Compo Quotes

For love is a celestial harmony Of likely hearts compos'd of stars' concent, Which join together in sweet sympathy, To work each other's joy and true content, Which they have harbour'd since their first descent Out of their heavenly bowers, where they did see And know each other here belov'd to be.

Every single person is a fool, insane, a failure, or a bad person to at least ten people.

To evade insanity and depression, we unconsciously limit the number of people toward whom we are sincerely sympathetic.

We would not be ashamed of doing some of the things we do in private, if the number of sane human beings who do them in public were large enough.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n. Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams. For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins hymeneals sing, To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day.

When love with one another so Interinanimates two souls, That abler soul, which thence doth flow, Defects of loneliness controls. We then, who are this new soul, know Of what we are compos'd and made, For th' atomies of which we grow Are souls, whom no change can invade.

compos mentis.

making her frown. He quickly shifted back to mist

When the nurse had closed the door the princess felt imprisoned, not only in the room, but in her own body. In her state of foreboding she reached out for the glass of barley water Sister Badgery had removed, and tried to find comfort in sips of that mawkish stuff. She could see herself in one of the looking-glasses with which her blind mother still kept herself surrounded. If the princess had not been so terrified of what the next moment could hold, she might have noticed that her own eyes were deep and lustrous: beautiful in fact; but in the circumstances her mind could only flutter through imagined eventualities. Actually Mrs Hunter was enjoying the luxury of being alone and perfectly silent with somebody she loved. (They did love each other, didn’t they? You could never be sure about other people; sometimes you found they had hated you all their lives.) This state of perfect stillness was not unlike what she enjoyed in her relationship with Sister de Santis, though in essence it was different; with the night nurse she was frequently united in a worship of something too vast and selfless to describe even if your mind had been completely compos whatever it is. This other state of unity in perfect stillness, which she hoped she was beginning to enjoy with Dorothy, she had experienced finally with Alfred when she returned to ‘Kudjeri’ to nurse him in his last illness. There were moments when their minds were folded into each other without any trace of the cross-hatching of wilfulness or desire to possess.

The faculty of voluntarily bringing back a wandering attention over and over again is the very root of judgement, character and will. No one is compos sui if he have it not. An education which should improve this faculty would be the education par excellence. WILLIAM JAMES

The faculty of voluntarily bringing back a wandering attention, over and over again, is the very root of judgment, character, and will. No one is compos sui [master of himself] if he have it not. An education which should improve this faculty would be the education par excellence. —William James, Principles of Psychology Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In the space there is the power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom. —Victor Frankl

The shimmering tarmac of the deserted basketball court, a line of industrial-sized garbage cans, and beyond the electrified perimeter fence a vista that twangs a country and western chord of self-pity in me. For a brief moment, when I first arrived, I thought of putting a photo of Alex - Laughing Alpha Male at Roulette Wheel - next to my computer, alongside my family collection: Late Mother Squinting Into Sun on Pebbled Beach, Brother Pierre with Postpartum Wife and Male Twins, and Compos Mentis Father Fighting Daily Telegraph Crossword. But I stopped myself. Why give myself a daily reminder of what I have in every other way laid to rest? Besides, there would be curiosity from colleagues, and my responses to their questions would seem either morbid or tasteless or brutal depending on the pitch and role of my mood. Memories of my past existence, and the future that came with it, can start as benign, Vaselined nostalgia vignettes. But they’ll quickly ghost train into Malevolent noir shorts backlit by that great worst enemy of all victims of circumstance, hindsight. So for the sake of my own sanity, I apologize silently to Alex before burying him in the desk alongside my emergency bottle of Lauphroaig and a little homemade flower press given to me by a former patient who hanged himself with a clothesline. The happy drawer.

Dark Child by Stewart Stafford Moondust down the fire curtain Carried Syd to the darkest side, Trespass became a prison term, A non-compos mentis dark child. From gambolling nymph with a lute, To an imp falling over instruments, A thousand-yard stare sucked in, Vacant eyes drew like a black hole. Riderless horse, a living déjà vu, The spectral shell of our brother, Ambled towards us at his nadir, We wept for the shuffling stranger. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

You can’t win an argument. You can’t because if you lose it, you lose it; and if you win it, you lose it. Why? Well, suppose you triumph over the other person and shoot their argument full of holes and prove that they are non compos mentis. Then what? You will feel fine. But what about them? You have made them feel inferior. You have hurt their pride. They will resent your triumph. And— A man convinced against his will Is of the same opinion still.

non compos mentis

A person can escape an ingrained pattern of mental incapacity or ‘non compos mentis’ (“no power of the mind”) by reading, writing, thinking, and studying their environment for telling external determinates that will shape a journey of the mind, body, and soul.

I'd rather dig my own grave than rot in the sun.

she could. Not only did Mrs Hunter wish to ingratiate herself with the ladies in her new neighbourhood, she was also very kind. Armed with a large bunch of grapes for the invalid, she ventured to call on Alicia. Not sure what to do with her, Polly took her upstairs to the cold, dusty drawing-room, and called Alicia. Alicia explained that her mother was indisposed and unable to receive visitors. She asked Polly to bring tea. Mrs Hunter stayed half an hour during which time Elizabeth wandered in to join them. Seeing a lady dressed in hat and gloves for visiting, Elizabeth automatically dropped into the role of hostess; it was obvious, however, that she could not keep track of the conversation. Alicia was embarrassed, but Mrs Hunter gave no hint that she realized that all was not well with Elizabeth. She told her amused husband afterwards, ‘I’ve never seen such a dismal house. Hasn’t bin painted in years. And it was that cold – no fire in the drawing-room! Can you believe it? And her poor mother’s out of her mind – non compos mentis. Between her Ma and her Pa, I don’t know how that girl stands it.’ Mr Hunter turned a page of his newspaper. ‘So you saw Mrs Woodman? And Woodman?’ ‘No. According to his daughter, he’s up and about, though. I saw him once, driving in the park.’ ‘Well, I’m glad I was wrong when I said you’d be snubbed,’ he responded. After her visit, Mrs Hunter always stopped to chat when she saw Alicia, and one day asked her to come in for tea. Alicia refused, but explained that it was not because she did not want to; she was simply so busy. She began to enjoy these small encounters with her

compos mentis.

Perhaps, if he had a choice, he would have preferred a stay in London’s only dedicated mental hospital, out beyond Bishopsgate. It had been founded in 1247 as the Priory of St Mary of Bethlehem as a hostel for pious travellers, probably with a small infirmary for the sick. It was soon renamed by Londoners ‘Bethlem’, or ‘Bedlam’. By 1377 its patients included ‘distracted’ people, who were receiving the standard medieval treatment for mental illness – shackles, whips and ducking, a regime which will surely have ended their miserable lives prematurely. By 1403 most of its inmates were mentally ill, but when the changeover occurred, from the original purpose of the foundation to the exclusive care of the mentally ill, is not possible to trace. The alternative to Bedlam, custody within the family circle, may not always have been a good idea. Sometime in 1340 Alice, the wife of Henry de Warewyk, ‘who for the last half year had been non compos mentis . . . opened the door and ran by herself in a wild state to the port [quay] of Dowgate and threw herself into the Thames and was drowned’.

Fort is amongst the most rare category of writers who are "political" because they make us aware of what is happening to us in the deepest sense. He points to a rediscovery of the waY THat fantasy -processes dtermine the perception of time, change, and indeed the creation and growth of fact and product in themselves. Thus he demonstrates the workings of that operational cargo cult which is modern techno-capitalism, and whose fuel is engineered mystique. The belief that the new experiments in the new laboratories will be an improvement on the old experiments in the old laboratories is a millenial promise worthy of any island cult of New Guinea, worshipping, as many there do, the skeletal rusting parts of the corpse of the American military machine of over fifty years ago. In this sense, Fort cautions us about scientific promises and expectations. No matter how hard the islanders try visualising the world that manufactured their "magical" bits of B-29 wings, they cannot visualise technological time and it's cost/resources spectrum. For them, any day scores of B-29s will land on the long-overgrown strip with tins of hamburgers for free. But the apple pie America that made the B-29 is gone with Glen Miller's orchestra , the Marshall Plan, and General McArthur's return to Bataan, while the far fewer (and much more expensive) B-52s of our own day are only seen as sky-trails in the high Pacific blue. In any case, landing on a grass strip in a B-52 would be suicide for the crew, and certain death also for many fundamentalist believers. If such a thing did happen, it would seem to be a wounded bird in great trouble, and if the watchers below were saying their prayers as it approached, so too would be the captain and his crew. As for the hamburgers, well, there might be some scorched USAF lunch-tins available after the crash, and when they were found, whole cycles of belief could be rejuvenated: McDonald's USAF compo-packs might become a techno-industrial packaged sacrament, indicating that whilst times might be hard, at least the gods were trying. Little do the natives know that some members of the crews of the godlike silver vehicles wonder what transformation mysteries the natives are guarding in their turn. The crews have some knowledge that is thousands of years ahead of the natives, yet the primitives probably have some knowledge that the crews have lost thousands of years ago, and they might wonder why these gods need any radio apparatus to communicate over great distances. Both animals, in their dreaming, are searching for one another

You can’t make any logical or rational distinction between an angel and a visitor from another planet,

Figure 1 schematically shows how in-vehicle networking will be conceived. In this conception, CAN and the other communication protocols developed concurrently made it possible for multiple LANs to exchange data efficiently via a gateway. Motor Motor Motor Air Sub network Switch Switch Sensor Safety system Passenger detection conditioner Radar Door CAN Up to 125 kbps zLIN 2.4 to 19.2 kbps AFS Instrument panel meter Keyless Body White line detection Head lamp Levelizer Combination lamp Sub network system Squib zSafe-(150 kbpsby-Wire ) Airbag Gateway control Tire Information Engine and powertrain pressure system ACC ITS system system CAN CAN 500 kbps 125 kbps MD/CD Audio VICS Engine Steering Brake changer Video navi TVSS Sub network compo zFlexRay *2(5 Mbps) zMOST Chassis z1394 AT system CAN 500 kbps Failure diagnostic system zCAN (statutory control) Diagnostic tool Figure 1. Conception of In-vehicle Networking * 1 : ISO stands for International Organization for Standardization.* 2 : FlexRay TM is a registered trademark of DaimlerChrysler AG. REJ05B0804-0100/Rev. 1.00 April 2006 Page 2 of 44

State of the mind, in general. There grows,In my most ill compos’d affection, such  A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,I should cut off the nobles for their lands.Shak.Macbeth. The man that hath no musick in himself,Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds,Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;The motions of his spirit are dull as night,And his affections dark as Erebus:Let no such man be trusted.Shakesp.Merchant of Venice.6. Quality;