Eclectic Quotes

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My wish for you... is that your skeptic-eclectic brain be flooded with the light of truth.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (The First Circle)
Postmodernity is said to be a culture of fragmentary sensations, eclectic nostalgia, disposable simulacra, and promiscuous superficiality, in which the traditionally valued qualities of depth, coherence, meaning, originality, and authenticity are evacuated or dissolved amid the random swirl of empty signals.
Jean Baudrillard
I knew that when the great guiding spirit cleaves humanity into two antagonistic halves, I would be with the people. I know this, I see it printed in the night sky that I, eclectic dissembler of doctrine and psychoanalyst of dogma, howling like one possessed, will assault the barricades or the trenches , will take my bloodstained weapon, and consumed with fury, slaughter any enemy who falls into my hands.
Ernesto Che Guevara
My mother was a good Catholic -- she went to mass twice a week at St. Mary's in Richmond, but my father was an Orthodox Eclectic.
Sue Monk Kidd (The Secret Life of Bees)
I missed the anonymity-the ability to run to the market without running into my third-grade teacher. I missed the nightlife-the knowledge that if I wanted to, there was always an occasion to get dressed up and head out for dinner and drinks. I missed the restaurants-the Asian, the Thai, the Italian the Indian. I was already tired of mashed potatoes and canned green beans. I missed the culture- the security that comes from being on the touring schedule of the major Broadway musicals. I missed the shopping-the funky boutiques, the eclectic shops, the browsing. I missed the city.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Some bow to the spirit of collectivism, while you ascend to the spirit of your own eclectic rhythms.
Curtis Tyrone Jones
Don't be afraid of books, even the most dissident, seemingly 'immoral' ones. Culture is a sure bet in life, whether high, low, eclectic, pop, ancient or modern. And I am convinced that reading is one of the most important tools of liberation that any human being, and a contemporary Arab woman in particular, can exploit. I am not saying it is the ONLY tool, especially with all the new alternative - more visual, interactive and hasty - ways of knowledge, learning and growth. But how could I not be convinced of literature's power, when it has been my original emancipator?
Joumana Haddad (I Killed Scheherazade: Confessions of an Angry Arab Woman)
during his first year at the Eclectic that, by his second year, the school had promoted him from janitor to assistant professor.
Candice Millard (Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President)
I'm eclectic,' she said to the HDs once and I could see them trying to work out where she plugged in.
Cath Crowley (Graffiti Moon)
The human mind is not a dignified organ, and I do not see how we can exercise it sincerely except through eclecticism. And the only advice I would offer my fellow eclectics is: "Do not be proud of your inconsistency. It is a pity, it is a pity that we should be equipped like this. It is a pity that Man cannot be at the same time impressive and truthful.
E.M. Forster (Aspects of the Novel)
They ticked the boxes of a certain kind of enlightened, educated middle-classness, the love of dresses that were more interesting than pretty, the love of the eclectic, the love of what they were supposed to love. Ifemelu imagined them when they traveled: they would collect unusual things and fill their homes with them, unpolished evidence of their polish.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Americanah)
You would describe your taste in film as ECLECTIC, but in truth, it isn't much less than TOTALLY INDISCRIMINATE.
Andrew Hussie
The only criterion for an Ineffable Sub's eclectic mélange of traditions from multiple submissive categories should be this only: Does it work for her?
Michael Makai (The Warrior Princess Submissive)
The garage is the space for the hacker, the tinkerer, the maker. The garage is not defined by a single field or industry; instead, it is defined by the eclectic interests of its inhabitants. It is a space where intellectual networks converge.
Steven Johnson (How We Got to Now: Six Innovations That Made the Modern World)
The tongue of a woodpecker can extend more than three times the length of its bill. When not in use, it retracts into the skull and its cartilage-like structure continues past the jaw to wrap around the bird’s head and then curve down to its nostril. In addition to digging out grubs from a tree, the long tongue protects the woodpecker’s brain. When the bird smashes its beak repeatedly into tree bark, the force exerted on its head is ten times what would kill a human. But its bizarre tongue and supporting structure act as a cushion, shielding the brain from shock.1 There is no reason you actually need to know any of this. It is information that has no real utility for your life, just as it had none for Leonardo. But I thought maybe, after reading this book, that you, like Leonardo, who one day put “Describe the tongue of the woodpecker” on one of his eclectic and oddly inspiring to-do lists, would want to know. Just out of curiosity. Pure curiosity.
Walter Isaacson (Leonardo Da Vinci)
Every man is the sum total of his reactions to experience. As your experiences differ and multiply, you become a different man, and hence your perspective changes. This goes on and on. Every reaction is a learning process; every significant experience alters your perspective.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
Like almost all of Beefheart's recorded work, it was not even "ahead" of its time in 1969. Then and now, it stands outside time, trends, fads, hypes, the rise and fall of whole genres eclectic as walking Christmas trees, constituting a genre unto itself: truly, a musical Monolith if ever there was one.
Lester Bangs
Surreal realized Daemon’s madness was confined to emotions, to people, to that single tragedy he couldn’t face. It was as if Titian had never died, as if Surreal hadn’t spent three years whoring in back alleys before Daemon found her again and arranged for a proper education in a Red Moon house. He thought she was still a child, and he continued to fret about Titian’s absence. But when she mentioned a book she was reading, he made a dry observation about her eclectic taste and proceeded to tell her about other books that might be of interest. It was the same with music, with art. They posed no threat to him, had no time frame, weren’t part of the nightmare of Jaenelle bleeding on that Dark Altar.
Anne Bishop (Heir to the Shadows (The Black Jewels, #2))
Perhaps you will learn from this that books are sacred to free men for very good reasons, and that wars have been fought against nations which hate books and burn them.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
How did it ever happen that, when the dregs of the world had collected in western Europe, when Goth and Frank and Norman and Lombard had mingled with the rot of old Rome to form a patchwork of hybrid races, all of them notable for ferocity, hatred, stupidity, craftiness, lust, and brutality--how did it happen that, from all of this, there should come Gregorian chant, monasteries and cathedrals, the poems of Prudentius, the commentaries and histories of Bede, the Moralia of Gregory the Great, St. Augustine's City of God, and his Trinity, the writings of Anselm, St. Bernard's sermons on the Canticles, the poetry of Caedmon and Cynewulf and Langland and Dante, St. Thomas' Summa, and the Oxoniense of Duns Scotus? How does it happen that even today a couple of ordinary French stonemasons, or a carpenter and his apprentice, can put up a dovecote or a barn that has more architectural perfection than the piles of eclectic stupidity that grow up at the cost of hundreds of thousands of dollars on the campuses of American universities?
Thomas Merton (The Seven Storey Mountain)
But I’m just Southern enough and polite enough to say ‘bless her heart’ instead of ‘screw that knock-kneed bitch.’” “The sweeter you bless somebody, the more you hate them. But nobody can get mad at you, because you’re just being a good Christian lady,” Frankie said, her eyes wide and guileless.
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
You'd corner me in your conformity but even in dormancy i'm sleeping with enormity, stretching the belly of the earth & everything i was born to be.
Curtis Tyrone Jones
The pieces didn't really coordinate and could be described in no other way than 'eclectic', but once labeled 'eclectic', valuable mismatches generally become fantastically stylish. Very similar to the way adding cash value to 'crazy' results in a whimsical 'eccentric'; you have to buy more flattering adjectives.
Mandy Ashcraft (Small Orange Fruit)
Like almost all of Beefheart's recorded work, [Trout Mask Replica] was not even "ahead" of its time in 1969. Then and now, it stands outside time, trends, fads, hypes, the rise and fall of whole genres eclectic as walking Christmas trees, constituting a genre unto itself: truly, a musical Monolith if ever there was one.
Lester Bangs
The men and women who made up DoDDS Korea during the time I was there were an eclectic group to say the least, but as a group we were among the most talented, diverse, intelligent, fun, crazy, thoughtful, caring, and dedicated people in the world. We did important work, and we did it well. Better than that, we did it exceptionally well. We were experts in our fields, and we made each other better still because we depended on each other in ways that people who’ve never lived overseas could ever imagine.
Tucker Elliot (The Day Before 9/11)
In this way, each of us has unique neural networks, which are formed, reinforced, and constantly updated by the eclectic circumstances of our lives. Once circuits are formed, that increases the chances the same circuits will fire in the future. The neural networks embody our experiences and in turn guide future action. They contain the unique way each of us carries himself in the world, the way we walk, talk, and react. They are the grooves down which our behavior flows. A brain is the record of a life. The networks of neural connections are the physical manifestation of your habits, personality, and predilections. You are the spiritual entity that emerges out of the material networks in your head.
David Brooks (The Social Animal: The Hidden Sources Of Love, Character, And Achievement)
Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out. Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
I want to be cremated. And I want my ashes spread over the lake, so I’m always with you, hangin’ around, silently judgin’ you.
Molly Harper (Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck (Southern Eclectic, #0.5))
Freedom of speech’ means you support the right of people to say exactly those ideas which you do not agree with.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
The collection had the eclectic impersonality of a public library.
John Fowles (The Magus)
Calamity was like a ghost town restored. An odd and eclectic mix of a forgotten world and modern-day society.
Willa Nash (The Bribe (Calamity Montana #1))
I liked to hear him talk, skipping from one thought to another with his eclectic mix of innocence, wisdom, mild mysticism and earthiness.
Fabian Black (Spanking Dee-Dee)
She was not a writer herself but she was a very good reader, passionate and eclectic in her tastes, and my father had great faith in her judgments.
David Benioff (City of Thieves)
I'm an eclectic assortment of power and pride. I don't need rules or labels. Though if there was one I would lay claim to every time, it is as simple as it is misunderstood. I am a witch.
Hollow Ryan (Valerian (Prideful Magick Collection, #3))
Having to amuse myself during those earlier years, I read voraciously and widely. Mythic matter and folklore made up much of that reading—retellings of the old stories (Mallory, White, Briggs), anecdotal collections and historical investigations of the stories' backgrounds—and then I stumbled upon the Tolkien books which took me back to Lord Dunsany, William Morris, James Branch Cabell, E.R. Eddison, Mervyn Peake and the like. I was in heaven when Lin Carter began the Unicorn imprint for Ballantine and scoured the other publishers for similar good finds, delighting when I discovered someone like Thomas Burnett Swann, who still remains a favourite. This was before there was such a thing as a fantasy genre, when you'd be lucky to have one fantasy book published in a month, little say the hundreds per year we have now. I also found myself reading Robert E. Howard (the Cormac and Bran mac Morn books were my favourites), Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith and finally started reading science fiction after coming across Andre Norton's Huon of the Horn. That book wasn't sf, but when I went to read more by her, I discovered everything else was. So I tried a few and that led me to Clifford Simak, Roger Zelazny and any number of other fine sf writers. These days my reading tastes remain eclectic, as you might know if you've been following my monthly book review column in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. I'm as likely to read Basil Johnston as Stephen King, Jeanette Winterson as Harlan Ellison, Barbara Kingsolver as Patricia McKillip, Andrew Vachss as Parke Godwin—in short, my criteria is that the book must be good; what publisher's slot it fits into makes absolutely no difference to me.
Charles de Lint
Censorship is the tool of those who have the need to hide actualities from themselves and from others. Their fear is only their inability to face what is real, and I can’t vent any anger against them. I only feel this appalling sadness. Somewhere, in their upbringing, they were shielded against the total facts of our existence. They were only taught to look one way when many ways exist.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
Generally, great writers are not eclectic. Each tightly focuses his oeuvre on one idea, a single subject that ignites his passion, a subject he pursues with beautiful variation through a lifetime of work.
Robert McKee (Story: Style, Structure, Substance, and the Principles of Screenwriting)
He helped me see the beauty in death alongside the inescapable finality. Also, he taught me that when somethin’ scares you, you pull your bootstraps up and give it the finger, so it knows who it’s messin’ with.
Molly Harper (Ain't She a Peach (Southern Eclectic, #2))
I pity those reviewers above, and people like them, who ridicule authors like R.A. Boulay and other proponents of similar Ancient Astronaut theories, simply for putting forth so many interesting questions (because that's really what he often throughout openly admits is all he does does) in light of fascinating and thought-provoking references which are all from copious sources. Some people will perhaps only read the cover and introduction and dismiss it as soon as any little bit of information flies in the face of their beliefs or normalcy biases. Some of those people, I'm sure, are some of the ones who reviewed this book so negatively without any constructive criticism or plausible rebuttal. It's sad to see how programmed and indoctrinated the vast majority of humanity has become to the ills of dogma, indoctrination, unverified status quos and basic ignorance; not to mention the laziness and conformity that results in such acquiescence and lack of critical thinking or lack of information gathering to confirm or debunk something. Too many people just take what's spoon fed to them all their lives and settle for it unquestioningly. For those people I like to offer a great Einstein quote and one of my personal favorites and that is: "Condemnation without investigation is the highest form of ignorance" I found this book to be a very interesting gathering of information and collection of obscure and/or remote antiquated information, i.e. biblical, sacred, mythological and otherwise, that we were not exactly taught to us in bible school, or any other public school for that matter. And I am of the school of thought that has been so for intended purposes. The author clearly cites all his fascinating sources and cross-references them rather plausibly. He organizes the information in a sequential manner that piques ones interest even as he jumps from one set of information to the next. The information, although eclectic as it spans from different cultures and time periods, interestingly ties together in several respects and it is this synchronicity that makes the information all the more remarkable. For those of you who continue to seek truth and enlightenment because you understand that an open mind makes for and lifelong pursuit of such things I leave you with these Socrates quotes: "True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us.
Books are the mind's ballast, for so many of us--the cargo that makes us what we are, a freight that is ephemeral and indelible, half-forgotten but leaving an imprint. They are nutrition, too. My old age fear is not being able to read--the worst deprivation. Or no longer having my books around me: the familiar, eclectic, explanatory assemblage that hitches me to the wide world, that has freed me from the prison of myself, that has helped me to think, and to write.
Penelope Lively (Ammonites and Leaping Fish: A Life in Time)
In the eclectic Gennadius one finds all these motivations: 'A worm is very humble and base, and you are glorious and proud; but if you are sensible, you yourself should humiliate your pride by meditating: my strength and my force become a shelter for worms.
G.P. Fedotov (Russian religious mind)
Whatever happens, whatever her final words are to me, I won't turn into one of those pricks who badmouth their exes out of boredom and bitterness. I'll cherish the time we had together. That's what's up. You know damn well it was a great time, stop the faking.
Caspar Vega (The Eclectic Prince (The Young Men in Pain Quartet, #1))
Sometimes life just stinks like a bass in your couch,” Stan said. “It’s not fair. And sometimes it doesn’t get better. And sometimes there’s no reason for it. It just stinks. You can either lean into it and try to ride it out, or you can fold under the weight.
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
Black, white, homosexual, heterosexual, Christian, Jew, Englishman, Afrikaner, adult, child, man, woman: we were all there together, but somehow that eclectic jumble of labels was overwritten by the one classification that applied to every person there: “friend.
Bianca Marais (Hum If You Don't Know the Words)
He doesn’t drink too much. He’s employed and works hard. He doesn’t have commitment issues, kids, or crazy ex-girlfriends. He doesn’t attach way too much emotion to the outcome of UGA football. He’s a mythical, perfect man, difficult to find. Impossible to capture. A unicorn.
Molly Harper (Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck (Southern Eclectic, #0.5))
Being eclectic in terms of his theology, Fat listed a number of saviors: the Buddha, Zoroaster, Jesus and Abu Al-Qasim Muhammad Ibn Abd Allah Abd Al-Muttalib Ibn Hashim (i.e., Muhammad). Sometimes he also listed Mani. Therefore, the next Savior would be number five, by the abridged list, or number six by the longer list. At certain times, Fat also included Asklepios, which, when added to the longer list, would make the next Savior number seven. In any case, this forthcoming savior would be the last; he would sit as king and judge over all nations and people. The sifting bridge of Zoroastrianism had been set up, by means of which good souls (those of light) became separated from bad souls (those of darkness). Ma'at had put her feather in the balance to be weighed against the heart of each man in judgment, as Osiris the Judge sat. It was a busy time.
Philip K. Dick (VALIS)
There are, essentially, two compelling reasons why I believe the reading public should care about Fred and his work: First, he recognized the critical importance of learning during the earliest years. No one better understood how essential it is for proper social, emotional, cognitive, and language development to take place in the first few years of life. And no one did more to convince a mass audience in America of the value of early education. Second, he provided, and continues to provide, exemplary moral leadership. Fred Rogers advanced humanistic values because of his belief in Christianity, but his spirituality was completely eclectic; he found merit in all faiths and philosophies. His signature value was human kindness; he lived it and he preached it, to children, to their parents, to their teachers, to all of us everywhere who could take the time to listen.
Maxwell King (The Good Neighbor: The Life and Work of Fred Rogers)
Whereas reason is commonly viewed as the use of logic, or at least some system of rules to expand and improve our knowledge and our decisions, we argue that reason is much more opportunistic and eclectic and is not bound to formal norms. The main role of logic in reasoning, we suggest, may well be a rhetorical one: logic helps simplify and schematize intuitive arguments, highlighting and often exaggerating their force. So, why did reason evolve? What does it provide, over and above what is provided by more ordinary forms of inference, that could have been of special value to humans and to humans alone? To answer, we adopt a much broader perspective. Reason, we argue, has two main functions: that of producing reasons for justifying oneself, and that of producing arguments to convince others. These two functions rely on the same kinds of reasons and are closely related.
Hugo Mercier (The Enigma of Reason: A New Theory of Human Understanding)
Reading The Waste Land, then, is in part reading about reading in the early twentieth century. The crisis in epistemology brought on by the discrediting of objectivity is especially relevant to understanding the poem, because the problem of knowledge is itself one of its major subjects. Like Joyce, Valéry, and other contemporary writers, Eliot consciously adds a dimension in which his work is self-reflexive, a dimension in which it refers to itself and its nature as a linguistic structure, a dimension which incorporates the larger subject of the crisis in Western culture into the process of reading. The Waste Land contains, in addition to its many other gifts, a partial set of instructions on how to read in the twentieth century. We believe and shall try to demonstrate that Eliot's poem, in one of its aspects, is a brief and striking primer, a McGuffey's Eclectic Reader for the twentieth century.
Jewel Spears Brooker (Reading the Waste Land: Modernism and the Limits of Interpretation)
Though she looked like an updated sixties hippie straight out of Haight Ashbury, she was more Princeton than Berkeley — more Microsoft than Apple. But there was a softer side to her personality. She had eclectic tastes as was evident in how she decorated her home, making it feel old and new, comfortable and chic.
Camilla Ochlan (The Werewolf Whisperer (The Werewolf Whisperer, #1))
Almost everyone who mattered most to me was in the same room...Black, white, homosexual, heterosexual, Christian, Jew, Englishman, Afrikaner, adult, child, man, woman; we were all there together; but somehow that eclectic jumble of labels was overwritten by the one classification that applied to every person there: "friend".
Bianca Marais (Hum If You Don't Know the Words)
The fine arts are one of the most sensitive mirrors of society and culture of which they are an important part. What society and culture are, such will their fine arts be. If the culture is predominantly sensate, sensate also will be its dominant fine arts. If the culture is unintegrated, chaotic and eclectic also will be its fine arts. Since contemporary Western culture is predominantly sensate, and since the crisis consists in the disintegration of its dominant supersystem, so the contemporary crisis in the fine arts must also exhibit a desintegration of the sensate form of our painting and sculpture, music, literature, drama and architecture.
Pitirim Sorokin
Most men, however, do not consider such issues in explicit terms. They absorb their ideas—implicitly, eclectically, and with many contradictions—from the cultural atmosphere around them, building into their souls without identifying it the various ideological vibrations emanating from school and church and arts and media and mores.
Leonard Peikoff (The Cause of Hitler's Germany)
His inventory is eclectic; there's no evidence of pattern or purpose other than, I suppose, his own personal taste. So, no teenage wizards or vampire police here. That's a shame, because this is exactly the kind of store that makes you want to buy a book about a teenage wizard. This is the kind of store that makes you want to be a teenage wizard.
Robin Sloan (Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore (Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, #1))
If patience is not a virtue of the beholder of life, beauty in its simplistic form cannot be appreciated
Nathan Curtis (Eclectic Oprision)
In ancient days, men looked at stars and saw their heroes in the constellations. In modern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
remember that all advice can only be a product of the man who gives it.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
manful potency as masterful kissers requires fecundity with voluminous whiskers
Ollie Bowen (On the Occasion of a Wedding: Eclectic Love Poems)
You don't chase stupid! It will find you eventually!
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
No sweets! We're talking total ice cream lockdown!" Kyle called. "Don't make me get the kale!
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
She's small, sneaky, and has a profound sense of retaliation. Like God's little angel of vengeance.
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
I don't trust anything that tries that hard to be cute.
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
It's in the bylaws. If we're not feedin' someone pork products, we get all twitchy and just start throwin' biscuits at innocent bystanders.
Molly Harper (Sweet Tea and Sympathy (Southern Eclectic, #1))
A work of art is useless as a flower is useless. A flower blossoms for its own joy. We gain a moment of joy by looking at it. That is all that is to be said about our relations to flowers. Of course man may sell the flower, and so make it useful to him, but this has nothing to do with the flower. It is not part of its essence. It is accidental. It is a misuse.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
He is a Londoner, too, in his writings. In his familiar letters he displays a rambling urban vivacity, a tendency to to veer off the point and to muddle his syntax. He had a brilliantly eclectic mind, picking up words and images while at the same time forging them in new and unexpected combinations. He conceived several ideas all at once, and sometimes forgot to separate them into their component parts. This was true of his lectures, too, in which brilliant perceptions were scattered in a wilderness of words. As he wrote on another occasion, "The lake babbled not less, and the wind murmured not, nor the little fishes leaped for joy that their tormentor was not." This strangely contorted and convoluted style also characterizes his verses, most of which were appended as commentaries upon his paintings. Like Blake, whose prophetic books bring words and images in exalted combination, Turner wished to make a complete statement. Like Blake, he seemed to consider the poet's role as being in part prophetic. His was a voice calling in the wilderness, and, perhaps secretly, he had an elevated sense of his status and his vocation. And like Blake, too, he was often considered to be mad. He lacked, however, the poetic genius of Blake - compensated perhaps by the fact that by general agreement he is the greater artist.
Peter Ackroyd (Turner)
For a psychoanalyst to be any good with Franny at all, he'd have to be a pretty peculiar type. I don't know. He'd have to believe that it was through the grace of God that he'd been inspired to study psychoanalysis in the first place. He'd have to believe that it was through the grace of God that he wasn't run over by a goddam truck before he ever got his license to practice. He'd have to believe that it's through the grace of God that he has the native intelligence to be able to help his goddam patients at all. I don't know any good analysts who think along those lines. But that's the only kind of psychoanalyst who might be able to do Franny any good at all. If she got somebody terribly Freudian, or terribly eclectic, or just terribly run-of-the-mill - somebody who didn't even have any crazy, mysterious gratitude for his insight and intelligence - she'd come out of analysis in even worse shape.
J.D. Salinger (Franny and Zooey)
The function of my comedy is not to provide answers, but to postulate questions, impertinent questions and therefore finally, pertinent questions. Not to open doors, merely to unlock them. To not invade the boundaries of probability but stabd a cool guard this side of the boundaries. Somewhere between there's a thesis. To pump up the muscle of dialectic (or in my case Di-Eclectic!) against the brawn of surrealistic solution. I play not Hamlet, but the second gravedigger, not Lear but the fool.
Marty Feldman (eYE Marty: The Newly Discovered Autobiography of a Comic Genius)
The failure of Hellenism has been, largely, a matter of organization. Rome never tried to impose any sort of worship upon the countries it conquered and civilized; in fact, quite the contrary, Rome was eclectic. All religions were given an equal opportunity and even Isis—after some resistance—was worshipped at Rome. As a result we have a hundred important gods and a dozen mysteries. Certain rites are—or were—supported by the state because they involved the genius of Rome. But no attempt was ever made to coordinate the worship of Zeus on the Capitol with, let us say, the Vestals who kept the sacred fire in the old forum. As time passed our rites became, and one must admit it bluntly, merely form, a reassuring reminder of the great age of the city, a token gesture to the old gods who were thought to have founded and guided Rome from a village by the Tiber to world empire. Yet from the beginning, there were always those who mocked. A senator of the old Republic once asked an auger how he was able to get through a ceremony of divination without laughing. I am not so light-minded, though I concede that many of our rites have lost their meaning over the centuries; witness those temples at Rome where certain verses learned by rote are chanted year in and year out, yet no one, including the priests, knows what they mean, for they are in the early language of the Etruscans, long since forgotten. As the religious forms of the state became more and more rigid and perfunctory, the people were drawn to the mystery cults, many of them Asiatic in origin. At Eleusis or in the various caves of Mithras, they were able to get a vision of what this life can be, as well as a foretaste of the one that follows. There are, then, three sorts of religious experiences. The ancient rites, which are essentially propitiatory. The mysteries, which purge the soul and allow us to glimpse eternity. And philosophy, which attempts to define not only the material world but to suggest practical ways to the good life, as well as attempting to synthesize (as Iamblichos does so beautifully) all true religion in a single comprehensive system.
Gore Vidal (Julian)
The emergent Church is the latest act in the wave of antimodernist revolt by liturgical renewal and charismatic revival, a rebellion whose central insight is that rationalistic fundamentalism, as much as liberalism, is a mass of worldly accretions. The historical record and human feeling, not the illusion of inerrancy, are supposed to command authority in the post-Christian age. Yet American evangelicals' craving for clear authority is second only to their refusal to let any authority boss them around. Skeptics note that the Emergent Church is a movement of quintessentially evangelical individualists. 'By constantly appealing to the "capital T" Tradition, and then in effect picking and choosing from its offerings, they do not succeed in living out any of the traditions that flow from the Tradition, but create their own eclectic, ad hod churchmanship,' wrote D.A. Carson, a professor at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. 'It is controlled by what these emerging thinkers judge to be appropriate in the postmodern world - and this results, rather ironically, in one of the most self-serving appeals to tradition I have ever seen.
Molly Worthen (Apostles of Reason: The Crisis of Authority in American Evangelicalism)
As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
ME/CFS has been classified as a neurological disease by the WHO since 1969 [59] and a growing number of researchers theorize that ME/CFS might be a neuro-immunological condition [60–63]: yet the BPS framework does not account for ME/CFS as a neurological or immunological disease – instead, much of the pro- BPS model literature on ME/CFS adopts what Nassir Ghaemi terms the ‘eclectic approach’; whereby everything appears important, all bio, all psycho, and all social factors [33]. Yet in clinical practice (the BPS framework), there is strong emphasis on psychological interventions (CBT and GET).
Keith Geraghty
But soon the poltergeist ran out of ideas in connection with Aunt Maud and became, as it were, more eclectic. All the banal motions that objects are limited to in such cases, were gone through in this one. Saucepans crashed in the kitchen; a snowball was found (perhaps, prematurely) in the icebox; once or twice Sybil saw a plate sail by like a discus and land safely on the sofa; lamps kept lighting up in various parts of the house; chairs waddled away to assemble in the impassable pantry; mysterious bits of string were found on the floor; invisible revelers staggered down the staircase in the middle of the night; and one winter morning Shade, upon rising and taking a look at the weather, saw that the little table from his study upon which he kept Bible-like Webster open at M was standing in a state of shock outdoors, on the snow (subliminally this may have participated in the making of lines 5-12). I imagine, that during the period the Shades, or at least John Shade, experienced a sensation of odd instability as if parts of the everyday, smoothly running world had got unscrewed, and you became aware that one of your tires was rolling beside you, or that your steering wheel had come off.
Vladimir Nabokov (Pale Fire)
Dearest that you know I cherish no sentimental rubbish about remarriage—when the right man comes to help you in life you ought to be your happy self again—I wasn’t a very good husband but I hope I shall be a good memory certainly the end is nothing for you to be ashamed of and I like to think that the boy will have a good start in parentage of which he may be proud.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
Cairo: the future city, the new metropole of plants cascading from solar-paneled roofs to tree-lined avenues with white washed facades abut careful restorations and integrated innovations all shining together in a chorus of new and old. Civil initiatives will soon find easy housing in the abandoned architectural prizes of Downtown, the river will be flooded with public transportation, the shaded spaces underneath bridges and flyovers will flower into common land connected by tramways to dignified schools and clean hospitals and eclectic bookshops and public parks humming with music in the evenings. The revolution has begun and people, every day, are supplanting the regime with their energy and initiative in this cement super colony that for decades of state failure has held itself together with a collective supraintelligence keeping it from collapse. Something here, in Cairo's combination of permanence and piety and proximity, bound people together.
Omar Robert Hamilton (The City Always Wins)
Many of the NSA’s ISTJs were eclectic geeks just this side of Rain Man. One was known to park his car in exactly the same spot in the agency parking lot every day—no matter whether the lot was empty—and then walk precisely the same steps from that parking spot to his office. Another would buy secondhand pants, wear them every day to work for two weeks, and then throw them out and buy another pair, so that he never had to do laundry. In addition to this disarming weirdness, there was a dark side to the predominance of this singular personality type within the agency. The introverts at the NSA never questioned authority. They kept to themselves and remained silent about the agency’s secrets, for good or ill. Many NSA employees were married to other NSA employees, and often their children came to work there as well, reinforcing the agency’s insular nature, enhanced by its geographic isolation at Fort Meade in suburban Maryland, far from the rest of official Washington.
James Risen (Pay Any Price: Greed, Power, and Endless War)
In the first place, this is a history of Europe’s reduction. The constituent states of Europe could no longer aspire, after 1945, to international or imperial status. The two exceptions to this rule—the Soviet Union and, in part, Great Britain—were both only half-European in their own eyes and in any case, by the end of the period recounted here, they too were much reduced. Most of the rest of continental Europe had been humiliated by defeat and occupation. It had not been able to liberate itself from Fascism by its own efforts; nor was it able, unassisted, to keep Communism at bay. Post-war Europe was liberated—or immured—by outsiders. Only with considerable effort and across long decades did Europeans recover control of their own destiny. Shorn of their overseas territories Europe’s erstwhile sea-borne empires (Britain, France, the Netherlands, Belgium, Portugal) were all shrunk back in the course of these years to their European nuclei, their attention re-directed to Europe itself. Secondly, the later decades of the twentieth century saw the withering away of the ‘master narratives’ of European history: the great nineteenth-century theories of history, with their models of progress and change, of revolution and transformation, that had fuelled the political projects and social movements that tore Europe apart in the first half of the century. This too is a story that only makes sense on a pan-European canvas: the decline of political fervor in the West (except among a marginalized intellectual minority) was accompanied—for quite different reasons—by the loss of political faith and the discrediting of official Marxism in the East. For a brief moment in the 1980s, to be sure, it seemed as though the intellectual Right might stage a revival around the equally nineteenth-century project of dismantling ‘society’ and abandoning public affairs to the untrammelled market and the minimalist state; but the spasm passed. After 1989 there was no overarching ideological project of Left or Right on offer in Europe—except the prospect of liberty, which for most Europeans was a promise now fulfilled. Thirdly, and as a modest substitute for the defunct ambitions of Europe’s ideological past, there emerged belatedly—and largely by accident—the ‘European model’. Born of an eclectic mix of Social Democratic and Christian Democratic legislation and the crab-like institutional extension of the European Community and its successor Union, this was a distinctively ‘European’ way of regulating social intercourse and inter-state relations. Embracing everything from child-care to inter-state legal norms, this European approach stood for more than just the bureaucratic practices of the European Union and its member states; by the beginning of the twenty-first century it had become a beacon and example for aspirant EU members and a global challenge to the United States and the competing appeal of the ‘American way of life’.
Tony Judt (Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945)
Power itself is founded largely on disgust. The whole of advertising, the whole of political discourse, is a public insult to the intelligence, to reason - but an insult in which we collaborate, abjectly subscribing to a silent interaction. The day of hidden persuasion is over: those who govern us now resort unapologetically to arm-twisting pure and simple. The prototype here was a banker got up like a vampire, saying, 'I am after you for your money' . A decade has already gone by since this kind of obscenity was introduced, with the government's blessing, into our social mores. At the time we thought the ad feeble because of its aggressive vulgarity. In point of fact it was a prophetic commercial, full of intimations of the future shape of social relationships, because it operated, precisely, in terms of disgust, avidity and rape. The same goes for pornographic and food advertising, which are also powered by shamelessness and lust, by a strategic logic of violation and anxiety. Nowadays you can seduce a woman with the words, 'I am interested in your cunt' . The same kind of crassness has triumphed in the realm of art, whose mounds of trivia may be reduced to a single pronouncement of the type, 'What we want from you is stupidity and bad taste' . And the fact is that we do succumb to this mass extortion, with its subtle infusion of guilt. It is true in a sense that nothing really disgusts us any more. In our eclectic culture, which embraces the debris of all others in a promiscuous confusion, nothing is unacceptable. But for this very reason disgust is nevertheless on the increase - the desire to spew out this promiscuity, this indifference to everything no matter how bad, this viscous adherence of opposites. To the extent that this happens, what is on the increase is disgust over the lack of disgust. An allergic temptation to reject everything en bloc: to refuse all the gentle brainwashing, the soft-sold overfeeding, the tolerance, the pressure to embrace synergy and consensus.
Jean Baudrillard (The Transparency of Evil: Essays in Extreme Phenomena)
A writer toils to combat the insufficiency plaguing his or her life. Every writer seeks to ward off the corrosive obliteration wrought by the passage of time upon memory by capturing on paper his or her present day thoughts on life. For these intrepid souls, writing not only entails a lifetime of work it also represents their very lifeblood spilled out onto sheets of virgin white paper. Writers’ inkblot of words forms a pictograph for present and future generations to view; their thoughtful elucidations speak to us from the grave. Writers’ words transcend time by creating indelible images that survive wars, famines, epidemics, and censorship. Thanks to great writers, every man, woman, or child can escape the confines of their own cloistered environment and converse with other people of every occupation and lifestyle whose communal heartbeats form the bloodstream of every city. Thanks to literary figures, each reader can peer into the depths of past generations whose eclectic filament forms the ever-evolving equitable eye in humankinds’ collective consciousness, or colloquially what we refer to as humanity.
Kilroy J. Oldster (Dead Toad Scrolls)
The round, unformed script on the fly-leaf said, Francis Crawford of Lymond. She stared at it; then put it down and picked up another. The writing in this one was older; the neat level hand she had seen once before, in Stamboul. This time it said only, The Master of Culter. That dated it after the death of his father, when until the birth of Richard’s son Kevin, the heir’s rank and title were Lymond’s. And all the books were his, too. She scanned them: some works in English; others in Latin and Greek, French, Italian and Spanish.… Prose and verse. The classics, pressed together with folios on the sciences, theology, history; bawdy epistles and dramas; books on war and philosophy; the great legends. Sheets and volumes and manuscripts of unprinted music. Erasmus and St Augustine, Cicero, Terence and Ptolemy, Froissart and Barbour and Dunbar; Machiavelli and Rabelais, Bude and Bellenden, Aristotle and Copernicus, Duns Scotus and Seneca. Gathered over the years; added to on infrequent visits; the evidence of one man’s eclectic taste. And if one studied it, the private labyrinth, book upon book, from which the child Francis Crawford had emerged, contained, formidable, decorative as his deliberate writing, as the Master of Culter.
Dorothy Dunnett (The Ringed Castle (The Lymond Chronicles, #5))
lack, or loutish and crass kollective is a program dedicated to the proposition that vulgarity and bad taste are an inalienable right. the lackies, as they are sometimes called, meet if they feel like it at program headquarters, which is known as La Gaucherie. La Gaucherie is densely furnished with seven thousand always-in-operation console color televisions, nine hundred constantly blaring quadrophonic stereos, shag rugs in six hundred and seventy-eight decorator colors, and am eclectic mix of Mediterranean-style dining room sets, fun sofas, interesting wall hangings, and modular seating systems. These members not otherwise occupied practicing the electric guitar or writing articles for Playgirl sit around in unduly comfortable positions expressing their honest feelings and opinions in loud tones of voice. Male lackies are encouraged to leave unbuttoned the first five buttons of their shirts unless they have unusually pale skin and hairy chests, in which case they are required to do so. Female members are encouraged to encourage them. Both sexes participate in a form of meditation that consists of breathing deeply of musk oil while wearing synthetic fabrics. The eventual goal of this discipline is to reach the state of mind known as Los Angeles.
Fran Lebowitz (The Fran Lebowitz Reader)
In the EPJ results, there were two statistically distinguishable groups of experts. The first failed to do better than random guessing, and in their longer-range forecasts even managed to lose to the chimp. The second group beat the chimp, though not by a wide margin, and they still had plenty of reason to be humble. Indeed, they only barely beat simple algorithms like “always predict no change” or “predict the recent rate of change.” Still, however modest their foresight was, they had some. So why did one group do better than the other? It wasn’t whether they had PhDs or access to classified information. Nor was it what they thought—whether they were liberals or conservatives, optimists or pessimists. The critical factor was how they thought. One group tended to organize their thinking around Big Ideas, although they didn’t agree on which Big Ideas were true or false. Some were environmental doomsters (“We’re running out of everything”); others were cornucopian boomsters (“We can find cost-effective substitutes for everything”). Some were socialists (who favored state control of the commanding heights of the economy); others were free-market fundamentalists (who wanted to minimize regulation). As ideologically diverse as they were, they were united by the fact that their thinking was so ideological. They sought to squeeze complex problems into the preferred cause-effect templates and treated what did not fit as irrelevant distractions. Allergic to wishy-washy answers, they kept pushing their analyses to the limit (and then some), using terms like “furthermore” and “moreover” while piling up reasons why they were right and others wrong. As a result, they were unusually confident and likelier to declare things “impossible” or “certain.” Committed to their conclusions, they were reluctant to change their minds even when their predictions clearly failed. They would tell us, “Just wait.” The other group consisted of more pragmatic experts who drew on many analytical tools, with the choice of tool hinging on the particular problem they faced. These experts gathered as much information from as many sources as they could. When thinking, they often shifted mental gears, sprinkling their speech with transition markers such as “however,” “but,” “although,” and “on the other hand.” They talked about possibilities and probabilities, not certainties. And while no one likes to say “I was wrong,” these experts more readily admitted it and changed their minds. Decades ago, the philosopher Isaiah Berlin wrote a much-acclaimed but rarely read essay that compared the styles of thinking of great authors through the ages. To organize his observations, he drew on a scrap of 2,500-year-old Greek poetry attributed to the warrior-poet Archilochus: “The fox knows many things but the hedgehog knows one big thing.” No one will ever know whether Archilochus was on the side of the fox or the hedgehog but Berlin favored foxes. I felt no need to take sides. I just liked the metaphor because it captured something deep in my data. I dubbed the Big Idea experts “hedgehogs” and the more eclectic experts “foxes.” Foxes beat hedgehogs. And the foxes didn’t just win by acting like chickens, playing it safe with 60% and 70% forecasts where hedgehogs boldly went with 90% and 100%. Foxes beat hedgehogs on both calibration and resolution. Foxes had real foresight. Hedgehogs didn’t.
Philip E. Tetlock (Superforecasting: The Art and Science of Prediction)
The Personal Job Advertisement These two activities are likely to have encouraged some clearer ideas about genuine career possibilities, but you should not assume that you are necessarily the best judge of what might offer you fulfilment. Writing a Personal Job Advertisement allows you to seek the advice of other people. The concept behind this task is the opposite of a standard career search: imagine that newspapers didn’t advertise jobs, but rather advertised people who were looking for jobs. You do it in two steps. First, write a half-page job advertisement that tells the world who you are and what you care about in life. Put down your talents (e.g. you speak Mongolian, can play the bass guitar), your passions (e.g. ikebana, scuba diving), and the core values and causes you believe in (e.g. wildlife preservation, women’s rights). Include your personal qualities (e.g. you are quick-witted, impatient, lacking self-confidence). And record anything else that is important to you – a minimum salary or that you want to work abroad. Make sure you don’t include any particular job you are keen on, or your educational qualifications or career background. Keep it at the level of underlying motivations and interests. Here comes the intriguing part. Make a list of ten people you know from different walks of life and who have a range of careers – maybe a policeman uncle or a cartoonist friend – and email them your Personal Job Advertisement, asking them to recommend two or three careers that might fit with what you have written. Tell them to be specific – for example, not replying ‘you should work with children’ but ‘you should do charity work with street kids in Rio de Janeiro’. You will probably end up with an eclectic list of careers, many of which you would never have thought of yourself. The purpose is not only to give you surprising ideas for future careers, but also to help you see your many possible selves. After doing these three activities, and having explored the various dimensions of meaning, you should feel more confident about making a list of potential careers that offer the promise of meaningful work. What should you do next? Certainly not begin sending out your CV. Rather, as the following chapter explains, the key to finding a fulfilling career is to experiment with these possibilities in that rather frightening place called the real world. It’s time to take a ‘radical sabbatical’.
Roman Krznaric (How to Find Fulfilling Work (The School of Life))
Far more damaging to Calvin’s reputation was the case of Michael Servetus. An accomplished physician, skilled cartographer, and eclectic theologian from Spain, Servetus held maverick (and sometimes unbalanced) views on many points of Christian doctrine. In 1531, he published Seven Books on the Errors of the Trinity, enraging both Catholics and Protestants, Calvin among them. At one point, Servetus took up residence in Vienne, a suburb of Lyon about ninety miles from Geneva, where, under an assumed name, he began turning out heterodox books while also practicing medicine. His magnum opus, The Restitution of Christianity—a rebuttal of Calvin’s Institutes—rejected predestination, denied original sin, called infant baptism diabolical, and further deprecated the Trinity. Servetus imprudently sent Calvin a copy. Calvin sent back a copy of his Institutes. Servetus filled its margins with insulting comments, then returned it. A bitter exchange of letters followed, in which Servetus announced that the Archangel Michael was girding himself for Armageddon and that he, Servetus, would serve as his armor-bearer. Calvin sent Servetus’s letters to a contact in Vienne, who passed them on to Catholic inquisitors in Lyon. Servetus was promptly arrested and sent to prison, but after a few days he escaped by jumping over a prison wall. After spending three months wandering around France, he decided to seek refuge in Naples. En route, he inexplicably stopped in Geneva. Arriving on a Saturday, he attended Calvin’s lecture the next day. Though disguised, Servetus was recognized by some refugees from Lyon and immediately arrested. Calvin instructed one of his disciples to file capital charges against him with the magistrates for his various blasphemies. After a lengthy trial and multiple examinations, Servetus was condemned for writing against the Trinity and infant baptism and sentenced to death. He asked to be beheaded rather than burned, but the council refused, and on October 27, 1553, Servetus, with a copy of the Restitution tied to his arm, was sent to the stake. Shrieking in agony, he took half an hour to die. Calvin approved. “God makes clear that the false prophet is to be stoned without mercy,” he explained in Defense of the Orthodox Trinity Against the Errors of Michael Servetus. “We are to crush beneath our heel all affections of nature when his honor is involved. The father should not spare the child, nor the brother his brother, nor the husband his own wife or the friend who is dearer to him than life.
Michael Massing (Fatal Discord: Erasmus, Luther, and the Fight for the Western Mind)
Of course, no china--however intricate and inviting--was as seductive as my fiancé, my future husband, who continued to eat me alive with one glance from his icy-blue eyes. Who greeted me not at the door of his house when I arrived almost every night of the week, but at my car. Who welcomed me not with a pat on the arm or even a hug but with an all-enveloping, all-encompassing embrace. Whose good-night kisses began the moment I arrived, not hours later when it was time to go home. We were already playing house, what with my almost daily trips to the ranch and our five o’clock suppers and our lazy movie nights on his thirty-year-old leather couch, the same one his parents had bought when they were a newly married couple. We’d already watched enough movies together to last a lifetime. Giant with James Dean, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Reservoir Dogs, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Graduate, All Quiet on the Western Front, and, more than a handful of times, Gone With the Wind. I was continually surprised by the assortment of movies Marlboro Man loved to watch--his taste was surprisingly eclectic--and I loved discovering more and more about him through the VHS collection in his living room. He actually owned The Philadelphia Story. With Marlboro Man, surprises lurked around every corner. We were already a married couple--well, except for the whole “sleepover thing” and the fact that we hadn’t actually gotten hitched yet. We stayed in, like any married couple over the age of sixty, and continued to get to know everything about each other completely outside the realm of parties, dates, and gatherings. All of that was way too far away, anyway--a minimum hour-and-a-half drive to the nearest big city--and besides that, Marlboro Man was a fish out of water in a busy, crowded bar. As for me, I’d been there, done that--a thousand and one times. Going out and panting the town red was unnecessary and completely out of context for the kind of life we’d be building together. This was what we brought each other, I realized. He showed me a slower pace, and permission to be comfortable in the absence of exciting plans on the horizon. I gave him, I realized, something different. Different from the girls he’d dated before--girls who actually knew a thing or two about country life. Different from his mom, who’d also grown up on a ranch. Different from all of his female cousins, who knew how to saddle and ride and who were born with their boots on. As the youngest son in a family of three boys, maybe he looked forward to experiencing life with someone who’d see the country with fresh eyes. Someone who’d appreciate how miraculously countercultural, how strange and set apart it all really is. Someone who couldn’t ride to save her life. Who didn’t know north from south, or east from west. If that defined his criteria for a life partner, I was definitely the woman for the job.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
And now I come to the first positively important point which I wish to make. Never were as many men of a decidedly empiricist proclivity in existence as there are at the present day. Our children, one may say, are almost born scientific. But our esteem for facts has not neutralized in us all religiousness. It is itself almost religious. Our scientific temper is devout. Now take a man of this type, and let him be also a philosophic amateur, unwilling to mix a hodge-podge system after the fashion of a common layman, and what does he find his situation to be, in this blessed year of our Lord 1906? He wants facts; he wants science; but he also wants a religion. And being an amateur and not an independent originator in philosophy he naturally looks for guidance to the experts and professionals whom he finds already in the field. A very large number of you here present, possibly a majority of you, are amateurs of just this sort. Now what kinds of philosophy do you find actually offered to meet your need? You find an empirical philosophy that is not religious enough, and a religious philosophy that is not empirical enough. If you look to the quarter where facts are most considered you find the whole tough-minded program in operation, and the 'conflict between science and religion' in full blast. The romantic spontaneity and courage are gone, the vision is materialistic and depressing. Ideals appear as inert by-products of physiology; what is higher is explained by what is lower and treated forever as a case of 'nothing but'—nothing but something else of a quite inferior sort. You get, in short, a materialistic universe, in which only the tough-minded find themselves congenially at home.If now, on the other hand, you turn to the religious quarter for consolation, and take counsel of the tender-minded philosophies, what do you find? Religious philosophy in our day and generation is, among us English-reading people, of two main types. One of these is more radical and aggressive, the other has more the air of fighting a slow retreat. By the more radical wing of religious philosophy I mean the so-called transcendental idealism of the Anglo-Hegelian school, the philosophy of such men as Green, the Cairds, Bosanquet, and Royce. This philosophy has greatly influenced the more studious members of our protestant ministry. It is pantheistic, and undoubtedly it has already blunted the edge of the traditional theism in protestantism at large. That theism remains, however. It is the lineal descendant, through one stage of concession after another, of the dogmatic scholastic theism still taught rigorously in the seminaries of the catholic church. For a long time it used to be called among us the philosophy of the Scottish school. It is what I meant by the philosophy that has the air of fighting a slow retreat. Between the encroachments of the hegelians and other philosophers of the 'Absolute,' on the one hand, and those of the scientific evolutionists and agnostics, on the other, the men that give us this kind of a philosophy, James Martineau, Professor Bowne, Professor Ladd and others, must feel themselves rather tightly squeezed. Fair-minded and candid as you like, this philosophy is not radical in temper. It is eclectic, a thing of compromises, that seeks a modus vivendi above all things. It accepts the facts of darwinism, the facts of cerebral physiology, but it does nothing active or enthusiastic with them. It lacks the victorious and aggressive note. It lacks prestige in consequence; whereas absolutism has a certain prestige due to the more radical style of it.
William James
The stairs lead directly into the sitting room: sanded wooden floor, comfortable faded sofa, large flat-screen TV, books covering every available surface. Archaeology books mostly but also murder mysteries, cookery books, travel guides, doctor-nurse romances. Ruth is nothing if not eclectic in her tastes. She has a particular fondness for children’s books about ballet or horse-riding, neither of which she has ever tried. The kitchen barely has room for a fridge and a cooker but Ruth, despite the books, rarely cooks.
Elly Griffiths (The Crossing Places (Ruth Galloway, #1))
Mediocrity. I tell all my kittens as I pummel their tiny heads with my sandpaper tongue that smells like an eclectic medley of fish. They hear of scratching posts and leather furniture and catnip and Science Diet and the extraordinary pleasure of yarfing on a Persian rug and the magical kkkkkkrrrkkk of a can opening. Because we tell our blue-eyed kittens what to fear and what to love, what is a warm sun spot and what is sinister and menacing, like cucumbers. We must remember the Mediocre Servants when they were less rotten. Dee stroked my head and allowed me to chew on her arm. I claimed her by rubbing my face on her finger. This is a binding contract of ownership, throughout the universe, in perpetuity. I feel change coming in the way the wind whips against my whiskers. I see playful patterns in the rainbow light. I will Dee to live on, the last, the one with eyes that see everything like Genghis. And frankly, one day Dee will be all grown up and able to make cheese. Really, it’s all about the fucking cheese. Mediocre Servants have never been perfect, but they were once a damn sight better and I’m god enough to admit it—I miss them. So now I’m here and I’m not afraid of what’s next. Oh, and I brought some fucking backup with me.
Kira Jane Buxton (Feral Creatures)
The practical agenda of today’s progressive movement is as eclectic as the hodgepodge of ideas undergirding it. Its proponents support racial discrimination against whites,
William P. Barr (One Damn Thing After Another: Memoirs of an Attorney General)
We were never able to have kids, you know. Which was hard at times. And we didn’t travel the world or live exotic or eclectic lives.” Her gaze moved to the window, flurries of white racing past. “But I never felt . . . incomplete.
Melissa Tagg (Here to Stay (Where Love Begins, #2))
The REM-sleep dreaming brain [is] utterly uninterested in bland, commonsense links [...] The logic guards [have] left the REM-sleep dreaming brain. Wonderfully eclectic lunatics [are] now running the associative memory asylum.
Matthew Walker (Why We Sleep The New Science of Sleep and Dreams / Why We Can't Sleep Women's New Midlife Crisis)
I’d define my current décor style as eclectic/modern/Moroccan/rustic. But a soulful and balanced home can certainly be all one style. It’s the gathering and meaning behind it all, combined with the predominant energy of what occurs there, that helps usher in a feeling of warmth, personalization, and soul.
Laura Benko (The Holistic Home: Feng Shui for Mind, Body, Spirit, Space)
Everyone thought I was so knowledgeable and astute because of my countless trips to the library and second-hand bookstores, but only the librarian knew the truth. Oh, I was knowledgeable all right. Knowledgeable in the many eclectic terms used to describe an erect penis.
Sara Cate (Give Me More (Salacious Players Club, #3))
Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try to understand each other, we may even become friends: Maya Angelou, Passports to Understanding
Annette Dauphin Simon (Spine Poems: An Eclectic Collection of Found Verse for Book Lovers)
The ‘teaching’ is generously eclectic; the first thirty letters each contain some quotation from or reference to writings of the main rival philosophical school, the Epicureans.
Seneca (Letters from a Stoic)
I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me. / S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders
Annette Dauphin Simon (Spine Poems: An Eclectic Collection of Found Verse for Book Lovers)
Voxalis à Thierry Moral, manifartiste éclectique J'aurais pu être le saltimbanque de l'âge de glace entrecoupant mes espiègleries avec l'ouragan Katrina plus au sud des marécages de La Nouvelle-Orléans, c'était peut-être pour moi plus approprié de jouer dans une pièce de théâtre muet avec des héros en pâte à modeler et papier mâché à Montmartre sur la scène d'un Cabaret du Néant. Le langage corporel trahit mon esprit hors-la-loi– je peux, mais je ne veux pas courir entre les cactus séniles, je peux, mais je ne veux pas entretenir la braise qui couve par amour du feu, je peux, mais je ne veux pas arborer l'étendard de l'étonnement par amour de la sensation. Je peux mais je ne sais pas ! Je peux mais je ne comprends pas ! Je peux mais je ne veux pas ! Le ridicule plane tel un aérostat au-dessus de l'œil d'Horus et moi je n'ai pas le temps de vivre les moulins à vent. [Voxalis lui Thierry Moral, manifartist eclectic Aș fi putut fi saltimbancul epocii de gheață întretăindu-mi giumbușlucăriile cu uraganul Katrina mai la sud de mlaștinile din New Orleans, poate era mai nimerit să joc într-o piesă de teatru mut cu eroi din plastilină și papier mâché în Montmartre, pe scena unui Cabaret du Néant. Limbajul corpului îmi trădează fărădelegea gândului - pot, dar nu vreau să alerg printre cactuși senili, pot, dar nu vreau să întrețin jarul mocnit de dragul focului, pot, dar nu vreau să arborez stindardul mirării de dragul senzației. Pot, dar nu știu! Pot, dar nu înțeleg! Pot, dar nu cred! Ridicolul planează ca un aerostat peste ochiul lui Horus și eu n-am timp să trăiesc morile de vânt.] (p. 32) Imperfectele emoții
Daniel Marcu astonishing blend of cultural history, multi-arts criticism, and memoir, moving with dazzling fluency across the hybrid worlds of visual and performance art, dance and music-theater, and experimental just-about-everything... Coe celebrates the mad pioneers of America’s most surreal cultural era in a gorgeous, insightful prose that matches their marvels.”        - Todd London, This Is Not My Memoir (with Andre Gregory, FSG) “...Compiled from published and unpublished writings, this volume reflects Coe’s extraordinary ability to craft smart journalistic profiles of epochal theater and dance artists with the Olympian sweep of an academic researcher and more than a streak of gonzo memoirist.”       - Don Shewey, Critic and Writer “...a truly personal opus and one that captivates as well as inspires... brimming with imagery and rich pathos that never seem over-indulgent or forced... Coe's book is certain to delight anyone who picks it up."        - Robert Buccellato, the US Review of Books "...a bit of Norman Mailer with a splash of Joan Didion, but all in all, the book has an eclectic style all its own. It’s postmodernism with a smirk and a twinkle. If you were there, you’ll be glad to go back again. If you weren’t there, you’re going to feel as if you were."        - Des McAnuff, Playwright, Songwriter, Director
London, Shewey, Buccellato, McAnuff
I thought wanting something more eclectic would make me easy to please, but when I explained my vision, most of the places we've visited have looked at me like I've got four eyes." "Roses and babies' breath." Alice nodded. "Maybe the occasional daisy or ranunculus. Although I do love ranunculus. They've got such a whimsy about them.
Ashley Clark (Where the Last Rose Blooms (Heirloom Secrets, #3))
At least 250 different systems of psychotherapy have been noted to exist, with possibly up to more than four hundred. Most psychotherapists do not adhere strictly to one single school of thought; instead they take an eclectic approach, in which they select from the variety of techniques those that are likely to be the most appropriate and effective for a particular client.
Aisha Utz (Psychology from the Islamic Perspective)
Women are a mystery,"... "A beautiful, divine, horrifying mystery.
Molly Harper (Gimme Some Sugar (Southern Eclectic, #3))
Mama always told me, life's too short to listen to stupid.
Molly Harper (Gimme Some Sugar (Southern Eclectic, #3))
Wait, did you sneak flowers out of the funeral arrangements to make my date a bouquet?" "No comment.
Molly Harper (Gimme Some Sugar (Southern Eclectic, #3))
In my limited experience, that's part of who they are, being gross little monsters, mixed in with moments where they're little angels so you're not overwhelmed with the urge to toss them out of a moving car.
Molly Harper (Gimme Some Sugar (Southern Eclectic, #3))
Divine Glitter Unicorn Empress of the Universe
Molly Harper (Gimme Some Sugar (Southern Eclectic, #3))
I'm going to tell you the same thing I tell my mom. I can only pay so much bail money, so watch yourself.
Molly Harper (Gimme Some Sugar (Southern Eclectic, #3))
I love the woman, but if she doesn't sleep soon, I may take her down with a tranq dart. I mean, I'll do it gently, but she will sleep.
Molly Harper (Ain't She a Peach (Southern Eclectic, #2))
No, I feel comfortable callin' an asshat an asshat, even when he has good reason for being an asshat.
Molly Harper (Ain't She a Peach (Southern Eclectic, #2))
That's what families do. They make room for people they love.
Molly Harper (A Few Pecans Short of a Pie (Southern Eclectic #2.5))
What's the dress feeling?" Hazel asked... "It's that feeling you get when you try on a dress that makes you feel beautiful and you know it's going to be perfect for whatever you need it for, and you have to buy it. It only comes along every once in a while, so you have to pay attention to it. If you're getting that feeling all of the time, you don't have the dress feeling, you have a compulsive shopping problem.
Molly Harper (A Few Pecans Short of a Pie (Southern Eclectic #2.5))
India and Pakistan have nuclear bombs now and feel entirely justified in having them. Soon others will, too. Israel, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Norway, Nepal (I’m trying to be eclectic here), Denmark, Germany, Bhutan, Mexico, Lebanon, Sri Lanka, Burma, Bosnia, Singapore, North Korea, Sweden, South Korea, Vietnam, Cuba, Afghanistan, Uzbekistan … and why not? Every country in the world has a special case to make. Everybody has borders and beliefs. And when all our larders are bursting with shiny bombs and our bellies are empty (deterrence is an exorbitant beast), we can trade bombs for food. And when nuclear technology goes on the market, when it gets truly competitive and prices fall, not just governments, but anybody who can afford it can have their own private arsenal—businessmen, terrorists, perhaps even the occasional rich writer (like myself). Our planet will bristle with beautiful missiles. There will be a new world order. The dictatorship of the pro-nuke elite. We can get our kicks by threatening each other. It’ll be like bungee jumping when you can’t rely on the bungee cord, or playing Russian roulette all day long. An additional perk will be the thrill of Not Knowing What to Believe. We can be victims of the predatory imagination of every green card–seeking charlatan who surfaces in the West with concocted stories of imminent missile attacks. We can delight at the prospect of being held to ransom by every petty troublemaker and rumormonger, the more the merrier if truth be told, anything for an excuse to make more bombs. So you see, even without a war, we have a lot to look forward to.
Arundhati Roy (My Seditious Heart: Collected Nonfiction)
ever-increasing knowledge gained through voracious reading, particularly biographies. Today he can't remember the first time he was exposed to the aphorisms of Benjamin Franklin, but they fledged an ineffaceable admiration for eclectic and eccentric statesman/inventor.
Peter D. Kaufman (Poor Charlie's Almanack: The Wit and Wisdom of Charles T. Munger, Expanded Third Edition)
Progressivism’s doctrines and agenda are dictated from the top by an enlightened elite. The ideology is a conglomerate of abstruse ideas, mashing together elements of Marxism, racial and gender ideologies, radical feminism, transgender ideology, and a host of other “isms.” Writers have used different names to refer to parts of this eclectic ideology: social justice politics, wokeness, cultural Marxism, and so on. American essayist Wesley Yang’s term for it, the successor ideology, is apt. It’s the successor to modern liberalism, seeking to supplant the liberal order itself. The practical agenda of today’s progressive movement is as eclectic as the hodgepodge of ideas undergirding it.
William P. Barr (One Damn Thing After Another: Memoirs of an Attorney General)
It was time to tell her how he felt. He loved her. He loved her quirks and eccentricities. Loved her eclectic clothes and fancy shoes. Loved her schedules, lists, and plans. He loved her passion for trivia and all things Marvel, the fact she could hack a game and own it, and that she was the smartest woman he knew. And he loved how dedicated she was to her family, how she adored and respected them, but wanted her independence, too.
Sara Desai (The Dating Plan (Marriage Game, #2))
There are four sets of weathered wood bunk-beds tucked into a corner of the room covered in Ikat-patterned bedding in cream, taupe, and grey. An eclectic mix of chandeliers hang from the ceiling decorated with an assortment of fringe, feathers, crystals, and shells. A massive oriental rug in silver and cream, which I recognize from the lower-level billiards room, fills the floor and is topped with sleeping bags made from faux fur. There are wicker chairs hanging from the ceiling, filled with thick cable-knit throws. One wall features a snack bar with mini fridge and shelves filled with board games. Above it is a gallery with a combination of vintage fashion artwork
Jillian Dodd (Sex (The Keatyn Chronicles #11))
I gave Kangaroo Joe his nickname because all I could find when I looked him up was that he'd won a kangaroo cooking challenge at one of those bars that specializes in cooking exotic meats," Nia chirped. "Kangaroos are the deer of Australia," said Kangaroo Joe. "Okay." I glanced over at Potbelly and Loafers. "And Vanilla Joe? "His signature recipe on his food truck involves a vanilla sauce on a hot dog," Nia said. "It's an artisan sausage, not a hot dog," said Vanilla Joe. "And the sauce is technically an aioli." "Okay, Vanilla Joe," Kel said. Their lips twitched, and I suspected the reasoning behind his nickname had nothing to do with the vanilla sauce on his food truck. "It's the season of the Joes," Nia said. "Oh! I think I just heard the door open." Over the next couple of hours, I ate my weight in cheese and met four of the other five contestants. There was Ernesto, a serious-looking guy in his thirties who cooked Tex-Mex, heavy on the Mex. Oliver, who cooked California cuisine. Mercedes, who cooked modern Filipino food. Megan, a solidly built woman with a buzz cut who cooked what she called "eclectic food" with a Chinese twist.
Amanda Elliot (Sadie on a Plate)
It wasn’t until she arrived in New York that she experienced the sense of homecoming she hadn’t known she was missing. The first time she saw the city, it was as if something exploded in her chest—it was that visceral, that immediate a falling in love. New York didn’t feel like a city to her; it felt like a country. The nation-state of New York, where the world’s restless and ambitious gathered, where the misfits and the misunderstood arrived—and the city didn’t so much welcome them as shift just a tiny bit to accommodate them, to test them, to see if they had the right stuff. And if you passed the test, then all of it was there for the taking—the joyful riot of color and smells of Jackson Heights, the eclectic streets of Greenwich Village, the elusive tranquility of Prospect Park, the benches at the Battery, where one could sit undisturbed and stare at the “lady of the harbor.” Smita remembered what Shannon had once said: “This city is like some giant social experiment conducted every single day. This place should be a fucking powder keg—but somehow, it’s not.
Thrity Umrigar (Honor)
Their association with the hearth, from the legendary birth of Servius Tullius onward, kept these gods close both to the women who managed the household and to the slaves who prepared the food. By contrast, the grander shrines in the public rooms of the house (especially but not exclusively the atrium) only very rarely featured paintings of the lares, genius, or snakes so typical of kitchen cults. Instead, these shrines contained small statues of the gods (either of bronze or rendered in a variety of other materials) cultivated by the family, deities known collectively as the penates, which is to say gods worshipped by a kin group.12 These deities included an eclectic mixture of the gods of local public cults (such as Venus the patron deity of Pompeii or Mercury the god of trade) with others of personal or gentilicial significance to the family.13 While small statues of lares could frequently be found here, their religious function was different than their role in the kitchen. In other words, the main focus of the shrines in the atrium was not on lares, although these familiar gods were usually invited to every religious occasion in the house.
Harriet I. Flower (The Dancing Lares and the Serpent in the Garden: Religion at the Roman Street Corner)
It also helps to have a wide base of knowledge on all sorts of things that might seem to be unrelated to the problem—the more eclectic your storehouse of information, the more possibilities for unexpected connections.
Warren Berger (A More Beautiful Question: The Power of Inquiry to Spark Breakthrough Ideas)
The neighborhood of Indian Village lay just twelve blocks west of Hurlbut, but it was a different world altogether. The four grand streets of Burns, Iroquois, Seminole, and Adams (even in Indian Village the White Man had taken half the names) were lined with stately houses built in eclectic styles. Red-brick Georgian rose next to English Tudor, which gave onto French Provincial. The houses in Indian Village had big yards, important walkways, picturesquely oxidizing cupolas, lawn jockeys (whose days were numbered), and burglar alarms (whose popularity was only just beginning). My grandfather remained silent, however, as he toured his son’s impressive new home. “How do you like the size of this living room?” Milton was asking him. “Here, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Tessie and I want you and Ma to feel like this is your house, too. Now that you’re retired—” “What do you mean retired?” “Okay, semiretired. Now that you can take it a little bit easy, you’ll be able to do all the things you always wanted to do. Look, in here’s the library. You want to come over and work on your translations, you can do it right here. How about that table? Big enough for you? And the shelves are built right into the wall.” Pushed out of the daily operations at the Zebra Room, my grandfather began to spend his days driving around the city. He drove downtown to the Public Library to read the foreign newspapers. Afterward, he stopped to play backgammon at a coffee house in Greektown. At fifty-four, Lefty Stephanides was still in good shape. He walked three miles a day for exercise. He ate sensibly and had less of a belly than his son. Nevertheless
Jeffrey Eugenides (Middlesex)
The artist is the master of his universe, often choosing his own themes, colors, shapes, materials, and images. The art therapist encourages individuals not to judge themselves, to let their work flow. Participants learn that self-expression becomes the most important aspect of creative work. The art doesn’t have to be perfect; each person’s designs are unique. The concept, that we are allowed to experiment and make mistakes, is crucial in the development of self-esteem. When individuals acknowledge that they don’t have to be perfect, they are better able to accept their perceived flaws and “themselves as a whole.” They are often able to identify and focus on strengths instead of weaknesses.
Susan Buchalter (Raising Self-Esteem in Adults: An Eclectic Approach with Art Therapy, CBT and DBT Based Techniques)
Shop Art- Nancy Iannitelli artist American Born 1950, Framingham Massachusetts. At an early age, Nancy studied portrait painting with an Old World Masters approach. In recent years, Nancy's varied style and broad skill-set defined her as “eclectic." However, upon delving into the immense collection she’s created, over 40 years of study and practice, her style today has been mainly larger sizes of abstract and expressionist work. While it’s true that she boasts a wealth of conventional, crowd-pleasing showpieces in her portfolio, more recently her artistic vigor has skyrocketed with works of Abstract Expressionism, motivated by a newfound sentiment of artistic freedom. As noted by one of her Chicago metropolitan art collectors, "One ascertains, quickly, that Nancy Iannitelli is simply one of those incredulously talented people who can use any raw assemblage of media elements to produce a masterpiece.
To be eclectic one must agree with diversity and stamina
Michael S. McKinney
Finally, we must once and for all get rid of the idea that Truth is the exclusive possession of any one school of thought or practice. There is a little good in almost all schools and methods; and the most good is always obtained by analyzing the different theories and methods, and then taking the essence of all that is best, discarding the waste material. This is the true scientific method-the "eclectic" method, combining the best of the many forms and phases examined; selecting the best in each, and combining this in one general system and method. Any other plan results in narrowness and bigotry, both of which is quite unscientific, and quite contrary to common sense.
William Walker Atkinson (How to Heal Oneself and Others: Mental Therapeutics)
Not long after, Adam left for vacation in Hanalei Bay, on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. Hanalei Bay is a surfing mecca that maintains an eclectic vibe. The celebrities and CEOs who visit try to tread lightly. One morning, two start-up employees who worked at tech companies back on the mainland were paddling out to sea when they spotted Adam in the water nearby. He was flat on his board, holding on to a pair of ropes attached to the back of two surfboards, from which two local guides were pulling him out to the waves. It was the surfing equivalent of a cross-country skier holding on to someone else’s pole—or the start-up equivalent, his fellow surfers noted, of propelling yourself with a $100 billion venture capital cannon. Back in the Hamptons, Adam kept a motorized surfboard. A few days later, Adam was
Reeves Wiedeman (Billion Dollar Loser: The Epic Rise and Spectacular Fall of Adam Neumann and WeWork)
It is at the heart of my research: black women are rational and human. Working from that assumption, I work my way analytically through political theory, economics, history, sociology, and culture. It rarely fails me. I thought about this rarity recently. Donald Trump's election had been one thing. There was clearly as aspect of race and gender at play. Women, some of them black, weighed in on what it meant that 53 percent of the white women who voted did so for Trump. But, as Trump's eclectic, manic style of governance set in, public discussion turned to ideas about Russia and fascism and economic anxiety. I understand all of these issues as ones to which black women contribute meaningful analysis.
Tressie McMillan Cottom (Thick: And Other Essays)
A common feature of country or eclectic interiors is a multipurpose hall bench that combines seating, coat pegs, hat shelf, and basket storage (for gloves, mittens, shoes, and scarves).
Ellen S. Fisher (New York School of Interior Design: Home: The Foundations of Enduring Spaces)
The best political weapon is the weapon of terror. Cruelty commands respect. Men may hate us. But, we don't ask for their love; only for their fear.” Heinrich Himmler
Stewart Anděl (Notorious Nazi Doctors (The Eclectic Collection Book 4))
Gautam Bhatia, an eclectic architect, wrote a series of articles for India Magazine on ‘Punjabi Chippendale’ and ‘Sindhi Baroque’ that well described that period of real estate growth.
Malvika Singh (Perpetual City)
your job is to be honest and to try not to be too boring. However, if you must choose between being eclectic and various or being repetitious and boring, be repetitious and boring. Most good poets are, if read very long at one sitting.
Linda Anderson (Creative Writing: A Workbook with Readings)
Refreshing new eclectic mix of short stories from Ireland
Darren Moore (Five Incredible Short Stories)
thunder-n-lightning—a chilled mix of cucumbers and onions marinated in spiced vinegar—baked beans, biscuits the size of a man’s fist, corn on the cob, and the holy trinity of cold salads: pasta, potato, and pimento cheese.
Molly Harper (Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck (Southern Eclectic, #0.5))
people in pain were easy to mistake for assholes.
Molly Harper (Save a Truck, Ride a Redneck (Southern Eclectic, #0.5))
tradition and Edie couldn’t be happier about it. The inn had been Paul’s idea, but she’d taken to it with gusto. With each month that passed after they arrived in the north, Edie had embraced a new aspect of their adventure. She’d worked with the architect they’d found in Brisbane to put together the best possible design. She’d selected every paint colour, each item of furniture, and the eclectic decorative items that were scattered over tables, buffets, mantles, and hung on walls. As it all came together, she’d embraced it, learned to love it in a way she hadn’t imagined she could. Keith loved it there as well. He spent much of each day traipsing through the sand to build sandcastles or cubbies. They’d bought him a book on botany and bird life for his last birthday, and she often found him sitting with it in his lap as he studied a bird or plant in front of him. He’d become a precocious, intelligent, and curious little boy, and being with him made her heart sing. Seeing their little family seated around the small dining table she’d set up in the kitchen, often brought a lump to her throat. They’d done the impossible, created a life out of the remnants evil had left them. And they were happy. Guests milled about behind them in the sitting room. The smell of apple cider filled the air. Paul had insisted she make it for the guests, though she’d assured him that a hot Australian Christmas didn’t need apple cider, it required
Lilly Mirren (One Summer in Italy (Waratah Inn #2))
Why couldn’t this kid be palling around with
Molly Harper (Ain't She a Peach (Southern Eclectic, #2))
for Charles was dumb and the bourgeois author eclectic and erudite, and he hated stupidity (or what he took to be such) with the same hatred he harbored for that sin which he, a bourgeois through and through, would not forgive even Emma, his beloved, his transformed
Jean Améry (Charles Bovary, Country Doctor: Portrait of a Simple Man)
Like such eclectic predecessors as Philip K. Dick, James Tiptree, Jr., Jorge Luis Borges, Ursula K. Le Guin, Margaret Atwood, Haruki Murakami, China Miéville, and Kazuo Ishiguro, Chiang has explored conventional tropes of science fiction in highly unconventional ways . . . Likely to linger in the memory the way riddles may linger—teasing, tormenting, illuminating, thrilling.’ Joyce Carol Oates, New Yorker
Ted Chiang (Exhalation)
A true eclectic, as it would be expressed nowadays, Gringoire was one of those firm and lofty, moderate and calm spirits, which always know how to bear themselves amid all circumstances (stare in dimidio rerum), and who are full of reason and of liberal philosophy, while still setting store by cardinals. A rare, precious, and never interrupted race of philosophers to whom wisdom, like another Ariadne, seems to have given a clew of thread which they have been walking along unwinding since the beginning of the world, through the labyrinth of human affairs. One finds them in all ages, ever the same; that is to say, always according to all times. And, without reckoning our Pierre Gringoire, who may represent them in the fifteenth century if we succeed in bestowing upon him the distinction which he deserves, it certainly was their spirit which animated Father du Breul, when he wrote, in the sixteenth, these naively sublime words, worthy of all centuries: "I am a Parisian by nation, and a Parrhisian in language, for parrhisia in Greek signifies liberty of speech; of which I have made use even towards messeigneurs the cardinals, uncle and brother to Monsieur the Prince de Conty, always with respect to their greatness, and without offending any one of their suite, which is much to say.
Victor Hugo (Complete Works of Victor Hugo)
Molly Harper (Peachy Flippin' Keen (Southern Eclectic, #1.5))
Chef Fany Gerson opened Dough in Bed-Stuy in 2010, and her big, billowy, brioche-style doughnuts have spread across the city and are now available at dozens of third-party locations (including Smorgasburg, which is where we first sampled the bad boys). With delectable flavors like blood orange, hibiscus, and toasted coconut, inspired by Fany's Latin American heritage, to know Dough is to love it. Naturally, Anarchy in a Jar supports local and family farmers- this is Brooklyn! A lesser credo just wouldn't cut it. The small-batch condiments company was started in 2009 by Laena McCarthy and includes deliciously eclectic offerings like grapefruit & smoked salt marmalade, cherry balsamic jam, and beer mustard.
Amy Thomas (Brooklyn in Love: A Delicious Memoir of Food, Family, and Finding Yourself)
all hat, no cattle’?” she asked. “Same concept applies to boat purchases.
Molly Harper (Peachy Flippin' Keen (Southern Eclectic, #1.5))
Ignore her. She’s two Peaches in,” Margot told him, bemused.
Molly Harper (Peachy Flippin' Keen (Southern Eclectic, #1.5))
wore a bemused expression
Molly Harper (Ain't She a Peach (Southern Eclectic, #2))
Carl Jung was a man of eclectic interests and this is reflected in the prolific nature of his writings. But of all he wrote one topic stands alone as the most important to him and this is the question of how one can cultivate a great character. For Jung recognized the truth to Heraclitus’ statement that our “character is destiny”. The blows of fate may be kind or cruel and other people may treat us poorly or well, but our experience of these things and what we do with what we are given is dependent on the state of our character.
Academy of Ideas
For instance, Le Corbusier and Amedee Ozenfant proposed a theory of painting and architecture which would be based primarily on Platonic forms: cones, spheres, cylinders, cubes, etc. They argued that only these simple forms were universal, and that they would in fact set off "identical sensations" in "everyone on earth- a Frenchman, a Negro, a Laplander”. In essence they were arguing for a universal language of the emotions- Purisme which would cut through the Babel of contending, eclectic languages. The individual words of this language would be the psychophysical constants found by psychologists. A flat line would mean "repose," a blue color "sadness,'' a jagged, diagonal line "activity,'' and so on until the whole gamut of emotions” (82>83) had been built up. They argued, as Plato often did, that nature had constructed within us a fixed language based on efficiency, geometry and function; this language of the emotions was the most economical and pure one-hence Purisme.
Charles Jencks (Adhocism: The case for improvisation)
The Internet: facilitating miscommunication at the speed of light since the late twentieth century.
Colin F. Reynolds (The Eclectic)
Fortunately, Captain Helena Thorn had acquired a reputation for an eclectic taste in sexual companions and a fast turnover
Sophie Angmering (Nell Thorn (Galaxy Elite Fleet, #2))
Sixth, show a deep acquaintance with the same books, magazines, blogs, movies, and plays — as well as the daily life experiences — that your audience knows. Mention them and interpret them in light of Scripture. But be sure to read and experience urban life across a spectrum of opinion. There is nothing more truly urban than showing you know, appreciate, and digest a great diversity of human opinion. During my first years in New York, I regularly read The New Yorker (sophisticated secular), The Atlantic (eclectic), The Nation (older, left-wing secular), The Weekly Standard (conservative but erudite), The New Republic (eclectic and erudite), Utne Reader (New Age alternative), Wired (Silicon Valley libertarian), First Things (conservative Catholic). As I read, I imagine dialogues about Christianity with the writers. I almost never read a magazine without getting a scrap of a preaching idea.
Timothy J. Keller (Center Church: Doing Balanced, Gospel-Centered Ministry in Your City)
Postmodernity is said to be a culture of fragmentary sensations, eclectic nostalgia, disposable simulacra and promiscuous superficiality, in which the traditionally valued qualities of depth, coherence, meaning, originality and authenticity are evacuated or dissolved amid the random swirl of empty signals. (Baldick Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms 1990)
P.S. You’ll never get in trouble if you say “I love you” at least once a day.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
On ne règne sur les âmes que par le calme
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
HANDLING DESIRE—THREE STRATEGIES: DHARANAS 73, 74 AND 75 This set of three dharanas on desire is useful for sadhana and illustrates the Vijnanabhairava’s universal and eclectic approach. Dharana 73: Having observed a desire that has sprung up, the aspirant should put an end to it immediately. It will be absorbed in that very place from which it arose. Here, a desire, having arisen, is renounced by the aspirant. This is the yogic approach of cutting off unwanted vikalpas. It is effective if you have a strong mind or a weak desire. Dharana 74: When desire or knowledge (or activity) has not arisen in me, then what am I in that condition? In verity, I am (in that condition) that Reality Itself (i.e., Consciousness-bliss). (Therefore the aspirant should always contemplate ‘I am Consciousness-bliss’.) Thus, he will be absorbed in that Reality and will become identified with it. Here, the meditator observes his condition before desire, knowledge or activity has arisen. He identifies with the transcendental and not the personal reality. This is the Vedantic approach. Dharana 75: When a desire or knowledge (or activity) appears, the aspirant should, with the mind withdrawn from all objects (of desire, knowledge, etc.) fix his mind on it (desire, knowledge, etc.) as the very Self, then he will have the realisation of the essential Reality. Here is the Shaivite or Tantric approach. Instead of getting rid of the desire (as in 73) or focussing on the reality prior to desire (74), he focuses on the desire itself, seeing it as the Self, as Chiti. He turns his mind away from the thing that is desired to focus on the feeling of desire itself. Through contemplative awareness he will experience that desire as a wave or pulsation of Consciousness. In comparison, in the yogic approach, the desire is seen as a problem to be chopped off. In the Vedantic approach it is seen as an illusory superimposition on the underlying reality. In the Shaivite approach, the desire is fully entertained and honoured as Chiti Itself. While I am clearly enchanted by the Shaivite approach, all three of these weapons should be in the arsenal of a great meditator.
Shankarananda (Consciousness Is Everything: The Yoga of Kashmir Shaivism)
Will you give my kite a lift?" said my little nephew to his sister, after trying in vain to make it fly by dragging it along the ground. Lucy very kindly took it up and threw it into the air, but, her brother neglecting to run off at the same moment, the kite fell down again. 2. "Ah! now, how awkward you are!" said the little fellow. "It was your fault entirely," answered his sister. "Try again, children," said I. 3. Lucy once more took up the kite. But now John was in too great a hurry; he ran off so suddenly that he twitched the kite out of her hand, and it fell flat as before. "Well, who is to blame now?" asked Lucy. "Try again," said I. 4. They did, and with more care; but a side
William Holmes McGuffey (McGuffey's Fourth Eclectic Reader)
We presently found a nice grassplot, at one side of which I took my stand; and all things being prepared, I tossed the kite up just as little John ran off.
William Holmes McGuffey (McGuffey's Fourth Eclectic Reader)
I won't try any more,
William Holmes McGuffey (McGuffey's Fourth Eclectic Reader)
Following Big Boss Lady’s dictate to write about offbeat places in Edinburgh—I found Arkangel and Felon, an eclectic clothing boutique, the Voodoo Rooms, a chic fringe bar with a burlesque show, and Angels with Bagpipes, a bijou wine bar on the Royal Mile.
Leah Marie Brown (Finding It (It Girls, #2))
He glanced down at the movie poster art that had been skillfully airbrushed not his custom apron, thanks to Lani's interesting assistant, Dre. He had thought the eclectic collection clever and a fitting contribution to the tone the show was trying to strike, being set in a cupcakery, and featuring its whimsical owner. 'Whimsical she might be,' Baxter thought, 'but when it comes to smoldering sensuality, even Marilyn Monroe in her movie star prime doesn't hold a candle to little Miss Snow White.' He'd been attracted to her drive, her focus, her steady demeanor and steadier hand. She'd been steel wrapped in sunshine, a dependable beacon of light he could rely on and trust in his always loud, rushed, chaotic world. Now he looked at her, with the warm, buttery, bakery sweet scents filling the air, accented with rich, dark, chocolate undertones... and all he could think about was adding the taste of her to the mix.
Donna Kauffman (Sugar Rush (Cupcake Club #1))
One of the problems with having time to read all that you want is that your interests become so eclectic it's hard to focus.
Karen Arnold (Lives of Promise: What Becomes of High School Valedictorians: A Fourteen-year Study of Achievement and Life Choices (Jossey Bass Social and Behavioral Science Series))
If you put a stake in the ground at Kepler’s, an eclectic bookstore run by pacifist Roy Kepler that was located on El Camino Real in Menlo Park beginning in the 1950s, and drew a five-mile circle around it, you would have captured Engelbart’s Augment research group at SRI, McCarthy’s Stanford Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, and Xerox’s Palo Alto Research Center, as well as the hobbyists who made up the People’s Computer Company and the Homebrew Computer Club. It
John Markoff (What the Dormouse Said: How the Sixties Counterculture Shaped the Personal Computer Industry)
Weak, small minded men torturing and murdering women in order to keep their own power.
M. Edward McNally (The Indie Eclective: The Halloween Collection)
The great adventures of life, the surprise of strangers, of strangeness, of the electric and eclectic moments of happenstance, and also of extreme ambition, are slowly being removed by code as a path to a new contentment. We are using the acceleration of information transmission to decelerate changes in our physical world.
Tyler Cowen (The Complacent Class: The Self-Defeating Quest for the American Dream)
It's strange when you no longer recognize yourself.
Caspar Vega (The Eclectic Prince (The Young Men in Pain Quartet, #1))
Weird fiction is a strange beast, an eclectic genre (or subgenre). It originated in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century through the works of authors including Edgar Allan Poe, Arthur Machen, and M. R. James, and has since developed over the course of the last hundred years to encompass new writers such as China Miéville, M. John Harrison and others. Weird fiction is notable for its generic uncertainty; it exists at the boundary between science fiction and horror—perhaps—or between literary fiction and horror—perhaps—or between Lovecraft and whatever happens to be floating close to hand at any given moment—perhaps!
Helen Marshall (Year's Best Weird Fiction, Vol. 4)
. . . I had on . . . black jeggings under a fitted, sleeveless, flowered dress, so he could see my true shape as well as my eclectic style, which gave the middle finger to the coldness of winter.
Eric Jerome Dickey (One Night)
The Middle Mind attempts to find a middle way between the ideological hacks of the right and of the theorized left. Unlike Middle-brow, the Middle Mind does not locate itself between high and low culture. Rather, it asserts its right to speak for high culture indifferent to both the traditionalist right and the academic left. The Middle Mind is pragmatic, plainspoken, populist, contemptuous of the right's narrowness, and incredulous before the left's convolutions. It is adventuresome, eclectic, spiritual, and in general agreement with liberal political assumptions about race, gender, and class.
Curtis White (The Middle Mind: Why Consumer Culture is Turning Us Into the Living Dead)
Hinduism’ is thus the name that foreigners first applied to what they saw as the indigenous religion of India. It embraces an eclectic range of doctrines and practices, from pantheism to agnosticism and from faith in reincarnation to belief in the caste system. But none of these constitutes an obligatory credo for a Hindu: there are none. We have no compulsory dogmas. This is, of course, rather unusual. A Catholic is a Catholic because he believes Jesus was the Son of God who sacrificed himself for Man; a Catholic believes in the Immaculate Conception and the Virgin Birth, offers confession, genuflects in church and is guided by the Pope and a celibate priesthood. A Muslim must believe that there is no God but Allah and that Muhammad is His Prophet. A Jew cherishes his Torah or Pentateuch and his Talmud; a Parsi worships at a Fire Temple; a Sikh honours the teachings of the Guru Granth Sahib above all else. There is no Hindu equivalent to any of these beliefs. There are simply no binding requirements to being a Hindu. Not even a belief in God.
Shashi Tharoor (Why I am a Hindu)
Sub-Zero I am a genteel wretch, not without gaiety or self-respect, a ‘ragamuffin top’, so to speak, dining daily off an eclectic tasters menu culled from hunter green dumpsters of Zagat 29s. It’s really not a bad life, a bit of an adventure too, like the time I went fishing for bream from a mokoro in the Okavanga Delta and a hippo nearly tipped my dugout because I inadvertently came between the mom and her calf. I pissed my pants and returned for a change of wardrobe and cocktails to my five star safari tent at Camp Moreni, a charming hideaway with a teak wardrobe, designer linens, woven rugs and en-suite bathroom. Lately, I’ve sought shelter in a Sub-Zero Pro 48 cardboard box which I’ve accented with freshly plucked Lilies of the Valley. Sure, it’s smaller than the GE 25 cubic but you can’t compare the stiffness of the corrugation, the A-fluting and 400# test strength. Hey, without our standards what are we?
Beryl Dov
Never put off till tomorrow what you can do to-day. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself. Never spend your money before you have it.
Shaun Usher (Lists of Note: An Eclectic Collection Deserving of a Wider Audience)
The office building held an eclectic mix. Gynecologist. Electrolysis. Subpoena delivery service. Nutritionist. Women-only health club. Not surprisingly Win was standing near the entrance to the women-only health club. Myron approached.
Harlan Coben (Fade Away (Myron Bolitar, #3))
the original Muslim experience in India was shaped by the liberal, eclectic Sufis and part of the social transformation triggered by them.
Saba Naqvi (IN GOOD FAITH)
A person can only see their shadow if they awaken their eclectic soul. Self-understanding commences by admitting to the shadowy presence of the primordial unconsciousness. The unconscious mind is a magical concoction of logical and irrational thoughts and feelings.
Kilroy J. Oldster (Dead Toad Scrolls)
is not poetry a secret language — a sigh answering a sigh?
Ollie Bowen (On the Occasion of a Wedding: Eclectic Love Poems)
of the seven and one half quintillion grains of sand — only you could seed my pearl
Ollie Bowen (On the Occasion of a Wedding: Eclectic Love Poems)
Rima was employed in the Goncalves Library, a small and impoverished specialist archive in twenty-first century Seville, Spain, which houses an eclectic collection of books and manuscripts. There are hidden treasures a the Goncalves, including a dusty discovery that Rima unearthed, an English commonplace book from the late sixteenth century. Rima was forced out of her job there and found employment at the Congregation's library on the Isola della Stella, in Venice, after the previous librarian and secretary (traditionally always a human) died of a heart attack.
Deborah Harkness (The World of All Souls: A Complete Guide to A Discovery of Witches, Shadow of Night, and the Book of Life)
Les salons—prestigious social gatherings of prominent, intellectually minded people—were rooted in Italy’s salones, smartly appointed rooms within Roman palazzi with suitably dazzling façades. Seventeenth and eighteenth-century France, however, deserves credit for building the cultural cachet of this pleasurable way to pass the day. In salons equally luxueux, as the French would say, Parisian men and women from the literary establishment, along with philosophers and luminaries from the worlds of art, music and politics, would frequently meet to discuss the latest news, exchange ideas and gossip, all at the invitation of refined, wealthy women known as salonnières. In their key role, hosts chose an eclectic mix of guests with care, and then ideally served as moderators, selecting topics that would generate conversation if not spirited debates. To date, though, even historians cannot agree as to what was, and what was not, considered appropriate to talk about. Yet, they do concur that women were the cornerstones of les salons, funneling fresh social and political ideas into a nation where men dominated public life, held bias against women and until 1944 denied women the right to vote. Among the distinguished seventeenth-century salonnières—with set parameters that she expected guests to follow—was French society hostess Catherine de Vivonne, the marquise de Rambouillet (1588–1665), known as Madame de Rambouillet. A century later, Marie Thérèse Rodet Geoffrin (1699–1777) would host twice weekly many of the most influential philosophes (avant-garde intellectuals) and encyclopédistes (writers) in her elegant Parisian townhouse on the now luxury-laden, boutique-lined rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. As a leading figure of the French Enlightenment—the movement that promoted liberty and equality, strongly influencing our own notions about human rights and the role of government—her growing importance earned her international recognition.
Betty Lou Phillips (The Allure of French & Italian Decor)
which there was already installed a lady with a massive face, old and ugly, with a masculine expression, very much in her Sunday best, who was reading the Revue des Deux Mondes. Notwithstanding her commonness, she was eclectic in her tastes, and I found amusement in asking myself to what social category she could belong; I at once concluded that she must be the manager of some large brothel, a procuress on holiday. Her face, her manner, proclaimed the fact aloud.
Marcel Proust (In Search Of Lost Time (All 7 Volumes) (ShandonPress))
But whether or not you accept the premise that the average media consumer experiences more serendipitous discoveries thanks to the Web, there can be little doubt that the Web is an unrivaled medium for serendipity if you are actively seeking it out. If you want to build a daily reading list of eclectic and diverse perspectives, you can stitch one together in your RSS reader or your bookmarks bar in a matter of minutes, for no cost, while sitting on your couch. Just as important, you can use the Web to fill out the context when you do stumble across some interesting new topic.
Steven Johnson (Where Good Ideas Come From: The Natural History of Innovation)
of a theory scientific rather than artistic in its origin. We see him in an early portrait an imitator of Goya, but without Goya’s wit or spontaneity. In his large composition we see him produce a work as cleverly eclectic and as sophisticated as some Italian pictures of the seventeenth century. And lastly we have his purely theoretic experiments which are unintelligible to the eye and the mind. Forgetting that these are meant to represent anything, we see very little abstract beauty of colour or design in most of them, although the still life is an exception. They depress us as if they were diagrams of a science about which we know nothing; and whereas in “La Femme au Pot de Moutarde” a human form is obscurely discernible, it seems, but for the obscurity, to be commonplace. He has every right to make his experiments, and they may perhaps prove useful to other artists in the future. He is, in fact, such a scientific experimentor as Paolo Uccello might have been if he had had no original talent of his own, or if in him a slight original talent had been overlaid by intellectual curiosity.
Patrick O'Brian (Picasso: A Biography)
Barris spoke longingly about the comedic collective that Judd Apatow had built, and said that he wanted to create something like it—“a contemporary, racially eclectic, gender-eclectic, experience-eclectic salon.
Emily Nussbaum (I Like to Watch: Arguing My Way Through the TV Revolution)
there is a burgeoning field of science populated by an eclectic community of cutting-edge thinkers willing to look critically at what we loosely call mind/body healing. After spending the past few years immersed in their work, I have finally started to understand the healing practices I witnessed during my childhood. These scientists are casting light on the brain’s unique power—for good or ill—to essentially trick itself.
Erik Vance (Suggestible You: The Curious Science of Your Brain's Ability to Deceive, Transform, and Heal)
The fox—the thinker who knows many little things, draws from an eclectic array of traditions, and is better able to improvise in response to changing events—is more successful in predicting the future than the hedgehog, who knows one big thing, toils devotedly within one tradition, and imposes formulaic solutions on ill-defined problems.
Eric Greitens (Resilience: Hard-Won Wisdom for Living a Better Life)
Set foot in his classroom, and you’ll see that he hasn’t quite given up on these dreams. True to his compulsive nature and eclectic taste, he punctuates his courses with entertaining routines to keep his students engaged, playing four songs at the start of each class and tossing candy bars to the first students who shout out the correct answers to music trivia. This is how a poster of a rapper ended up on his wall. “If you want to engage your audience, if you really want to grab their attention, you have to know the world they live in, the music they listen to, the movies they watch,” he explains. “To most of these kids, accounting is like a root canal. But when they hear me quote Usher or Cee Lo Green, they say to themselves, ‘Whoa, did that fat old white-haired guy just say what I thought he said?’ And then you’ve got ’em.
Adam M. Grant (Give and Take: A Revolutionary Approach to Success)
His notes to the outside world offered a window on an active, sympathetic, eclectic mind.
H.W. Brands
John Newton, the repentant former slaver, preached the gospel in his parish of Olney; created the Eclectic Society, whose members asked questions like “What is the best way of propagating the Gospel in the East Indies?”; and penned the famous lyrics of “Amazing Grace”: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see.
John D. Woodbridge (Church History, Volume Two: From Pre-Reformation to the Present Day: The Rise and Growth of the Church in Its Cultural, Intellectual, and Political Context)
These ideas returned in various guises in complexity theory, emphasizing the general theme of adaptation. Thus he introduced into strategic theory the concept of open complex adaptive systems struggling to survive in a contested, dynamic, non-linear world pregnant with uncertainty, constantly attempting to improve and update its schemata and repertoire of actions and its position in the ecology of the organization. Such an eclectic holistic approach became an argument in itself: he considered it a prerequisite for sound strategic thinking. He wanted to inculcate his audience not so much with a doctrine as with an understanding of the dynamics of war and strategy and a style of thinking about that dynamic that differed from the deterministic mindset that prevailed in the strategic discourse of the 1960s and 1970s. Applying his argument in practice – constantly showing the dynamic of move and countermove, stripping bare, analyzing, the essence of certain strategies, and then recombining them with new insights and hypotheses – allowed him to expand and go ‘deeper’ into the essence of strategy and war than previous strategists.
Frans P.B. Osinga (Science, Strategy and War: The Strategic Theory of John Boyd (Strategy and History))
Sub-Zero I am a genteel wretch, not without gaiety or self-respect, a ‘ragamuffin top’, so to speak,dining daily off an eclectic tasters menu culled from hunter green dumpsters of Zagat 29s. It’s really not a bad life, a bit of an adventure too, like the time I went fishing for bream from a mokoro in the Okavanga Delta and a hippo nearly tipped my dugout because I inadvertently came between the mom and her calf. I pissed my pants and returned for a change of wardrobe and cocktails to my five star safari tent at Camp Moreni,a charming hideaway with a teak wardrobe, designer linens, woven rugs and en-suite bathroom. Lately, I’ve sought shelter in a Sub-Zero cardboard box which I’ve accented with freshly plucked Lilies of the Valley. Sure, it’s smaller than the GE 25 cubic but you can’t compare the stiffness of the corrugation, the A-fluting and 400# test strength. Hey, without our standards what are we?
Beryl Dov
We think its bad enough to send Elvis Presley in the Army, but if you cut his side burns off we will just die!
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
1 Corinthians 9 passage. In verse 22, Paul used three words.” Peter picked up the marker and wrote the words, I have become. I have become. “These are very important words because what Paul was saying is that his ability to construct such an eclectic circle of friends was a learned skill, and the way that he learned it was by immersing himself into the social networks and environments of others.
Bryan Loritts (Right Color, Wrong Culture: The Type of Leader Your Organization Needs to Become Multiethnic (Leadership Fable))
Censorship is the tool of those who have the need to hide actualities from themselves and from others.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
think I have found out (here’s presumption!) the simple way by which species become exquisitely adapted to various ends.
Shaun Usher (Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience)
Howard Rheingold: And it was all just words on a screen! R. U. Sirius: These were just text-based bulletin boards, but in many ways they were superior to social media today. You had really great conversations with extraordinary people. Larry Brilliant: Because it was Stewart, he attracted people who had these incredibly eclectic minds, and they were phenomenal writers, people who think in paragraphs. And the writing was fantastic! Kevin Kelly: That made for a very literate salon-like environment where people who could write were writing—and writing well and writing very directly. So some of the best writing I think of that decade was happening on The Well. Larry Brilliant: So just the opposite of Twitter. Lee Felsenstein: The Well, for its first five years at least, was the San Francisco bohemian scene online, where you could join the roundtable of whatever-it-was. There was a whole bunch of roundtables. And in there were the people who were the ones you had read about and so forth. Or had firsthand connections with the people you read about. San Francisco had had such a scene since the nineteenth century. And here it came direct to your home at your fingertips.
Adam Fisher (Valley of Genius: The Uncensored History of Silicon Valley (As Told by the Hackers, Founders, and Freaks Who Made It Boom))
They had slid in between half a dozen asteroids before they reached their intended target—a monstrous rock that must be a mile in diameter. And there, sprawled upon its back was a series of orange and gray structures, oddly uniform in their eclectic nature.
E.B. Dawson (Under the Skin (The Creation of Jack, #3))
do we love, or am i but a blue tangerine?
Ollie Bowen (On the Occasion of a Wedding: Eclectic Love Poems)
its sting is what makes it beautiful.
Ollie Bowen (On the Occasion of a Wedding: Eclectic Love Poems)
One day The Universe Will be pleased by The fruit of man's works Excerpt from: 'Jacob's Ascent, New Collected poems by Mekael' © Mekael Shane 2019
Mekael Shane
Teachers of philosophy tie their dewy-eyed students in knots attempting to answer the elusive riddle, ‘What is the meaning of life?’ It is a classic example of the trick question since there is no pat answer to this timeless paradox that we colloquially refer to as 'life.' No man, woman, or child is identical. Similar to other animals, we each are the product of our entire womb of bodily cravings and comprised of the communal filament of the human mind’s eccentric gyrations. In order to take stock of who we are we must take into account the sensory ingredients of innumerable occurrences that create the tapestry of interwoven sensations making up a rooted way of living. Life is a chummed collection of eclectic personal incidents.
Kilroy J. Oldster (Dead Toad Scrolls)
Bakushan had only been open for a couple of months, but expectations were already sky-high. Still, few people had mentioned the food. Instead, everyone was writing about the up-and-coming chef, Pascal Fox. According to nearly every article, he'd dropped out of college and worked at top French restaurants around the world. Then, at twenty-five and on every "30 under 30" list in existence, he had received an offer to take over L'Escalier, a cathedral-ceilinged white-tablecloth institution in Midtown. But just as New York was ready to inaugurate him into a realm of Immortal Chefs synonymous with a certain level of luxurious precision, Pascal had said he would open a place on his own. He didn't have a location or a concept- or so he'd said in his interviews- just a conviction that he didn't want to fall into the trap of being yet another French chef at another fancy restaurant. So there we were, in front of his brand-new place. It was hard to label it. I had read neo-modernist and Asian-American eclectic. The food was hard to pin down, but the inside was just cool, at least from my sidewalk vantage point. It was 5:45 and already there was a forty-five-minute wait for a spot at one of the communal, no-reservation tables. I looked at the crowd while we waited and saw a couple of girls dressed in tight, short dresses. One of them held a food magazine with Pascal Fox's face on the cover against a blurred kitchen background. I stole a peek at the photo. His eyes were a deep black-brown with a streak of gold. His hair was charmingly messed up, longish bits going every which way, casting shadows on his sculpted cheekbones. That was the other thing. Pascal was exceedingly good-looking. I hadn't paid attention to the hype around his looks, but seeing these girls swoon over his photo made his handsomeness hard to ignore. And... the pictures. I'm only human.
Jessica Tom (Food Whore: A Novel of Dining and Deceit)
The room was a deep purple and accented with an eclectic blend of antiques and comfortable furnishings. It was the kind of room that made a person long to grab a book and cozy into the oversized couch for a several hours.
Kelly Risser (Never Forgotten (Never Forgotten, #1))