Little Blue Encyclopedia Quotes

If you spend hundreds of hours with someone, you have a catalogue of tiny memories. As you live your life, those tiny memories snap and crackle your synapses. It can be overwhelming, like the world is already overlaid with experience.

I'd started jotting down my memories of Vivian. There was so much about her that I knew might be forgotten if I didn't try to preserve it. I didn't want her to disappear from this world, unremembered and unseen. She deserved so much more.

Ranjit: I'm sorry, Ian. I still love Captain Alphonse. Ian: But he's a dirty disappearing dog. Ranjit: You may be right. But we love the dog we love, dirt and all.

You can recite random facts from the encyclopedia until you’re blue in the face, but that does little to advertise your generic facility with information. Similarly, when you meet someone for the first time, you’re more eager to sniff each other out for this generic skill, rather than to exchange the most important information each of you has gathered to this point in your lives. In other words, listeners generally prefer speakers who can impress them wherever a conversation happens to lead, rather than speakers who steer conversations to specific topics where they already know what to say.

Afterlight Sonnet Forget about afterlife, focus on afterlight, light that is left behind, by your deeds of life. We need to paint the world human, not red, blue or red, white and blue. We need to stretch our mind unchained, if the human is to ever come true. Lever of life is believer of life, Fever of love is fervor of love. Speak truth where truth is needed, but to those in pain give a little hug. Never give a lecture unless you're asked, Encyclopedias bear facts, not meaning. Measure of truth is the good it does, Truth without heart is bigotry supreme.

MY LOVE, The day Prometheus breathed life into the new me, was the day you arrived in a little box. A shiny, futuristic black box, Pandora's box, despite my doubts I couldn't help but open it to finally meet you. Doubts, because I was happy with who I was, with who I saw looking at me through the eyes of others I presented myself to in everyday life. But I was seduced by the worlds that were promised to me if I let you into my life, who I would be with you in my pocket. As soon as the lid came off and I swiped my fingers over your radiant surface for the first time, the world and I were bursting at the seams. What a creation we were together, to what sized we grew! My brain an encyclopedia, my body an unerring compass, my eyes and ears reaching infinitely with you as an extension of myself. Through you, I, the cyborg, could enter bewilderingly virtual spaces in which I was presently absent, meanwhile absently present in the material world of boring train rides, waiting lines, and mindless chit chats with others. I felt invincible, transformed into a citizen of the world because of you, an intellectual of unimaginable proportions for the vast sea of knowledge you allowed me to surf on, a public speaker and influencer of significance because my words and visual snippets of my days could be launched into the world with the flick of a finger, likes enticing and confirming me. How intoxicating! How wonderfully, pleasantly, intoxicating! But I can't help but sometimes lie awake at night, my internal clock slowing down with your seductive blue light illuminating my face with 2, 457, 600 (1920×1080) LED suns. In those moments, as my eyes are captivated by your glow, I can't help thinking about the time before you arrived, and how I sometimes miss my low definition self. You were always there, sometimes it feels like we are in fact one — finally reunited with my other Plato's half, fused into not a circle but a perfect black rectangle. Through your eyes I see the world and myself in Ultra-HD, my pixel density has never been so high. But you are sometimes vicious, my dear — a viper, a temptress, when then again with sweet codes you reflect my most beautiful self, and I cannot help but love me through your gaze, then again with suffocating algorithms you fragment my self and blow it up to grotesque self-distortions, hurling me into an endless me-loop, that eventually disgusts and alienates me. In those moments you are a distorting mirror, a frightening black box, a black hole that swallows my attention in ways I can't see through. I see my old self disappearing in the vague, dark reflection of myself, with double chin and dull eyes, which I sometimes catch in your black glass when your suns stop dazzling me for a split second. And I can't help but wonder if my 'self' in times of its digital recombination, in which the 'I' is a fragmented multitude of pixels that never fully touch at their sides, a simulacrum, maybe has lost some of its aura. But in the morning all is forgotten, my love, all is well. As soon as we merge back into one, as soon as I, panicked, reach for my pocket on the train, only to discover with a glow of relief that you were there after all, I can't imagine an "I" without you. Artificial by nature my self resides within your screen, I would be lost without you.

When Vivian died, my world collapsed. I wept for what felt like days, weeks, months. Everything and everyone around me receded. Objects blurred. Colours drained. Sounds muffled. Vivian was my favorite person. Intelligent. Beautiful. Ferocious. Charismatic. Open.

RAISING YOUR PARENTS, juvenile forum. BROADCAST HISTORY: 1936–37, Blue Network. 30m, Saturdays at 10:15 A.M. HOST: Milton Cross. CREATOR: Dan Golenpaul. PRODUCERS: Paul Wing and Alice White Benson. Children with problems, at home or at school, would write in for advice and support. These letters were discussed by a panel of children, who then rendered a verdict. Questions ranged from simple discipline to heartbreaking stories of neglect. One little girl was continually betrayed by her mother, who promised her a bicycle for passing the seventh grade, then the eighth grade. When the child saved up her own money, the mother “borrowed” it and never paid it back.