Poets Dead Society Quotes

So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.

No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

When you read, don't just consider what the author thinks, consider what you think

If you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - Carpe - hear it? – Carpe, Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be.

But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.

Carpe Diem,” Keating whispered loudly. “Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

We don't read and write poetry because its cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is full of passion.

Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone.

Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

And medecine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love: these are what we stay alive for.

I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way.

Oh captain my captain

You must strive to find your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all.

I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me. A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain. His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling. “Truth, truth.” Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it'll just cover your face, as you wail and cry and scream.

Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man." Keating: "But only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be.

Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? And that's your worse fear.

but only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'twas always thus and always thus will be.

Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming, gotta do more, gotta be more!

... there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular.

Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

No, I've been calm all my life! If I don't do something, it's gonna kill me!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold!

Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push at it, stretch it, it will never be enough. You kick at it, beat at it, it will never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment you leave dying.

We are dreaming of tomorrow, and tomorrow isn’t coming; we are dreaming of a glory that we don’t really want. We are dreaming of a new day when the new day’s here already. We are running from the battle when it’s one that must be fought.

You can't expect everybody to think of you all the time. Nobody knows you. And you never talk to anyone!

TODD: Well, listen, Neil. I-I appreciate this concern, but I-I'm not like you.All right? You, you, you say things and people listen. I'm, I'm not like that. NEIL: Don't you think you could be? TODD: No! I--I, I don't know, but that's not the point. The, the, the point is that there's nothing you can do about it, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine. All right? NEIL: No. TODD: What do you mean, "no"? NEIL: No.

They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.

College will probably destroy your love for poetry. Hours of boring analysis, dissection, and criticism will see to that. College will also expose you to all manner of literature—much of it transcendent works of magic that you must devour; some of it utter dreck that you must avoid like the plague.

How do we, like Walt, permit our own true natures to speak? How do we strip ourselves of prejudices, habits, influences? The answer, my dear lads, is that we must constantly endeavor to find a new point of view.

Carpe Diem

But there must be poetry and we must stop to notice it in even the simplest acts of living or we will have wasted much of what life has to offer.

I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now, those of you -- I see the look in your eyes like, "I would've walked differently." Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, "That's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

Because no matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world.

This is a battle, boys,' he cried. 'War! You are souls at a critical juncture. Either you will succumb to the will of academic hoi polloi, and the fruit will die on the vine— or you will triumph as individuals.

How difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others.

Ah," McAllister laughed, "free thinkers at seventeen!

Jeśli chcesz wychować zagorzałego ateistę, musisz udzielać mu surowych lekcji religii. To zawsze owocuje dobrymi skutkami.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion!

savor language and words because no matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking- these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

Doğrular, her zaman insanın ayaklarını açıkta bırakan bir battaniye gibidir.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

They danced wildly in the forest, swaying with the tall trees and the howling wind.

Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

Oh, come on, Cameron,” Charlie laughed, “don’t you get anything?

Kopar goncaları henüz vakit varken bugün Anlamazsın zaman nasıl kanatlanır, uçar gider O gonca sana gülücükler saçarken bugün Gelince yarın, sararır solar, boynunu büker.

They danced wildly in the forest, swaying with the tall trees and the howling wind.

La poesía puede estar oculta en los objetos o las acciones más cotidianas, pero nunca, nunca deber ser común.

But we'll get through. Somehow we always do.

Beni örten geceden, Bir uçtan diğerine uzanan zifiri karanlıktan Teşekkür ediyorum tanrı denene Asla zaptedilemeyen ruhum için!

El hombre nunca ha sido tan libre como cuando sueña.

medicine, law, banking- these are necessary to sustain life. but poetry, romance, love, beauty? these are what we stay alive for!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.

Medicine, law, banking--these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for! - Mr. Keating, Dead Poet’s Society.

Cuando era niño, creía que los padres querían a sus hijos instintivamente. Era lo que me enseñaban en el colegio; y yo acabé creyéndomelo. Pero mis padres parecen reservar todo su amor a mi hermano.

You must strive for your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, 'Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.' Why be resigned to that? Risk walking new ground.

because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking—these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

Carpe Diem. Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

His resolve always crumbled under the threats of guilt and punishment.

We are the music makers

The light of knowledge shall be passed from old to young,

I always thought education was learning to think for yourself," Keating said. Nolan laughed. "At these boys' ages? Not on your life! Tradition John! Discipline." He patted Keating on the shoulder patronizingly. "Prepare them for college, and the rest will take care of itself.

The boys had seized the cave, and in it they’d found a home away from Welton, away from parents, teachers, and friends—a place where they could be people they never dreamed they’d be. The Dead Poets Society was alive and thriving and ready to seize the day.

You know what Dad called me when I was growing up? ‘Five ninety-eight.’ That’s what all the chemicals in the human body would be worth if you bottled them raw and sold them. He told me that was all I’d ever be worth unless I worked every day to improve myself. Five ninety-eight.

Oh Captain, My Captain!

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking - these are necesseary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared—anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired— makes us feel a bit immortal.

Carpe diem, Todd!

A woman is a cathedral, boys. Worship one at every chance you get.

Teaching is seeing the world. The new world. Seeing a student like you take root, ready to flower and bloom any day.

I stand on my desk to remind myself that we must constantly force ourselves to look at things differently. The world looks different from up here.

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

La verdad es como una manta que nos deja los pies fríos. Ya puede uno tirar de ella hacia sí en todos los sentidos, que nunca nos cubrirá del todo. Sacudidla, tirad de ella, mas nunca será suficiente. Desde el día en que se viene al mundo, llorando, a aquel a quien se le entrega, agonizante, no puede hacer más que cubrirse con ella la cabeza y gemir, llorar o aullar.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?’ Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Most of those gentlemen are fertilizing daffodils now!

You will learn to savor language and words because no matter what anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind happiness not always being so very much fun if you don't mind a touch of hell now and then just when everything is fine because even in heaven they don't sing all the time The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind some people dying all the time or maybe only starving some of the time which isn't half bad if it isn't you Oh the world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't much mind a few dead minds in the higher places or a bomb or two now and then in your upturned faces or such other improprieties as our Name Brand society is prey to with its men of distinction and its men of extinction and its priests and other patrolmen and its various segregations and congressional investigations and other constipations that our fool flesh is heir to Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene and singing low songs and having inspirations and walking around looking at everything and smelling flowers and goosing statues and even thinking and kissing people and making babies and wearing pants and waving hats and dancing and going swimming in rivers on picnics in the middle of the summer and just generally 'living it up' Yes but then right in the middle of it comes the smiling mortician

Teach me to love? Go teach thyself more wit: I chief professor am of it. The god of love, If such a thing there be, May learn to love from me.

If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours

God, I can’t take it anymore! If I don’t have Chris, I’ll kill myself!

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking- these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

Hey, everybody, I got the part! I'm going to play Puck." He opened the door to the room and saw Todd sitting there. "Hey, I'm Puck!" "Puck you! Pipe down," yelled a voice down the hall.

We are dreaming of tomorrow, and tomorrow isn’t coming; we are dreaming of a glory that we don’t really want. We are dreaming of a new day when the new day’s here already. We are running from the battle when it’s one that must be fought.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking—these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

And don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared —anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired—makes us feel a bit immortal.

It's god! He says we should have girls at Welton.

Carpe Diem

They kissed, soft and warm, under the frozen moon. S. 150

The boys had seized the cave, and in it they’d found a home away from Welton, away from parents, teachers, and friends—a place where they could be people they never dreamed they’d be.

What it demonstrates is how difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others. If any of you think you would have marched differently, then ask yourself why you were clapping. Lads, there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular. As Frost said, “‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,/And that has made all the difference.

I stand on my desk to remind myself that we must constantly force ourselves to look at things differently. The world looks different from up here. If you don't believe it, stand up here and try it.

It is not certain whether the effects of totalitarianism upon verse need be so deadly as its effects on prose. There is a whole series of converging reasons why it is somewhat easier for a poet than a prose writer to feel at home in an authoritarian society.[...]what the poet is saying- that is, what his poem "means" if translated into prose- is relatively unimportant, even to himself. The thought contained in a poem is always simple, and is no more the primary purpose of the poem than the anecdote is the primary purpose of the picture. A poem is an arrangement of sounds and associations, as a painting is an arrangement of brushmarks. For short snatches, indeed, as in the refrain of a song, poetry can even dispense with meaning altogether.

And don’t limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared—anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl’s smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don’t care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it’s inspired—makes us feel a bit immortal.

When I was little,” Todd continued, “I thought all parents automatically loved their kids. That’s what my teachers told me. That’s what I read in the books they gave me. That’s what I believed. Well, my parents might have loved my brother, but they did not love me.

i feel like i've never been alive. for years, i've been risking nothing. i have no idea what i am or what i want to do

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Old times are still a flying. And the same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying.

but poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

Yes. Yes! I'm gonna be an actor. Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to try this!

What happened? It took Gibbon six volumes to describe the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, so I shan’t embark on that. But thinking about this almost incredible episode does tell one something about the nature of civilisation. It shows that however complex and solid it seems, it is actually quite fragile. It can be destroyed. 

What are its enemies?
 
Well, first of all fear — fear of war, fear of invasion, fear of plague and famine, that make it simply not worthwhile constructing things, or planting trees or even planning next year’s crops. And fear of the supernatural, which means that you daren’t question anything or change anything. The late antique world was full of meaningless rituals, mystery religions, that destroyed self-confidence. And then exhaustion, the feeling of hopelessness which can overtake people even with a high degree of material prosperity. 

There is a poem by the modern Greek poet, Cavafy, in which he imagines the people of an antique town like Alexandria waiting every day for the barbarians to come and sack the city. Finally the barbarians move off somewhere else and the city is saved; but the people are disappointed — it would have been better than nothing. Of course, civilisation requires a modicum of material prosperity—

What civilization needs:

confidence in the society in which one lives, belief in its philosophy, belief in its laws, and confidence in one’s own mental powers. The way in which the stones of the Pont du Gard are laid is not only a triumph of technical skill, but shows a vigorous belief in law and discipline. Vigour, energy, vitality: all the civilisations—or civilising epochs—have had a weight of energy behind them. People sometimes think that civilisation consists in fine sensibilities and good conversations and all that. These can be among the agreeable results of civilisation, but they are not what make a civilisation, and a society can have these amenities and yet be dead and rigid.

Because we’re only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls. “One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die!

The vitality of the ordinary members of society is dependent on its Outsiders. Many Outsiders unify themselves, realize themselves as poets or saints. Others remain tragically divided and unproductive, but even they supply soul-energy to society; it is their strenuousness that purifies thought and prevents the bourgeois world from foundering under its own dead-weight; they are society’s spiritual dynamos.

We are the music makers And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lonely sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; World losers and world forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world, forever, it seems. With wonderful deathless ditties We build up with world’s great cities, And out of a fabulous story We fashion an empire’s glory: One man with a dream, at pleasure Shall go forth and conquer a crown; And three with a new song’s measure Can trample an empire down. We in the ages lying, In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself with our mirth.

There’s the wonderful love of a beautiful maid, And the love of a staunch, true man, And the love of a baby that’s unafraid. All have existed since time began. But the most wonderful love, the Love of all loves, Even greater than the love for Mother, Is the infinite, tenderest, passionate love, Of one dead drunk for another.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

And don't limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared - anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. S. 73

There was a restlessness between her ribs, itching and pulling at her heart. A feeling that she was meant to do much more. She and Roxy had gone to see Dead Poets Society a couple years ago, and afterward that quote from Robin Williams’s character had echoed endlessly in Luna’s head: “Make your lives extraordinary.

He paced in front of the class. "And don't limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared—anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl's smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don't care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and—if it's inspired—makes us feel a bit immortal.

we didn't simply read... we let it drip from our tongues like honey. women swooned, spirits soared... gods were created

Carpe diem, seize the day boys

Todd murmelte stumm seine Verse mit, als ob er damit Neil helfen könnte. Aber Neil brauchte gar keine Hilfe.

Neil wouldn’t kill himself! He loved living!

I was good, I was really good.

A realist! Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man!

We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.

You must strive to find your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. s. 61

Laughing. Crying. Tumbling. Mumbling. Gotta do more. Gotta be more. Chaos screaming. Chaos dreaming. Gotta do more! Gotta be more!

savor language and words because no matter what anyone tells you

Neil looked at the photo and noticed that Todd was slightly apart from the family group, with them but not really a part of them. S.18

Lift your eyes upon him and grant him peace, now, and forevermore. Amen. S. 153

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion." - Dead Poets Society

The boys got up and walked to the class pictures lining the honor-room walls. They looked at faces of young men, staring out at them from the past. "They're not that different than any of you, are they? Hope in their eyes, just like yours. They believe themselves destined for wonderful things, like many of you. Well, where are those smiles now, boys? What of the hope?" (S. 26)

We are the dreamers of tomorrow, and tomorow isn't coming: we are dreaming of a glory that we don't really want We are dreaming of a new day when the new day's here already. We are running from the battle when it's one that must be fought. And still we sleep. We are listening for the calling but never really heeding, Hoping for the future when the future's only plans. Dreaming of the wisdom that we are dodging daily, Praying for a savior when salvation's in our hands. And still we sleep. And still we sleep. And still we pray. And still we fear... And still we sleep. s. 145-146

One reads poetry because he is the member of the human race and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking- these are the necessary components to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

If you're sure about something," he said as they slowly returned to their seats, "force yourself to think about it another way, even if you know it's wrong or silly. When you read, don't consider only what the author thinks, but take time to consider what you think.

هیگر پسرها را تماشا کرد و پس از لحظه ای پرسید: "آقایون میکس و اورستریت و اندرسن، شما اصولا چپ دست اید؟" "خیر، آقا" "پس چرا با دست چپ غذا می خورید؟" پسرها به یکدیگر نگاه کردند. ناکس از طرف جمع توضیح داد: "فکر کردیم بد نیست که عادت های قدیمی رو ترک کنیم آقا." "آقای اورستریت، مگه عادت های قدیمی چه عیبی دارند؟" ناکس تذکر داد: "زندگی بدون تفکر و ابتکار رو تثبیت می کنند. ذهن آدم رو هم محدود می کنند." هیگر کاملا جدی گفت: "آقای اورستریت، بهتون توصیه می کنم کمتر به فکر ترک عادت های قدیمی باشید و بیشتر به عادت های خوب برای درس خوندن فکر کنید. متوجه منظورم هستید که؟

The art of fiction has not changed much since prehistoric times. The formula for telling a powerful story has remained the same: create a strong character, a person of great strengths, capable of deep emotions and decisive action. Give him a weakness. Set him in conflict with another powerful character -- or perhaps with nature. Let his exterior conflict be the mirror of the protagonist's own interior conflict, the clash of his desires, his own strength against his own weakness. And there you have a story. Whether it's Abraham offering his only son to God, or Paris bringing ruin to Troy over a woman, or Hamlet and Claudius playing their deadly game, Faust seeking the world's knowledge and power -- the stories that stand out in the minds of the reader are those whose characters are unforgettable. To show other worlds, to describe possible future societies and the problems lurking ahead, is not enough. The writer of science fiction must show how these worlds and these futures affect human beings. And something much more important: he must show how human beings can and do literally create these future worlds. For our future is largely in our own hands. It doesn't come blindly rolling out of the heavens; it is the joint product of the actions of billions of human beings. This is a point that's easily forgotten in the rush of headlines and the hectic badgering of everyday life. But it's a point that science fiction makes constantly: the future belongs to us -- whatever it is. We make it, our actions shape tomorrow. We have the brains and guts to build paradise (or at least try). Tragedy is when we fail, and the greatest crime of all is when we fail even to try. Thus science fiction stands as a bridge between science and art, between the engineers of technology and the poets of humanity.

We are the music makers And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lonely sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; World losers and world forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world, forever it seems. With wonderful deathless Ditties We build up with world's great cities, And out of a fabulous story We fashion an empire's glory: One man with a dream, at pleasure Shall go forth and conquer a crown; And three with a new son's measure Can trample an empire down. We in the ages lying, In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself with our mirth And o'erthrew them with prophesying To the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying, Or one that is coming to birth Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul! - W.E. Henley, s. 55-56

Come my friends, 'This not too late to seek a newer world... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset... and though We are not now that strength which we are, we are;- One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. - Tennyson, s. 57

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute— we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life— but poetry, beauty, romance, love— these are what we stay alive for.

But Horace’s most renowned phrase, quoted extensively in the movie Dead Poets Society, appears in Ode 1.11. ‘Carpe diem’, says Horace in the last line: pluck the day, trusting as little as possible in the next. Life is short, in other words, and don’t you forget it. His two-word phrase is almost invariably translated as ‘seize the day’.

And don't limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared-anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everyday things but it must never, never be ordinary. By all means, write about the sky or a girl's smile, but when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. I don't care as long as it enlightens us, thrills us and-if it's inspired- makes us feel a bit immortal

در حالی که پسرها آهسته به سر جای شان بر می گشتند، کیتینگ گفت: "اگر درباره ی مسئله ای مطمئن هستید، خودتون رو وادارید که به یک نحو دیگه ای درباره اش فکر کنید، حتی اگه بدونید از دیدگاه تازه ی شما نادرست یا احمقانه است. وقتی مطلبی رو می خونید، تنها فکر نویسنده رو مدنظر قرار ندید؛ کمی درنگ کنید و ببینید نظر خودتون درباره ی اون موضوع چیه." "باید تلاش کنید بچه ها که صدای خودتون رو بازیابید و هر قدر دیرتر شروع کنید امکان دستیابی به این هدف رو کمتر می کنید. ثارو گفته که عمر اکثر انسان ها در یأسی خاموش سپری می شود. چرا باید به یک چنین زندگی ای تن در بدیم؟ خطر کنید و در راهی جدید قدم بگذارید. همین حالا!

In his masterpiece, The Histories, the man often referred to as the Father of History wrote that the Persian king Darius asked some Greeks what it would take for them to eat their dead fathers. “No price in the world,” they cried (presumably in unison). Next, Darius summoned several Callatians, who lived in India and “who eat their dead fathers.” Darius asked them what price would make them burn their dead fathers upon a pyre, the preferred funerary method of the Greeks. “Don’t mention such horrors!” they shouted. Herodotus (writing as Darius) then demonstrated a degree of understanding that would have made modern anthropologists proud. “These are matters of settled custom,” he wrote, before paraphrasing the lyric poet Pindar, “And custom is King of all.” In other words, society defines what is right and what is wrong.

Andai nei boschi perché desideravo vivere deliberatamente, affrontare solo i fatti essenziali della vita, e vedere se non potessi imparare cosa avesse da insegnare, senza scoprire, giunto alla morte, di non aver vissuto. Non desideravo vivere ciò che non era una vita, per quanto caro mi sia il vivere; né desideravo praticare la rassegnazione, a meno che non fosse necessaria. Volevo vivere in profondità e succhiare tutto il midollo della vita, vivere in modo così risoluto e spartano da sbaragliare tutto quanto non fosse vita; da aprirmi con la falce un varco ampio e raso terra, da spingere nell'angolo la vita e ridurla ai minimi termini; e, se si fosse dimostrata essere meschina, da arrivare, perché no?, alla sua completa e genuina meschinità, rendendola pubblica al mondo; o se fosse stata sublime, da conoscerla per esperienza; e da essere in grado di darne un resoconto sincero nella mia successiva escursione letteraria. Perché gran parte degli uomini, mi pare, ha una strana incertezza al riguardo, se sia del diavolo o di Dio, e ha _un po' frettolosamente_ concluso che il primo fine dell'uomo su questa terra è "rendere gloria a Dio e goderlo per l'eternità".

Above a quite low level, literature is an attempt to influence the viewpoint of one’s contemporaries by recording experience. And so far as freedom of expression is concerned, there is not much difference between a mere journalist and the most ‘unpolitical’ imaginative writer. The journalist is unfree, and is conscious of unfreedom, when he is forced to write lies or suppress what seems to him important news; the imaginative writer is unfree when he has to falsify his subjective feelings, which from his point of view are facts. He may distort and caricature reality in order to make his meaning clearer, but he cannot misrepresent the scenery of his own mind; he cannot say with any conviction that he likes what he dislikes, or believes what he disbelieves. If he is forced to do so, the only result is that his creative faculties will dry up. Nor can he solve the problem by keeping away from controversial topics. There is no such thing as a genuinely non-political literature, and least of all in an age like our own, when fears, hatreds, and loyalties of a directly political kind are near to the surface of everyone’s consciousness. Even a single taboo can have an all-round crippling effect upon the mind, because there is always the danger that any thought which is freely followed up may lead to the forbidden thought. It follows that the atmosphere of totalitarianism is deadly to any kind of prose writer, though a poet, at any rate a lyric poet, might possibly find it breathable. And in any totalitarian society that survives for more than a couple of generations, it is probable that prose literature, of the kind that has existed during the past four hundred years, must actually come to an end.

Jobs later explained, “We discussed whether it was correct before we ran it. It’s grammatical, if you think about what we’re trying to say. It’s not think the same, it’s think different. Think a little different, think a lot different, think different. ‘Think differently’ wouldn’t hit the meaning for me.” In order to evoke the spirit of Dead Poets Society, Clow and Jobs wanted to get Robin Williams to read the narration. His agent said that Williams didn’t do ads, so Jobs tried to call him directly. He got through to Williams’s wife, who would not let him talk to the actor because she knew how persuasive he could be. They also considered Maya Angelou and Tom Hanks. At a fund-raising dinner featuring Bill Clinton that fall, Jobs pulled the president aside and asked him to telephone Hanks to talk him into it, but the president pocket-vetoed the request. They ended up with Richard Dreyfuss, who was a dedicated Apple fan. In addition to the television commercials, they created one of the most memorable print campaigns in history. Each ad featured a black-and-white portrait of an iconic historical figure with just the Apple logo and the words “Think Different” in the corner. Making it particularly engaging was that the faces were not captioned. Some of them—Einstein, Gandhi, Lennon, Dylan, Picasso, Edison, Chaplin, King—were easy to identify. But others caused people to pause, puzzle, and maybe ask a friend to put a name to the face: Martha Graham, Ansel Adams, Richard Feynman, Maria Callas, Frank Lloyd Wright, James Watson, Amelia Earhart. Most were Jobs’s personal heroes. They tended to be creative people who had taken risks, defied failure, and bet their career on doing things in a different way.

Photographs from Distant Places (1) In distant villages, You always see the same scenes: Farms Cattle Worship spaces Small local shops. Just basic the things humans need To endure life. (2) ‘Can you stay with me forever?’ She asked him in the airport, While hugging him tightly in her arms. ‘Sorry, I can’t. My flight leaves in two hours and a half.’ He responded with an artificially caring voice, As he kissed her on her right cheek. (3) I was walking in one of Bucharest’s old streets, In a neighborhood that looked harshly beaten by Time, And severely damaged by development and globalization. I saw a poor homeless man Combing his dirty hair In a side mirror of a modern and expensive car! (4) The shape and the color of the eyes don’t matter. What matters is that, As soon as you gaze into them, You know that they have seen a lot. All eyes that dare to bear witness To what they have seen are beautiful. (5) A stranger asked me how I chose my path in life. I told him: ‘I never chose anything, my friend.’ My path has always been like someone forced to sit In an airplane on a long flight. Forced to sit with the condition Of keeping the seatbelt on at all times, Until the end of the flight. Here I am still sitting with the seatbelt on. I can neither move Nor walk. I can’t even throw myself out of the plane’s emergency exit To end this forced flight! (6) After years of searching and observing, I discovered that despair’s favorite hiding place Is under business suits and tuxedos. Under jewelry and expensive night gowns. Despair dances at the tables where Expensive wines of corruption And delicious dinners of betrayal are served. (7) Oh, my poet friend, Did you know that The bouquet of fresh flowers in that vase On your table is not a source of inspiration or creativity? The vase is just a reminder Of a flower massacre that took place recently In a field Where these poor flowers happened to be. It was their fate to have their already short lives cut shorter, To wither and wilt in your vase, While breathing the not-so-fresh air In your room, As you sit down at your table And write your vain words. (8) Under authoritarian regimes, 99.9% of the population vote for the dictator. Under capitalist ‘democratic’ regimes, 99.9% of people love buying and consuming products Made and sold by the same few corporations. Awe to those societies where both regimes meet to create a united vicious alliance against the people! To create a ‘nation’ Of customers, not citizens! (9) The post-revolution leaders are scavengers not hunters. They master the art of eating up The dead bodies and achievements Of the fools who sacrificed themselves For the ‘revolution’ and its ideals. Is this the paradox and the irony of all revolutions? (10) Every person is ugly if you take a close look at them, And beautiful, if you take a closer look. (11) Just as wheat fields can’t thrive Under the shadow of other trees, Intellectuals, too, can’t thrive under the shadow Of any power or authority. (12) We waste so much time trying to change others. Others waste so much time thinking they are changing. What a waste! October 20, 2015

I haughtily dismissed the principles sponsored by philosophers, religious leaders, and the ideas of poets in exchange for seeking financial stability and shallow happiness. I imported into my conceited consciousness the values of a freewheeling American society, a culture that fawns on rich and famous celebrities, applauds fantastic risk-taking, and promotes a permissive lifestyle. I lack serious ambition – romantic or practical – to achieve any intellectual or spiritual worthwhile accomplishments. Decrepit and friendless, I am so lost that I do not even know what bellwether I seek. I went astray by callously disrespecting the life sustaining lessons handed down by our ancestors. Only by stripping myself of the rank costume cloaking personal shame, a remorseful suit of motley skin that I stitched together by living a selfishly tailored life, can embark on a journey to discover a better way to live.

My own words assassinated me, I don't compose sonnets anymore.

Seize the Day

What is Poetry (My Sonnet, My Rules) Any gargoyle can google the definition of a sonnet, Any robot can write and rhyme 14 lines of a sonnet. Number of lines don't make sonnet, Impeccable rhyme don't make poetry. Critics, police and gatekeepers are usually least capable of originality. It's okay if it's few lines extra, It's okay if it's couple lines less. It's okay if it doesn't rhyme at all, It's the soul that matters, not vessels. You're welcome to your dead laws of poetry, while I bring poetry to life, shaping society.

What is wrong with old habits, Mr. Overstreet?' 'They perpetuate mechanical living, sir,' Knox maintained. 'They limit your mind'.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with *passion*.

He reminds me of Robin Williams at the end of Dead Poets Society - there's a little smile on his face, but you know he's actually as sad as he's ever been in his whole life.

And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

کیتینگ تکرار کرد: "دم رو غنیمت بشمار، چرا شاعر این ابیات رو سروده؟" یکی از شاگردان بلند گفت: "لابد چون عجله داشته." دیگر شاگردان زیر لب خندیدند. کیتینگ به صدای بلند گفت: "نه نه نه! به این دلیل که ما خوراک کرم ها هستیم، بچه ها! چون ما انسان ها تعداد محدودی بهار و تابستان و خزان رو تجربه می کنیم. گو اینکه باور کردنش دشواره، اما یه روزی هیچ کدوم از ما دیگه نفس نخواهیم کشید؛ جسم مون سرد خواهد شد و خواهیم مرد!" مکثی عمدی کرد و با تأکید چنین ادامه داد: "بایستید و به چهره ی جوون هایی که شصت هفتاد سال پیش به این مدرسه می اومده اند به دقت نگاه کنید. نترسید؛ برید و به اونا نگاه کنید.

آقای کیتینگ خطاب به راهپیمایان گفت: "بسیار خوب بایستید." متذکر شد: "شاید متوجه شده باشید که در ابتدا آقایان اورستریت و پیتس متفاوت از دیگران قدم بر می داشتند- پیتس با یه ور شدن های طولانی و ناکس هم با ورجه ورجه های سست و کوتاهش- ولی زود هماهنگ شدند. تشویق ما منظم ترشون هم کرد. خب این کارها برای انگشت نما کردن پیتس و اورستریت نیست. بلکه مشخصا نشون می داد که گوش دادن به ندای درونی مون و حفظ باورهامون در حضور دیگران چقدر دشواره." چنانچه هر کدوم از شما فکر می کنید که اگر جای آن ها بودید متفاوت قدم بر می داشتید از خودتون بپرسید پس چرا دست می زدید. بچه ها جون، همه ما نیاز مبرم داریم که تأییدمون کنند، ولی شما باید به اونچه که در وجودتون یگانه یا متفاوته، حتی اگه ویژگی غریب و غیرمتداولی باشه تکیه کنید. همونطور که فراست گفته: در جنگل دو راه پیش رویم بود، و من راهی را برگزیدم که رهروان کمتری به خود دیده بود و همین تمام تفاوت ها را موجب شد.

Ormana gittim, çünkü bilinçli yaşamak istiyordum. Derin yaşamak ve hayatı iliğine kadar özümsemek istiyordum. Yaşama dair olmayan her şeyi bozguna uğratmak için ve ölüm vaktim geldiğinde, aslında hiç yaşamamış olduğumu keşfetmemek için.

What’s my big beef with capitalism? That it desacralizes everything, robs the world of wonder, and leaves it as nothing more than a vulgar market. The fastest way to cheapen anything—be it a woman, a favor, or a work of art—is to put a price tag on it. And that’s what capitalism is, a busy greengrocer going through his store with a price-sticker machine—ka-CHUNK! ka-CHUNK!—$4.10 for eggs, $5 for coffee at Sightglass, $5,000 per month for a run-down one-bedroom in the Mission. Think I’m exaggerating? Stop and think for a moment what this whole IPO ritual was about. For the first time, Facebook shares would have a public price. For all the pageantry and cheering, this was Mr. Market coming along with his price-sticker machine and—ka-CHUNK!—putting one on Facebook for $38 per share. And everyone was ecstatic about it. It was one of the highlights of the technology industry, and one of the “once in a lifetime” moments of our age. In pre-postmodern times, only a divine ritual of ancient origin, victory in war, or the direct experience of meaningful culture via shared songs, dances, or art would cause anybody such revelry. Now we’re driven to ecstasies of delirium because we have a price tag, and our life’s labors are validated by the fact it does. That’s the smoldering ambition of every entrepreneur: to one day create an organization that society deems worthy of a price tag. These are the only real values we have left in the twilight of history, the tired dead end of liberal democratic capitalism, at least here in the California fringes of Western civilization. Clap at the clever people getting rich, and hope you’re among them. Is it a wonder that the inhabitants of such a world clamor for contrived rituals of artificial significance like Burning Man, given the utter bankruptcy of meaning in their corporatized culture? Should we be surprised that they cling to identities, clusters of consumption patterns, that seem lifted from the ads-targeting system at Facebook: “hipster millennials,” “urban mommies,” “affluent suburbanites”? Ortega y Gasset wrote: “Men play at tragedy because they do not believe in the reality of the tragedy which is actually being staged in the civilized world.” Tragedy plays like the IPO were bound to pale for those who felt the call of real tragedy, the tragedy that poets once captured in verse, and that fathers once passed on to sons. Would the inevitable descendants of that cheering courtyard crowd one day gather with their forebears, perhaps in front of a fireplace, and ask, “Hey, Grandpa, what was it like to be at the Facebook IPO?” the way previous generations asked about Normandy or the settling of the Western frontier? I doubt it. Even as a participant in this false Mass, the temporary thrill giving way quickly to fatigue and a budding hangover, I wondered what would happen to the culture when it couldn’t even produce spectacles like this anymore.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.

(Indeed, the passion-seeking boarding school students in 1989’s Dead Poets Society open their secret poetry reading meetings by reciting the “deliberate living” quote from Walden.)

ELLE (4:16 P.M.):favorite movie ELLE (4:16 P.M.):go DARCY (4:19 P.M.):Just one? That’s too difficult. ELLE (4:20 P.M.):fine ELLE (4:20 P.M.):action comedy rom-com and idk drama? DARCY (4:25 P.M.):Comedy would be History of the World Part One. Action . . . God, I don’t know. The Mummy, maybe? Rom-com . . . America’s Sweethearts. Drama would have to be Dead Poets Society. ELLE (4:26 P.M.):the mummy?!? ELLE (4:26 P.M.):i credit that movie for my bisexual awakening She waited, watching the little dots dance up and down, up and down . . . DARCY (4:28 P.M.):Oh? ELLE (4:29 P.M.):yeah ELLE (4:30 P.M.):did I want to be evelyn or did i want to ride off into the sunset with her? ELLE (4:30 P.M.):both obviously

As Dead Poets Society demonstrates, the anal father himself always seems less than authoritative. Unlike traditional symbolic authority, the anal father appears in the guise of one of us; he’s on our side, not on the side of authority. But as one of us, he exerts his authority in ways that traditional symbolic authority could never imagine. We aren’t suspicious of an authority who doesn’t appear to be an authority. Hence, Mr. Perry and the headmaster can only look on in envy at the authority Keating wields. When they stand on their desks in the film’s final scene, the students express their willingness to bow down to the new authority and eschew the old, thereby clearly demonstrating the power of the new.

This resistance of the anal father to critique becomes especially apparent in the case of Mr. Keating in Dead Poets Society. While the film’s final scene shows the students successfully transgressing the demands of the headmaster (the representative of the symbolic father), no such transgression occurs with Keating. Earlier in the film, Keating commands three students to walk around the school courtyard, and when they begin to walk uniformly with the other students clapping in unison, Keating stops them and upbraids them (kindly of course) for their conformity. He urges each student to discover his own individual way of walking—i.e., to find his own private enjoyment. When Charlie Dalton (Gale Hansen) refuses to walk at Keating’s command, this moment of disobedience does not in any way subvert Keating’s authority. On the contrary, Keating points out that Dalton proves his point: his subversive display fits right into Keating’s “lesson plan.” In the face of the anal father’s demand for each student to find his private enjoyment, there is no clear path to subversion. In refusing to play along, one plays along all the more. Unlike the symbolic father, the anal father invites our subversion and thereby quells its subversive sting.

Eğer bir şeyden eminseniz, başka bir şekilde düşünmeye zorlayın kendinizi, yanlış ya da aptalca olduğunu bilseniz bile. Bir şey okurken yalnızca yazarın ne düşündüğüne kafa yormayın, durup siz ne düşünüyorsunuz ona da kafa yorun. Kendi sesinizi bulmaya uğraşmalısınız çocuklar ve harekete geçmek için ne kadar beklerseniz onu bulma şansınız o kadar azalır. Thoreau der ki, 'Çoğu insan hayatını sessiz bir çaresizlik içinde yaşar.' Bunu kabullenmek niye? Risk alıp yeni yerlerde gezinin. Şimdi...

One of the hardest things about writing about boarding school in the twenty-first century is figuring out how to convey to the unacquainted reader that the world of Dead Poets Society is about as familiar to the most recent generations of Kennedians, Exonians, et al. as a German technical college.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love - these are what we stay alive for.

O'Captain, My Captain.

English poet Phillip Larkin’s famous poem,’Toads,’ suggest that two types of toads drive a person to work for the dull business of making money. First, is the influence of society for a person to labor in a conventional manner, and second, the inner pressure people exert upon themselves to procure a secure future by working and saving for their old age. Larkin concludes that a person is doomed if either type of brute toad squats on their life. Some people drive the squatty toad away by living on their wit, or by willingly accepting a lifestyle without fame, fortune, and financial security. Perchance as Philip Larkin suggested in his illustrious poem, I should not continue to allow the toad work to squat on my life by escaping the burdensome exterior pressure to work without spiritual replenishment. Perhaps with thoughtful study, I can eliminate a malignant personal tumor that leaching manifestations drove me to strive for money, fame, and unrequited love.

In the present day, we follow Peri on to the dinner party, where she arrives stained and disheveled but determined to dismiss everyone's concern. That's easy because the other guests are extraordinarily wealthy and wholly self-absorbed... I kept wanting more depth from Dr. Azur's presentations. Finally, I realized that's the point: He's a classic master teacher in the "Dead Poets Society" mode: iconoclastic but gimmicky, glazed with intellectuality but essentially narcissistic.

To paraphrase Robin Williams’s compelling teacher character in Dead Poets Society: We don’t study poetry to get an “A,” to graduate, to get a job, to make money, to meet material needs. Rather, “we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. So medicine, law, business, engineering . . . these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love . . . these are what we stay alive for.

What happened? It took Gibbon six volumes to describe the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, so I shan’t embark on that. But thinking about this almost incredible episode does tell one something about the nature of civilisation. It shows that however complex and solid it seems, it is actually quite fragile. It can be destroyed. What are its enemies? Well, first of all fear – fear of war, fear of invasion, fear of plague and famine, that make it simply not worthwhile constructing things, or planting trees or even planning next year’s crops. And fear of the supernatural, which means that you daren’t question anything or change anything. The late antique world was full of meaningless rituals, mystery religions, that destroyed self-confidence. And then exhaustion, the feeling of hopelessness which can overtake people even with a high degree of material prosperity. There is a poem by the modern Greek poet, Cavafy, in which he imagines the people of an antique town like Alexandria waiting every day for the barbarians to come and sack the city. Finally the barbarians move off somewhere else and the city is saved; but the people are disappointed – it would have been better than nothing. Of course, civilisation requires a modicum of material prosperity – enough to provide a little leisure. But, far more, it requires confidence – confidence in the society in which one lives, belief in its philosophy, belief in its laws, and confidence in one’s own mental powers. The way in which the stones of the Pont du Gard are laid is not only a triumph of technical skill, but shows a vigorous belief in law and discipline. Vigour, energy, vitality: all the great civilisations – or civilising epochs – have had a weight of energy behind them. People sometimes think that civilisation consists in fine sensibilities and good conversation and all that. These can be among the agreeable results of civilisation, but they are not what make a civilisation, and a society can have these amenities and yet be dead and rigid. So

Carpe diem,” urges Robin Williams in one of the most memorable scenes of the 1989 film Dead Poets Society. “Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.” It’s incredibly important advice. It’s also somewhat self-contradictory. Seizing a day and seizing a lifetime are two entirely different endeavors.

What happened? It took Gibbon six volumes to describe the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, so I shan’t embark on that. But thinking about this almost incredible episode does tell one something about the nature of civilisation. It shows that however complex and solid it seems, it is actually quite fragile. It can be destroyed. What are its enemies? Well, first of all fear – fear of war, fear of invasion, fear of plague and famine, that make it simply not worthwhile constructing things, or planting trees or even planning next year’s crops. And fear of the supernatural, which means that you daren’t question anything or change anything. The late antique world was full of meaningless rituals, mystery religions, that destroyed self-confidence. And then exhaustion, the feeling of hopelessness which can overtake people even with a high degree of material prosperity. There is a poem by the modern Greek poet, Cavafy, in which he imagines the people of an antique town like Alexandria waiting every day for the barbarians to come and sack the city. Finally the barbarians move off somewhere else and the city is saved; but the people are disappointed – it would have been better than nothing. Of course, civilisation requires a modicum of material prosperity – enough to provide a little leisure. But, far more, it requires confidence – confidence in the society in which one lives, belief in its philosophy, belief in its laws, and confidence in one’s own mental powers. The way in which the stones of the Pont du Gard are laid is not only a triumph of technical skill, but shows a vigorous belief in law and discipline. Vigour, energy, vitality: all the great civilisations – or civilising epochs – have had a weight of energy behind them. People sometimes think that civilisation consists in fine sensibilities and good conversation and all that. These can be among the agreeable results of civilisation, but they are not what make a civilisation, and a society can have these amenities and yet be dead and rigid. So if one asks why the civilisation of Greece and Rome collapsed, the real answer is that it was exhausted.

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking-these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life! [...] what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

I’m teaching early modernist literature, and my students have all of these very bizarre moral reads on the books, which I believe comes from their native narrative intake, which is mostly all of these stupid fucking comic book movies.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy,” said Moddie. “If you didn’t see Wonder Woman, I’m pretty sure you’re a rapist.” “Well, exactly!” said Peter. “Exactly. Well, film, but probably actually TV, has quite obviously replaced literature as the dominant narrative form. That’s not controversial, it’s just true. So now people are learning how to create narrative identity out of their own experiences using this model we see in film where good triumphs over evil. We see ourselves in the characters as good, and we internalize that to mean that we are good heroes and anything that upsets us or gets in the way of our heroic and constant ascent is evil. We don’t understand anything about the dark parts of our own nature. All of those parts are repressed, so of course, when we see those parts of ourselves expressed in another person, we attack. We vanquish the evil in ourselves by exerting control over others, through shaming, shunning, accusation, boycott. And this is the cultural norm right now, for some obvious and relatable reasons.” “Sure.” “In criticizing oversimplification and scapegoating, I’m not trying to oversimplify and create a new scapegoat. Some people and some actions should be condemned. Some things are objectively bad. But it’s gone too far, and when I see the Marvel Universe mind confronting the complexity of James—it’s wild. They get angry. So, I wanted to try to trace this narrative lineage back from Wonder Woman, for example, through Syd Field’s screenwriting books, Joseph Campbell—who was a Republican who fucked his students, if the author’s identity is important to you,” said Peter, raising and shaking his finger, “back in time to Freytag’s Pyramid, Debit and Credit, and this whole idea of the objectively perfect narrative form or structure, and how this entire notion, which has created the ‘new paradigm,’ ” Peter made a face, “of storytelling, is based on an intense philosophy of racial purity, is essentially propaganda, and is incredibly spiritually limiting, and the best thing we could do would be to become aware of exactly what it is we are consuming before we let it dictate our inner moral and aesthetic compasses.” Peter was very excited. “So, you wanted to do a lecture about how all of your students are fascists but don’t know it?” asked Moddie. Peter shrugged. “I was high.” “How did you imagine it would go?” asked Moddie. “Dead Poets Society.

Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” (Dead Poets Society)

I was good, I was really good.

While the semi-barbarian stood on the principle of morality, the civilized opposed to him the principle of self. That a giant empire, containing almost one-third of the human race, vegetating in the teeth of time, insulated by the forced exclusion of general intercourse, and thus contriving to dupe itself with delusions of Celestial perfection-that such an empire should at last be overtaken by fate on [the] occasion of a deadly duel, in which the representative of the antiquated world appears prompted by ethical motives, while the representative of overwhelming modern society fights for the privilege of buying in the cheapest and selling in the dearest markets-this, indeed, is a sort of tragical couplet stranger than any poet would ever have dared to fancy.

Ответ, юноши, в том, чтобы постоянно стремиться обнаружить новый взгляд на мир.

It got to be one of the most beautiful things in the world (acting). Most people, if they're lucky, live about half an exciting life. If I could get the parts, I could live dozens of great lives! S. 116-117

Snow was falling, and a soft white blanket seemed to protect the earth from the cold wind that howled through the valley. S. 124

One reads poetry because he is a member of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law, banking - these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for! (s. 41)

The society of the illustrious dead can be enjoyed by me at leisure here; and when I choose to converse with sages, statesmen, or great poets, I have but to turn to my bookshelves, and my company is better than any that your palaces can afford with all their crowd of clients and flatterers.

To the Virgins

And don't limit poetry to the word. Poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared-- anything with the stuff of revelation in it. It can exist in the most everday things, but it must never, never be ordinary.

A woman is a cathedral, boys. Worship one at every chance you get

The campus reminded me of something out of Dead Poets Society.

Because we’re only going to experience a limited number of springs

That you are here—That life exists and identity