly say their prayers. In any case, by the end of the Prophetic era in 632 CE, a complete ban on alcohol was settled Islamic law. It cannot be denied that, in the cultural evolution game, Islam has been extremely successful.

The truth is that for two centuries after the crucifixion of Jesus sometime in the early 30s CE, Christianity is hard to pin down. It started as a radical Jewish sect, but how and when it became clearly separated from Judaism is impossible to say. It is not even certain when ‘Christians’ started regularly to use that name for themselves; it may originally have been a nickname applied by outsiders. They were for many years small in number. The best estimate is that by 200 CE there were around 200,000 Christians in the Roman Empire, of between 50 and 60 million people, though they may have been more visible than that figure suggests, as they were overwhelmingly concentrated in towns; the word ‘pagan’ was their term for anyone who was not a Christian or a Jew, and it implied anything from ‘outsider’ to ‘rustic’. And they held a whole variety of views and beliefs about the nature of god and of Jesus and about the basic tenets of Christian faith that were gradually, and with great difficulty, pared down to the range of Christian orthodoxies (still not a single one) that we know today. Was Jesus married with children? What exactly happened at the crucifixion? Did he die or not?, many wondered, not unreasonably.

For monks is what we are, my dear Matthew, monks who enter literature with our heads bowed, as if taking religious orders. It's as simple as that. The poet for whom the subject, the only conceivable subject, is art itself -- and for the true poet, I tell you, there can be no other subject -- such a poet is a monk whose whole life coincides with the adoration of his God and for whom posterity is his Heaven. You' -- he stressed the you -- 'you know what I mean, don't you? The immorality of his soul. For what /is an oeuvre, after all, but the soul of its creator? That's why I chuckle so at the antics of those pathetic buffers in the Academy with their pretensions to immortality. Les Immortels, hah! Maurois, Achard, Druon, Genevoix, that crowd! What a graveyard, Matthew, n'est-ce pas? Dead is what they are, dead, not immortal, dead as writers, mummified as men, propped up in their fauteuils like so many old codgers in wheelchairs. What a farce! Hein? And, you know, you know, it has just occurred to me, it has just this instant occurred to me, that true immortality, the immortality of Racine, of Montaigne, qu'est-ce que j'en sais, of Rimbaud, is to the Immortality of the Académie Française what Heaven is to -- to the Vatican. Hein? For that's what it is, the Academy, the Vatican of French literature.

here was Dorothy, always knotted to the point of strangulation, aspiring to be what she was not, because of that parvenu prince. Mrs Hunter saw him: the groove in the lower lip, above the cleft chin, beneath the pink-shaded restaurant lights. She had ordered tournedos Lulu Watier. After the first shock of mutual disapproval, she felt that she and Hubert were enjoying each other. Alfred said, ‘Out with us, the food is plainer. We don’t feel the need to titillate our palates by dolling it up with a lot of seasoning and fancy sauces.’ He might have worsened the situation if she hadn’t kicked him under the table. They had gone over for the wedding because the old princess insisted she could not travel out to ce pays si lointain et inconnu. It was the first occasion the mountain hadn’t come to Elizabeth Hunter: she couldn’t very well believe it; nor that she would overlook the fact that her little Dorothy was being received into the Roman Catholic Church. But you did: at the nuptial mass there was your plain little girl in the dress by Lanvin tissé expres à la main à Lyon, and none of it could disguise the fact that you were prostituting your daughter to a prince, however desirably suave and hung with decorations. For one instant, out of the chanting and the incense, Elizabeth Hunter experienced a kind of spiritual gooseflesh.

The Wisdom Goddess drew on precedents from other cultures the Hebrews had been exposed to, “seeing wisdom as an Israelite reflection or borrowing of a foreign mythical deity — perhaps Ishtar, Astarte, or Isis.”[38] Following the period where the Wisdom Goddess occurred in texts, around the third century BCE to the second century CE, camer the naming of wisdom as the Shekinah in the first-second century CE Onkelos Targum. Contemporary with the Shekinah and drawing on some of the same earlier sources we see the Gnostic wisdom goddess, Sophia.  There are many parallels between these two goddesses which suggest cross-fertilisation of ideas, which we will explore in more detail in subsequent chapters.  It seems apparent that both the Shekinah and Sophia influenced perceptions of the Christian Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, seen in textual references to titles and motifs.  The Islamic figure of Sakina is clearly derived from the Shekinah, both through her name and also the references to her in the Qur’an, as we will demonstrate. Ancient textual evidence does not link the Sumerian goddess Lilith to the Shekinah.  However allegorical references made in medieval Kabbalistic texts have encouraged us to consider the changing cultural perceptions of Lilith from Sumerian myths through to medieval Jewish tales to determine the extent of her influence on the portrayal of divine feminine wisdom.

her predicament. In his autobiography, Theodore Roosevelt offered this bit of Stoic-inspired advice: “Do what you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.”11 This is precisely what the locked-in individuals I have described did. They were thereby able to transform what might otherwise have been characterized as tragic lives into lives that were both courageous and admirable. AS ONE LAST EXAMPLE OF RESILIENCE in the face of a setback, consider the case of the Stoic philosopher Paconius Agrippinus, who in around 67 CE was openly critical of Emperor Nero. A messenger came to inform him that he was being tried in the Senate. His response: “I hope it goes well, but it is time for me to exercise and bathe, so that is what I will do.” Subsequently, another messenger appeared with the news that he had been found guilty of treasonous behavior and condemned. “To banishment or to death?” he asked. “To banishment,” the messenger replied. Agrippinus responded with a question: “Was my estate at Aricia taken?” “No,” said the messenger. “In that case,” said Agrippinus, “I will go to Aricia and dine.”12 In behaving in this manner, Agrippinus was simply applying advice that, although perfectly sensible, is easy to forget. When the number of options available is limited, it is foolish to fuss and fret. We should instead simply choose the best of them and get on with life. To behave otherwise is to waste precious time and energy

From the beginning of the nineteenth century until Hiroshima, strategic thought was dominated by post-Napoleonic, Clausewitzian notions, and these notions have pervaded the thinking of many whose primary interests are far from removed from military matters. In their crude, popularized form, these ideas stress a particular form of war, conflicts between nationalities; they stress the primacy and desirability of offensive warfare in pursuit of decisive results (thus inspiring an aversion to defensive strategies); and they imply a sharp distinction between the state of peace and the state of war. Finally, these ideas accord primacy to the active use of military force, as opposed to the use of images of force, for the purposes of diplomatic coercion. Only since 1945 has the emergence of new technologies of mass destruction invalidated the fundamental assumptions of the Clausewitzian approach to grand strategy. We, like the Romans, face the prospect not of decisive conflict, but of a permanent state of war, albeit limited. We, like the Romans, must actively protect an advanced society against a variety of threats rather than concentrate on destroying the forces of our enemies in battle. Above all, the nature of modern weapons requires that we avoid their use while nevertheless striving to exploit their full diplomatic potential. The revolutionary implications of these fundamental changes are as yet only dimly understood. It is not surprising, therefore, that even contemporary research on Roman military history is still pervaded by an anachronistic strategic outlook.

I have a trainer,” she confirmed while searching for an escape route. Standing closer to this man is like being stuck in an elevator, she decided. You’d bargain with God to get free. “But not just any trainer. Not only does this woman tackle a stallion no one else can seem to tame but she resurrects the dead, n’est-ce pas? You have done wonders to stir McCloud’s blood again, or so I have heard.” A.J.’s mouth dropped open at the insinuation. “What are you talking about?” “Surely you jest. The news is all around.” He gesticulated with a limp wrist. “Although I must say, you are faithless to leave your family in favor of a man who is not your husband. No matter how good you find his services.” Her vision narrowed on the man’s jugular. “Why, you little—” Devlin appeared at her side. “A.J.! Time to go pace off the course.” “Ah,” Philippe said grandly. “And here is your good teacher, the man you gave up so much for. Myself, I could not imagine leaving my family for someone else’s stable, but I am French and we are known for our loyalty. Then again, I also don’t need the particular kind of instruction this McCloud offers.” A.J. could sense her face tuning brick red and felt like a boxer winding up for a punch. “Come on,” Devlin said. “Yes, run along, you two. I imagine there is much you must do to each other.” That did it. She lost it. “Why, you tar-mouthed gossip hound—” She was itching to go further but Devlin put a firm hand on her arm and began to lead her away. “And speaking of gossip,” the Frenchman called out as they left, “you would do well to keep your ear to the floor. I myself am going to make an announcement soon.” “That’s ‘ear to the ground,’ you—” “Enough,” Devlin hissed, dragging her off. When they were out of range from the crowd, A.J. whirled on him, eyes flashing turquoise. “How could you let him go on like that? You didn’t give me the chance to defend us!” Devlin said nothing, which infuriated her further. He just stood there, staring at her calmly. Didn’t he have any pride? “I mean, come on! Marceau made insinuations that were insane and you hauled me off before I could respond.” When that didn’t get any reaction, she frowned. “Hello?” “You finished?” he asked. “Or do you want to give him more of what he’s after?” A.J. looked confused. He said, “Tell me what you’re thinking about right now.” “How I’d like to crown him with a bag of feed.

SCENE 24 “Tiens, Ti Jean, donne ce plat la a Shammy,” my father is saying to me, turning from the open storage room door with a white tin pan. “Here, Ti Jean, give this pan to Shammy.” My father is standing with a peculiar French Canadian bowleggedness half up from a crouch with the pan outheld, waiting for me to take it, anxious till I do so, almost saying with his big frowning amazed face “Well my little son what are we doing in the penigillar, this strange abode, this house of life without roof be-hung on a Friday evening with a tin pan in my hand in the gloom and you in your raincoats—” “II commence a tombez de la neige” someone is shouting in the background, coming in from the door (“Snow’s startin to fall”)—my father and I stand in that immobile instant communicating telepathic thought-paralysis, suspended in the void together, understanding something that’s always already happened, wondering where we were now, joint reveries in a dumb stun in the cellar of men and smoke … as profound as Hell … as red as Hell.—I take the pan; behind him, the clutter and tragedy of old cellars and storage with its dank message of despair–mops, dolorous mops, clattering tear-stricken pails, fancy sprawfs to suck soap suds from a glass, garden drip cans–rakes leaning on meaty rock–and piles of paper and official Club equipments– It now occurs to me my father spent most of his time when I was 13 the winter of 1936, thinking about a hundred details to be done in the Club alone not to mention home and business shop–the energy of our fathers, they raised us to sit on nails– While I sat around all the time with my little diary, my Turf, my hockey games, Sunday afternoon tragic football games on the toy pooltable white chalkmarked … father and son on separate toys, the toys get less friendly when you grow up–my football games occupied me with the same seriousness of the angels–we had little time to talk to each other. In the fall of 1934 we took a grim voyage south in the rain to Rhode Island to see Time Supply win the Narragansett Special–with Old Daslin we was … a grim voyage, through exciting cities of great neons, Providence, the mist at the dim walls of great hotels, no Turkeys in the raw fog, no Roger Williams, just a trolley track gleaming in the gray rain– We drove, auguring solemnly over past performance charts, past deserted shell-like Ice Cream Dutchland Farms stands in the dank of rainy Nov.—bloop, it was the time on the road, black tar glisten-road of thirties, over foggy trees and distances, suddenly a crossroads, or just a side-in road, a house, or bam, a vista gray tearful mists over some half-in cornfield with distances of Rhode Island in the marshy ways across and the secret scent of oysters from the sea–but something dark and rog-like.— J had seen it before … Ah weary flesh, burdened with a light … that gray dark Inn on the Narragansett Road … this is the vision in my brain as I take the pan from my father and take it to Shammy, moving out of the way for LeNoire and Leo Martin to pass on the way to the office to see the book my father had (a health book with syphilitic backs)— SCENE 25 Someone ripped the pooltable cloth that night, tore it with a cue, I ran back and got my mother and she lay on it half-on-floor like a great poolshark about to take a shot under a hundred eyes only she’s got a thread in her mouth and’s sewing with the same sweet grave face you first saw in the window over my shoulder in that rain of a late Lowell afternoon. God bless the children of this picture, this bookmovie. I’m going on into the Shade.

SCENE 24 “Tiens, Ti Jean, donne ce plat la a Shammy,” my father is saying to me, turning from the open storage room door with a white tin pan. “Here, Ti Jean, give this pan to Shammy.” My father is standing with a peculiar French Canadian bowleggedness half up from a crouch with the pan outheld, waiting for me to take it, anxious till I do so, almost saying with his big frowning amazed face “Well my little son what are we doing in the penigillar, this strange abode, this house of life without roof be-hung on a Friday evening with a tin pan in my hand in the gloom and you in your raincoats—” “II commence a tombez de la neige” someone is shouting in the background, coming in from the door (“Snow’s startin to fall”)—my father and I stand in that immobile instant communicating telepathic thought-paralysis, suspended in the void together, understanding something that’s always already happened, wondering where we were now, joint reveries in a dumb stun in the cellar of men and smoke … as profound as Hell … as red as Hell.—I take the pan; behind him, the clutter and tragedy of old cellars and storage with its dank message of despair–mops, dolorous mops, clattering tear-stricken pails, fancy sprawfs to suck soap suds from a glass, garden drip cans–rakes leaning on meaty rock–and piles of paper and official Club equipments– It now occurs to me my father spent most of his time when I was 13 the winter of 1936, thinking about a hundred details to be done in the Club alone not to mention home and business shop–the energy of our fathers, they raised us to sit on nails– While I sat around all the time with my little diary, my Turf, my hockey games, Sunday afternoon tragic football games on the toy pooltable white chalkmarked … father and son on separate toys, the toys get less friendly when you grow up–my football games occupied me with the same seriousness of the angels–we had little time to talk to each other. In the fall of 1934 we took a grim voyage south in the rain to Rhode Island to see Time Supply win the Narragansett Special–with Old Daslin we was … a grim voyage, through exciting cities of great neons, Providence, the mist at the dim walls of great hotels, no Turkeys in the raw fog, no Roger Williams, just a trolley track gleaming in the gray rain– We drove, auguring solemnly over past performance charts, past deserted shell-like Ice Cream Dutchland Farms stands in the dank of rainy Nov.—bloop, it was the time on the road, black tar glisten-road of thirties, over foggy trees and distances, suddenly a crossroads, or just a side-in road, a house, or bam, a vista gray tearful mists over some half-in cornfield with distances of Rhode Island in the marshy ways across and the secret scent of oysters from the sea–but something dark and rog-like.— J had seen it before … Ah weary flesh, burdened with a light … that gray dark Inn on the Narragansett Road … this is the vision in my brain as I take the pan from my father and take it to Shammy, moving out of the way for LeNoire and Leo Martin to pass on the way to the office to see the book my father had (a health book with syphilitic backs)— SCENE 25 Someone ripped the pooltable cloth that night, tore it with a cue, I ran back and got my mother and she lay on it half-on-floor like a great poolshark about to take a shot under a hundred eyes only she’s got a thread in her mouth and’s sewing with the same sweet grave face you first saw in the window over my shoulder in that rain of a late Lowell afternoon. God bless the children of this picture, this bookmovie. I’m going on into the Shade.

Nous sommes arrogants, stupides, nous manquons d’humilité face aux siècles qui nous ont précédés. Ce que nous appelons « savoir », ce que tu apprends à l’école sur les fossiles et les dinosaures, ce ne sont que des petites idées. Ce qu’on sait aujourd’hui, c’est qu’on n’a pas assez réfléchi.

Constantius II ordered pagan temples closed and sacrificial practices stopped. We have already seen a law issued in 341 CE: “Superstition shall cease; the madness of sacrifices shall be abolished... [anyone]... who performs sacrifices . . . shall suffer the infliction of a suitable punishment and the effect of an immediate sentence” (Theodosian Code 16.10.2). In a law of 346 CE, the penalties are specified: Temples “in all places and in all cities” are to be “immediately closed” and “access to them forbidden.” No one may perform a sacrifice. Anyone who does “shall be struck down with the avenging sword” and his “property shall be confiscated.” Any governor who fails to avenge such crimes “shall be similarly punished” (Theodosian Code 16.10.4); And perhaps more drastically, later in Constantius’s reign, in 356: “Anyone who sacrifices or worships images shall be executed” (Theodosian Code 16.10.6).

am alergat și am intrat în lift, care a zburat în sus imediat, ca o navă spațială, iar apoi ușile s-au deschis într-o uriașă seră de sticlă, iar tu ai spus că era ca și cum ai păși direct pe cer, și cam așa era, Jack, cam așa era, pentru că puteam vedea de sus întreaga londră. ne-am plimbat prin jur, privind în toate direcțiile, ca timothy pope cu telescopul lui, și n-o să uit ziua aia niciodată, jack, cât timp voi mai trăi. râsul tău dens ca ciocolata, în timp ce dansai cu umbrele, răpăitul ploii pe sticlă.

M-a izbit din plin gândul la ce era să pierdem. Mi s-a tăiat răsuflarea, ca și cum un uriaș mi s-ar fi așezat pe piept. Anna număra scoicile din mâna lui Jack. Viața pe care o aveam acum era de neprețuit.

Age of Aquarius: 2000–4000CE Aquarius is an Air sign ruled by Uranus, which evokes a spirit of unity and oneness. This influence translates into unconventional innovations, and humanitarian ideals that serve the greater good. With the emergence of the internet, we’ve already witnessed mass communication transmitted through the airwaves. This supports free speech, enables the sharing of ideas and information, and promotes a global outlook that catalyzes positive social change.

Because there is hunger. Like any desire, it’s only temporarily satisfied, which calls into question the reliability of satisfaction and whether such a state can be said to exist at all. Anything we eat knows us more intimately than a lover. Not merely the inside of our mouth but the esophagus, stomach, alimentary canal, upper and lower colon, sphincter. Everything we desire, we shit out and leave behind.