Hazard Hunt Quotes

It's amazing how often "right" is mere shorthand for "safe.

Some children like how-to-do-it or all-about-everything type books, but I suspect parents like them best because they look so educational. These really should be in a separate category because they don't usually classify and literature but are more nearly manuals of information. Paul Hazard suggests that instead of pouring out so much knowledge on a child's soul that it is crushed, we should plant a seed of an idea that will develop from the inside.

Es geht die alte Sage, dass König Midas lange Zeit nach dem weisen Silen, dem Begleiter des Dionysus, im Walde gejagt habe, ohne ihn zu fangen. Als er ihm endlich in die Hände gefallen ist, fragt der König, was für den Menschen das Allerbeste und Allervorzüglichste sei. Starr und unbeweglich schweigt der Dämon; bis er, durch den König gezwungen, endlich unter gellem Lachen in diese Worte ausbricht: `Elendes Eintagsgeschlecht, des Zufalls Kinder und der Mühsal, was zwingst du mich dir zu sagen, was nicht zu hören für dich das Erspriesslichste ist? Das Allerbeste ist für dich gänzlich unerreichbar: nicht geboren zu sein, nicht zu sein, nichts zu sein. Das Zweitbeste aber ist für dich - bald zu sterben. According to the old story, King Midas had long hunted wise Silenus, Dionysus' companion, without catching him. When Silenus had finally fallen into his clutches, the king asked him what was the best and most desirable thing of all for mankind. The daemon stood still, stiff and motionless, until at last, forced by the king, he gave a shrill laugh and spoke these words: 'Miserable, ephemeral race, children of hazard and hardship, why do you force me to say what it would be much more fruitful for you not to hear? The best of all things is something entirely outside your grasp: not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second-best thing for you — is to die soon.

The interior looked like I expected. Two rooms--a main one and a tiny bedroom. Dusty stuffed fish and moth-eaten elk heads on bare walls. A wood plank floor that seemed as if it hadn’t been swept in years. Cobwebs decorating the ceiling. Furniture that would have been rejected by Goodwill. Mouse droppings everywhere. A few dark furry bat forms hung from the upper eaves. In the city, the place would have been condemned as a public health hazard. Here, it was just a typical hunting shack.

For the lady’s husband to become actively jealous was considered both doltish and dishonorable, a breach of the spirit of courtesy. Yet the record suggests that this was a fairly common occurrence and one of the occupational hazards of being a troubadour. The most famous crime passionnel of the epoch was the murder of Guilhem de Cabestanh, a troubadour knight whose love for the Lady Seremonda aroused the jealousy of her husband, Raimon de Castel-Roussillon. The story goes that Raimon killed Guilhem while he was out hunting, removed the heart from the body, and had it served to his wife for dinner, cooked and seasoned with pepper. Then comes the great confrontation: “And when the lady had eaten of it, RAimon de Castel-Roussillon said unto her: “Know you of what you have eaten?’ And she said, ‘I know not, save that the taste thereof is good and savoury.’ Then he said to her that that she had eaten of was in very truth the head of SIr Guilhem of Cabestanh, and caused the head to be brought before her, that she might the more readily believe it. And when the lady had seen and heard this, she straightway fell into a swoon, and when she was recovered of it, she spake and said: “Of a truth, my Lord, such good meat have you given me that never more will I eat of other.” THen he, hearing this, ran upon her with his sword and would have struck at her head, but the lady ran to a balcony, and cast herself down, and so died.” ...the story is probably apocryphal… grisly details...borrowed from an ancient legend...the Middle Ages believed it and drew the intended moral conclusion-that husbands should leave well enough alone. Raimon was held up to scorn while Guilhem became one of the great heroes of the troubadour epoch.

Another prediction from the disease-avoidance hypothesis of disgust is a gender difference: Since women typically care for their infants and children, they need to protect them from disease, as well as themselves. Women are also more likely to be directly involved in food preparation, so disgust may also lead to more hygienic meals for a woman’s family (Al-Shawaf, Lewis, & Buss, 2017). Women also incur greater risk than do men of contracting diseases from sexual activity, so stronger disgust reactions could protect against those hazards (Fleischman, 2014). On the flip side, high levels of disgust in men may have interfered with the tasks of large-game hunting and warfare, both of which entail exposure to blood, wounds, and dead bodies (Al-Shawaf et al., 2017). Women do find images depicting disease-carrying objects to be more disgusting than men do and also perceive that the risk of disease is greater from those objects than men do (Curtis et al., 2004). Meta-analyses of multiple studies confirm a robust sex difference in both pathogen disgust and sexual disgust (Sparks, Fessler, Chan, Ashokkumar, & Holbrook, 2018). So the next time you witness women being more grossed out than men at the sight of filthy bathrooms, you should have a good handle on explaining why.

We are in the warfighting business, risk is part of the job, and death is an occupational hazard, but not one we take lightly.” Shane Van Aulen - Star Wolves 2023

Walter Wagner, the man who had gone to court to stop the Large Hadron Collider from beginning operations. A serious charge had been leveled: the LHC was a hazard to the very existence of life on earth.   JO: So, roughly speaking, what are the chances the world is going to be destroyed? Is it one in a million, one in a billion?   WW: Well, the best we can say right now is about a one-in-two chance.   JO: Hold on a second. It’s . . . fifty-fifty?   WW: Yeah, fifty-fifty . . . If you have something that can happen, and something that won’t necessarily happen, it’s going to either happen, or it’s going to not happen, and, so, the best guess is one in two.   JO: I’m not sure that’s how probability works, Walter.

Alex has never been very keen on events of the season. I wouldn’t worry about her. As I said, Nicola is a friend. She’ll want to go. One of us has to chaperone her. And, since I’m older and of a higher rank, I get to decide who that will be. Care to hazard a guess, Kit?” His green eyes twinkled with laughter. “Bollocks!” This from Kit, who was not about to accept this particular decision without a fight. “It can’t be me!” “Why not?” Kit paused, clearly searching for a viable excuse to avoid the ball in question. His eyes lit up with excitement when he’d hit on the right thing. “The hunting party I’ve an invitation to is just as viable a location to meet an eligible young lady as any, I daresay. I shall simply tell Mother that.” He looked veritably triumphant. Will

now ringing the superintendent at the field command post, and praying that she was in time. * * * Heart beating like a jack hammer, Nikki eased her way along the rough red-brick wall of the old dental block. Ahead of her, and moving fast, but with a light-footed, almost delicate precision, were Joseph, Dave, Vinnie and the two marksmen. Nikki knew that her solo performance was not only hazardous, it was critical to saving Snipe’s hostages. Even so, she’d never felt so well protected. If anyone could defuse the situation safely, she believed that it was Joseph. As she watched, they disappeared beneath the heavy plastic. She saw in her mind’s eye the turning of the key that they had obtained

No hunt was so hazardous as the pursuit of power.

GOLF (Men’s Journal, 1992) The smooth, long, liquid sweep of a three wood smacking into the equator of a dimpled Titleist … It makes a potent but slightly foolish noise like the fart of a small, powerful nature god. The ball sails away in a beautiful hip or breast of a curve. And I am filled with joy. At least that’s what I’m filled with when I manage to connect. Most of my strokes whiz by the tee the way a drunk passes a truck on a curve or dig into the turf in a manner that is more gardening than golf. But now and then I nail one, and each time I do it’s an epiphany. This is how the Australopithecus felt, one or two million years ago, when he first hit something with a stick. Puny hominoid muscles were amplified by the principles of mechanics so that a little monkey swat suddenly became a great manly engine of destruction able to bring enormous force to bear upon enemy predators, hunting prey, and the long fairway shots necessary to get on the green over the early Pleistocene’s tar pit hazards. Hitting things with a stick is the cornerstone of civilization. Consider all the things that can be improved by hitting them with a stick: veal, the TV, Woody Allen. Having a dozen good sticks at hand, all of them well balanced and expertly made, is one reason I took up golf. I also wanted to show my support for the vice president. I now know for certain that Quayle is smarter than his critics. He’s smart enough to prefer golf to spelling. How many times has a friend called you on a Sunday morning and said, “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go spell potato”? I waited until I was almost forty-five to hit my first golf ball. When I was younger I thought golf was a pointless sport. Of course all sports are pointless unless you’re a professional athlete or a professional athlete’s agent, but complex rules and noisy competition mask the essential inanity of most athletics. Golf is so casual. You just go to the course, miss things, tramp around in the briars, use pungent language, and throw two thousand dollars’ worth of equipment in a pond. Unlike skydiving or rugby, golf gives you leisure to realize it’s pointless. There comes a time in life, however, when all the things that do have a point—career, marriage, exercising to stay fit—start turning, frankly, golflike. And that’s when you’re ready for