Pt Quotes

The noblest art is that of making others happy

When I had no friends I reached inside my beloved books & sculpted some out of 12 pt Times new roman. -- & it was almost good enough.

No one ever made a difference by being like everyone else.

1lb beefstak, with 1pt bitter beer every 6 hours. 1 ten-mile walk every morning. 1 bed at 11 sharp every night. And don't stuff your head with things you don't understand.

If you keep doing that, you’ll be turning in another wrecked PT Cruiser.” “You said you wanted to drive,” Taylor whispered teasingly as she nibbled at his neck. “Because I’m the man.” “Fine. I’ll stop then, if that’s really what you want . . .” The car careened wildly as it took the next corner. “Fuck it,” Jason groaned. “I’ll buy you a new car.

The reason it’s important to push hardest when you want to quit the most is because it helps you callous your mind. It’s the same reason why you have to do your best work when you are the least motivated. That’s why I loved PT in BUD/S and why I still love it today. Physical challenges strengthen my mind so I’m ready for whatever life throws at me, and it will do the same for you.

Comfort is the enemy of progress.

Nothing makes you appreciate life more then when you wake up from a nightmare and realize it was just that. It's a good reality check.

Dr. Franklin says "it is the eyes of others and not our own eyes which ruin us. If all the world were blind except myself I should not care for fine clothes or furniture.

Be cautious and bold.

Who knew knights wore flannel shirts and Led Zeppelin tees?

Oh dios mio, she makes me burn, she makes me need. She is etching herself into mi alma

But not touching you would be the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Come with me to the Pacific Design Center.” “Why?” “Because I need help picking out a new couch,” he said, peering up at her uncertainly. “Isn’t that what friends do?” “Okay.” “Okay.” “Should we go?” Taylor went back inside her apartment and grabbed her keys. As she followed Jason out to his car, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey—can I drive the Aston Martin?” “No.” “But isn’t that what friends do?” “No.” “My, my, you’re awfully grumpy today . . . Is something wrong?” “Buckle up, sweetheart,” he told her. “This ain’t no PT Cruiser.

Unless there is within us that which is above us, we shall soon yield to that which is about us.

Violence only begets violence when we allow it to. We always have a choice.

when i had no friends "i reached inside my beloved books & sculpted some out of 12 pt times new roman." --& it was almost good enough

The foundation of success in life is good health: that is the substratum fortune; it is also the basis of happiness. A person cannot accumulate a fortune very well when he is sick.

Maybe what I told her was a lie. Maybe I could be what she deserved. Maybe I could make the same teeth-clenching, sweat-pouring effort I’d put into my PT, and channel that into living blind, so that she wouldn’t have to constantly be cleaning up after me, or dragging my ass out of the house. My endless black was never going to go away. That was certainty. But kissing Charlotte had been a burst of light streaking across it, like a comet. Maybe. Maybe is gradations of darkness. The sweetest torture. Maybe is hope.

The foundation of success in life is good health:

Fortune always favors the brave, and never helps a man who does not help himself.

WHATEVER YOU DO, DO IT WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT Work at it, if necessary, early and late, in season and out of season, not leaving a stone unturned, and never deferring for a single hour that which can be done just as well now. The old proverb is full of truth and meaning, "Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well." Many a man acquires a fortune by doing his business thoroughly, while his neighbor remains poor for life, because he only half does it. Ambition, energy, industry, perseverance, are indispensable requisites for success in business. Fortune always favors the brave, and never helps a man who does not help himself.

Young men starting in life should avoid running into debt.

The safest plan, and the one most sure of success for the young man starting in life, is to select the vocation which is most congenial to his tastes.

Young men starting in life should avoid running into debt. There is scarcely anything that drags a person down like debt. It is a slavish position to get ill, yet we find many a young man, hardly out of his "teens," running in debt. He meets a chum and says, "Look at this: I have got trusted for a new suit of clothes." He seems to look upon the clothes as so much given to him; well, it frequently is so, but, if he succeeds in paying and then gets trusted again, he is adopting a habit which will keep him in poverty through life. Debt robs a man of his self-respect, and makes him almost despise himself.

Promise?" "Cross my heart. Together, ‘til the wheels fall off.

when i had no friends i reached inside my beloved books & sculpted some out of 12 pt times new roman. - & it was almost good enough.

The imagination which causes so many ravages among us, never speaks to the heart of savages" Pt.1, 41

I will loose my camel, and trust it to God!" "No, no, not so," said the prophet, "tie thy camel, and trust it to God!

The first duty of every soul is to find not its freedom but its Master.

No one ever made a difference by being like everyone else ~ P.T. Barnum

Those who really desire to attain an independence, have only to set their minds upon it, and adopt the proper means, as they do in regard to any other object which they wish to accomplish, and the thing is easily done.

HANNAH: Don't let Bernard get to you. It's only performance art, you know. Rhetoric, they used to teach it in ancient times, like PT. It's not about being right, they had philosophy for that. Rhetoric was their chat show. Bernard's indignation is a sort of aerobics for when he gets on television.

That'll boil her ice cream.

A deception arises, sometimes innocently but collaboratively, sometimes with cynical premeditation. Usually the victim is caught up in a powerful emotion - wonder, fear, greed, grief. Credulous acceptance of baloney can cost you money; that’s what P.T. Barnum meant when he said, “There’s a sucker born every minute’. But it can be much more dangerous than that, and when governments and societies lose the capacity for critical thinking, the results can be catastrophic, however sympathetic we may be to those who have bought the baloney.

Jangan beri aku sederet hal yang manis lagi. Nanti, kalau semuanya sudah berakhir menjadi kenangan, rasanya akan jadi pahit

I was all put back together, but had never felt more torn apart.

kUrApIkA iS nOw DrOwNinG iN An InDeScRiBaBlE emPtInEsS...

read the prescription.  It ran: “1 lb. beefsteak, with 1 pt. bitter beer every 6 hours. 1 ten-mile walk every morning. 1 bed at 11 sharp every night. And don’t stuff up your head with things you don’t understand.”   I followed the directions, with the happy result—speaking for myself—that my life was preserved, and is still going on.

She rages through my blood, is etched in my alma, and fused to my corazon.” quote Ricardo Emmanuel De La Cruz. Hot & Enchanting, De La Cruz Saga

For those special moments you never want to forget. When it comes to you, all I need is a pencil Ethan

Remember the proverb of Solomon: "He becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand; but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.

Love Rocks The De La Cruz's World

LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO BE UNHAPPY...SO LAUGH INSANELY, KISS SOFTLY, AND MAKE LOVE PASSIONATELY.....

Now," she said when all was ready and lit the silver sconces on either side of the mirror. What woman would not have kindled to see what Orlando saw then burning in the snow--for all about the looking glass were snowy lawns, and she was like a fire, a burning bush, and the candle flames about her head were silver leaves; or again, the glass was green water, and she a mermaid, slung with pearls, a siren in a cave, singing so that oarsmen leant from their boats and fell down, down to embrace her; so dark, so bright, so hard, so soft, was she, so astonishingly seductive that it was a thousand pities that there was no one there to pt it in plain English, and say outright "Damn it Madam, you are loveliness incarnate," which was the truth.

I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I had a touch – hay fever, I fancy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an unthinking moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indolently study diseases, generally. I forget which was the first distemper I plunged into – some fearful, devastating scourge, I know – and, before I had glanced half down the list of “premonitory symptoms,” it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it. I sat for awhile, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever – read the symptoms – discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months without knowing it – wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus’s Dance – found, as I expected, that I had that too, – began to get interested in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, and so started alphabetically – read up ague, and learnt that I was sickening for it, and that the acute stage would commence in about another fortnight. Bright’s disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form, and, so far as that was concerned, I might live for years. Cholera I had, with severe complications; and diphtheria I seemed to have been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six letters, and the only malady I could conclude I had not got was housemaid’s knee. ... I had walked into that reading-room a happy, healthy man. I crawled out a decrepit wreck. I went to my medical man. He is an old chum of mine, and feels my pulse, and looks at my tongue, and talks about the weather, all for nothing, when I fancy I’m ill; so I thought I would do him a good turn by going to him now. “What a doctor wants,” I said, “is practice. He shall have me. He will get more practice out of me than out of seventeen hundred of your ordinary, commonplace patients, with only one or two diseases each.” So I went straight up and saw him, and he said: “Well, what’s the matter with you?” I said: “I will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the matter with me. Life is brief, and you might pass away before I had finished. But I will tell you what is NOT the matter with me. I have not got housemaid’s knee. Why I have not got housemaid’s knee, I cannot tell you; but the fact remains that I have not got it. Everything else, however, I HAVE got.” And I told him how I came to discover it all. Then he opened me and looked down me, and clutched hold of my wrist, and then he hit me over the chest when I wasn’t expecting it – a cowardly thing to do, I call it – and immediately afterwards butted me with the side of his head. After that, he sat down and wrote out a prescription, and folded it up and gave it me, and I put it in my pocket and went out. I did not open it. I took it to the nearest chemist’s, and handed it in. The man read it, and then handed it back. He said he didn’t keep it. I said: “You are a chemist?” He said: “I am a chemist. If I was a co-operative stores and family hotel combined, I might be able to oblige you. Being only a chemist hampers me.” I read the prescription. It ran: “1 lb. beefsteak, with 1 pt. bitter beer every 6 hours. 1 ten-mile walk every morning. 1 bed at 11 sharp every night. And don’t stuff up your head with things you don’t understand.” I followed the directions, with the happy result – speaking for myself – that my life was preserved, and is still going on.

Prayer is not mere wishing. It is asking – with a will. . . . It is energy. We turn to an active Giver; therefore we go into action.

Our pasts define us, but we don’t have to let them rule us.

Barangkali keindahan bukan hanya terpancar dari keindahan itu sendiri, tetapi juga dengan siapa kita menikmati keindahan itu.

But if the day ever does come, where all colors completely disappear…let me be your rainbow, Sebastian. I can show you where to look.

I learned a long time ago coincidences don’t exist, random happenstance is bullshit, and people lie. A lot.

The fat Sentry has some scrambled eggs.

Every part of my body hurt. Except my heart. I saw no one, but, strange as it was, I missed no one. I longed for nothing but food and waterr and to be able to pt my backpack down

But my thoughts ran a wool-gathering; and I did like the countryman, who looked for his ass while he was mounted on his back.” Don Quixote (pt. II, ch. LVII)

when i had no friends i reached inside my beloved books & sculpted some out of 12 pt times new roman -& it was almost good enough

Poetic Terrorism WEIRD DANCING IN ALL-NIGHT computer-banking lobbies. Unauthorized pyrotechnic displays. Land-art, earth-works as bizarre alien artifacts strewn in State Parks. Burglarize houses but instead of stealing, leave Poetic-Terrorist objects. Kidnap someone & make them happy. Pick someone at random & convince them they're the heir to an enormous, useless & amazing fortune--say 5000 square miles of Antarctica, or an aging circus elephant, or an orphanage in Bombay, or a collection of alchemical mss. ... Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience, etc. Go naked for a sign. Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty. Graffiti-art loaned some grace to ugly subways & rigid public monuments--PT-art can also be created for public places: poems scrawled in courthouse lavatories, small fetishes abandoned in parks & restaurants, Xerox-art under windshield-wipers of parked cars, Big Character Slogans pasted on playground walls, anonymous letters mailed to random or chosen recipients (mail fraud), pirate radio transmissions, wet cement... The audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by PT ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror-- powerful disgust, sexual arousal, superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough, dada-esque angst--no matter whether the PT is aimed at one person or many, no matter whether it is "signed" or anonymous, if it does not change someone's life (aside from the artist) it fails. PT is an act in a Theater of Cruelty which has no stage, no rows of seats, no tickets & no walls. In order to work at all, PT must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption (galleries, publications, media). Even the guerilla Situationist tactics of street theater are perhaps too well known & expected now. An exquisite seduction carried out not only in the cause of mutual satisfaction but also as a conscious act in a deliberately beautiful life--may be the ultimate PT. The PTerrorist behaves like a confidence-trickster whose aim is not money but CHANGE. Don't do PT for other artists, do it for people who will not realize (at least for a few moments) that what you have done is art. Avoid recognizable art-categories, avoid politics, don't stick around to argue, don't be sentimental; be ruthless, take risks, vandalize only what must be defaced, do something children will remember all their lives--but don't be spontaneous unless the PT Muse has possessed you. Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. The best PT is against the law, but don't get caught. Art as crime; crime as art.

Will he really give her that heart box of candy?” I’d asked the shiny ball. Digital words spelled out across the surface in reply, “Not sure, try again”. I immediately rubbed it again and got “Concentrate and ask once more”. One more vigorous scrub gave me, “Try again later”. So frustrating!

Ini cara terindah untuk merayakan hujan, berlari-lari di lapangan bola dekat rumah bersama anak laki-laki seusiaku, menari seperti kupu-kupu, dan terbang bebas ke alam lepas seperti capung dan burung

Someone’s even made a video analyzing the situation, which I click on. It’s followed by another video, titled “All of Caz Song’s Interviews Pt. 1” … I don’t notice how deep I’ve wandered down this particular rabbit hole until I find myself watching a twenty-minute, fan-edited video compilation of Caz Song drinking water.

The idea hovered and shivered delicately, like a soap bubble, and she dared not even look at it directly in case it burst. But she was familiar with the way of ideas, and she let it shimmer, looking away, thinking about something else.

Singling out “women’s fiction” for genre derision never fails to piss me off. Somehow worse when women do it. Case in pt: Editor says crowd-sourcing editorial for romance & erotica not bad idea b/c “no great artistry at stake” Yes, genre fiction not high art. But it’s a craft we take seriously, writing for love of storytelling, not writing whatever sells.

I believe that nothing is more beautiful, profound, sympathetic, reasonable, brave, and perfect than Christ. With jealous love, I say to myself, not only that his equal cannot be found, but that it does not exist. And more, if someone should bring me proof that Christ is outside the truth, then I should prefer to remain with Christ than with the truth. [Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Letter to Natalya Fonvizina, soon after his release from Siberia. cf. The Possessed, Pt.2, Ch.I.vii]

But I’ll tell you one thing I know; I know what I like and what I want, and I like and want you,

You're mine to protect, from Fate and everything else." - Ethan, Brightest Kind of Darkness: Lucid

No matter what you've done, family forgives," he says softly. "It's like the ride every morning and evening, sunrise and sunset, and a rainbow after the rain stops and the sun shines.

Why is there so much meaningless, waste of time music out there these days? I'm no snob. I know I'm right about this. You can sell a lot of people a lot of crap but you can't sell it to me. Finding a good band to listen to these days is harder than ever. When one comes along, it's such a surprise when it didn't used to be. It's a surprise I could use a lot more of.

It was not the sorrow of the world that broke the heart of Christ, but its wickedness. He was equal to its sorrow ... He began by being the world's healer. But what broke him was its sin.

The only preaching which is up to date for every time is the preaching of this eternity, which is opened to us in the Bible alone – the eternal of holy love, grace and redemption, the eternal and immutable morality of saving grace for our indelible sin.

The speaker over my head crackled, "There has been a Bell-Atlantic pager misplaced. If anyone has found it, please make this known to a flight attendant." It's under my left foot and you're never seeing it again.

I fuck…” he answers in a matter-of-fact tone, then slowly traces a finger along my jaw, “But always with pleasure as the ultimate payoff. In exchange, I promise you’ll come until you beg me to stop, and even then I just might not.

And in what business is there not humbug? “There’s cheating in all trades but ours,” is the prompt reply from the boot-maker with his brown paper soles, the grocer with his floury sugar and chicoried coffee, the butcher with his mysterious sausages and queer veal, the dry goods man with his “damaged goods wet at the great fire” and his “selling at a ruinous loss,” the stock-broker with his brazen assurance that your company is bankrupt and your stock not worth a cent (if he wants to buy it,) the horse jockey with his black arts and spavined brutes, the milkman with his tin aquaria, the land agent with his nice new maps and beautiful descriptions of distant scenery, the newspaper man with his “immense circulation,” the publisher with his “Great American Novel,” the city auctioneer with his “Pictures by the Old Masters”—all and every one protest each his own innocence, and warn you against the deceits of the rest. My inexperienced friend, take it for granted that they all tell the truth—about each other! and then transact your business to the best of your ability on your own judgment.

70,000 to 100,000 births; twins joined at the head occur only once in 2 to 2.5 million births. Siamese twins received their name because of the birthplace (Siam) of Chang and Eng (1811 - 1874) whom P.T. Barnum exhibited across America and Europe. Most cranio pagus Siamese twins die at birth or shortly afterward. So far as we know, not more than 50 attempts had previously been made to separate such twins. Of those, less than ten operations have resulted in two fully normal children. Aside from the skill of the operating surgeons, the success depends largely on how much and what kind of tissue the babies share. Occipital cranio pugus twins (such as the Binders) had never before been separated with both surviving.

settles back into place and traces his fingers up my hip. “I stay

(Part

If you're born round, you don't come out square

define us, but we don’t have to let them rule us.

The greatest humbug of all is the man who believes—or pretends to believe—that everything and everybody are humbugs.

person is Mister Black.

Stepping close, Ethan grasped a lock of my hair. “You’re the only one who makes me smile like this, Nara.

Mais dons ce monde, il n'y a rien d'assure que le mort et les impots.

And this is for waiting until fucking now to walk into my life.

Reason will always be logical, Logic not always reasonable, For truth from reason derivable, And logic falsehood multipliable.

The judicial wheel is rounded with equality, oiled with honour and functions smoothly with honesty – principally when both members of the Bench and Bar shoulder their responsibilities seriously.

Nobody gets high or drunk while they on the clock. And nobody is to be strapped while they’re on the grind, just in case the boys roll up,” Butch said repeating the rules. “And what’s the main rule?” Butch raised his hand and said, “Chief, the crew is to be clean at all times while on the clock.” “Remember those rules and you’ll last long in this business,

No growth is possible,’ he would say, ‘without conscious labour and voluntary suffering.’ By this he meant that we cannot attain something without payment, or sacrifice—not in the sense of morbid self-punishment, but rather in the necessity of giving something up in order to make space for something new. What we ‘give up’ can be something intangible like low self-worth, or even laziness, or some other character defect like vanity or pride.

O iubire mare e mai curând un proces de autosugestie... Trebuie timp și trebuie complicitate pt formarea ei. De cele mai multe ori te onișnuiești greu, la început, să-ți placă femeia fără care mai târziu nu poți trăi. Iubești întâi din milă, din îndatorire, din duioșie, iubești pt că știi că asta o face fericită, îți repeți că nu e loial s-o jignești, să înșeli atâta încredere. Pe urmă te obișnuiești cu surâsul și vocea ei, așa cum te obișnuiești cu un peisaj. Și treptat îți trebuiește prezența ei zilnică. Înăbuși în tine mugurii oricăror altor prietenii și iubiri. Toate planurile de viitor ți le faci în funcție de nevoile și preferințele ei. Vrei succese ca să ai surâsul ei.

Go in confidence, study the rules, and above all things, study human nature for the proper study of mankind is man and you will find that while expanding the intellect and the muscles your enlarged experience will enable you to every day accumulate more and more principle which will increase itself by interest and otherwise until you arrive at a state of independence. 

It is possible to set boundaries provided that you prioritize your own self-care. To protect ourselves in their presence, we first have to understand the way they think and manipulate. This will give us insight into their agendas, their exploitative ways of approaching the world, and the essential tools needed to safely exit interactions, friendships, and relationships with them.

This being had only come to me, only manifested itself outside of activity and immediate enjoyment, on those rare occasions when the miracle of an analogy had made me escape the present. And only this being had the power to perform that task which had always defeated the efforts of my memory and my intellect, the power to make me rediscover days that were long past, the Time that was Lost.

Jimmy had a loyal supporter in Puerto Rico named Frank Chavez. But however, Frank Chavez was a definite troublemaker. He was very hotheaded. He’s the one who sent Bobby Kennedy a letter from his local in Puerto Rico the day John F. Kennedy got assassinated. He told Bobby that in honor of all the bad things Bobby Kennedy had done to Jimmy Hoffa, his Puerto Rican local was going to put flowers on the grave of Lee Harvey Oswald and maintain them and keep them fresh. That still has to make you cringe a little. Let the dead rest in peace. You honor the dead, especially that man. He was a war hero who saved his own men in that PT boat incident. Bobby was a son of a bitch, but the man had just lost his brother and he must have known it was all connected with him and that it was his own fault, besides. Frank

The world was simpler in those days, Jaime thought, and men as well as swords were made of finer steel. Or was it only that he had been fifteen? They were all in their graves now, the Sword of the Morning and the Smiling Knight, the White Bull and Prince Lewyn, Ser Oswell Whent with his black humor, earnest Jon Darry, Simon Toyne and his Kingswood Brotherhood, bluff old Sumner Crakehall. And me, that boy I was … when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys’s throat? That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead.

What would yield the greater benefit to mankind: if I spent the afternoon taking stock in my dispensary, or if I went to the beach and took off my clothes and lay in my underpants absorbing the benign spring sun, watching the children frolic in the water, later buying an ice-cream from the kiosk on the parking lot, if the kiosk is still there? What did Noël ultimately achieve labouring at his desk to balance the bodies out against the bodies in? Would he not be better off taking a nap? Maybe the universal sum of happiness would be increased if we declared this afternoon a holiday and went down to the beach, commandant, doctor, chaplain, PT instructors, guards, dog-handlers all together with the six hard cases from the detention block, leaving behind the concussion case to look after things. Perhaps we might meet some girls. For what reason were we waging the war, after all, but to augment the sum of happiness in the universe? Or was I misremembering, was that another war I was thinking of?

You reflect that he is worth twenty thousand dollars, and you incur no risk by endorsing his note; you like to accommodate him, and you lend your name without taking the precaution of getting security. Shortly after, he shows you the note with your endorsement canceled, and tells you, probably truly, "that he made the profit that he expected by the operation," you reflect that you have done a good action, and the thought makes you feel happy. By and by, the same thing occurs again and you do it again; you have already fixed the impression in your mind that it is perfectly safe to indorse his notes without security.

At Gabriel College there was a very holy object on the high altar of the Oratory, covered with a black velvet cloth... At the height of the invocation the Intercessor lifted the cloth to reveal in the dimness a glass dome inside which there was something too distant to see, until he pulled a string attached to a shutter above, letting a ray of sunlight through to strike the dome exactly. Then it became clear: a little thing like a weathervane, with four sails black on one side and white on the other, began to whirl around as the light struck it. It illustrated a moral lesson, the Intercessor explained, for the black of ignorance fled from the light, whereas the wisdom of white rushed to embrace it. {Alluding to William Crookes's radiometer.}

So it was a bit of shock, years later, when P.T. delivered a sermon, one of his few memorable ones, in which he told us all that the word "Word" was translated from the Greek word *Logos,* which didn't really mean "word" at all, but rather something closer to "plea" or even premise." It was a small betrayal for my little apostle's heart to find out that I had gotten my journal entry wrong. Worse still, I felt then, was the betrayal of language in translation. Why didn't English have a better word than "Word" if "Word" was not precise enough? I started to approach my Bible with suspicion. What else had I missed? Even though I felt ambushed, I did like the ambiguity that the revelation introduced into that verse. In the beginning there was an idea, a premise; there was a question.

Adolf Hitler a ajuns cancelar al Germaniei in 1933, pe cand eu aveam de-abia un an. tata, care nu-l mai vazuse din 1914, i-a transmis cele mai calde felicitari si un cadou, pictura lui Hitler in acuarela, Biserica minorita din Viena. Hitler a fost incantat. avea amintiri placute despre tata, din cate spunea, si l-a invitat in Germania, ca oaspete personal, sa ia seama la noua ordine sociala pe care o construia, sperand ca aceasta va dura vreo mie de ani, daca nu mai mult. mama, tata si Felix, care avea noua ani pe-atunci, au plecat din Ohio in Germania, pentru 6 luni, in 1934. [..] si imediat ce s-au intors acasa, tata s-a apucat sa-si arboreze cadoul favorit de la Hitler, pe bratul orzontal al morii de vant. era un steag nazist, mare cat un cearceaf. era un lucru misterios, exuberant, si, din cate zicea mama, comunitatea era mandra si in acelasi timp invidioasa pe tata, pe ea si pe Felix. nimeni in Midland City nu intretinuse vreodata relatii de prietenie cu un sef de stat. pana si eu apar intr-o poza din ziar. una cu toata familia noasta, in strada, in fata atelierului, privind in sus catre steagul nazist. sunt in brate la Mary Hoobler, bucatareasa noastra, care, incetul cu incetul, m-a invatat tot ce stia ea despre mancaruri si prajituri. pe cand pozam toti in strada pt fotografia din ziar, tata avea 42 de ani. dupa cum spunea mama, in Germania trecuse printr-o profunda transfigurare spirituala. isi redefinise scopurile in viata. nu-i mai era de ajuns sa fie artist. avea de gand sa se faca profesor si activist politic. sa fie purtatorul de cuvant in America al noii ordini ce abia se nastea in Germania, dar care, cu timpul, urma sa devina salvarea lumii. asta a fost, evident, o greseala.

cele 3 secole diferitele lor tipuri de sensibilitate se exprima cel mai bine astfel: aristocratismul: Descartes, domnia ratiunii, marturie despre suveranitatea vointei. feminismul: Rousseau, domnia sentimentului, marturie despre suveranitatea simturilor, minciuna. animalismul: Schopenhauer, domnia dorintei, marturie despre suveranitatea animalitatii. mai cinstit, dar sumbru. secolul 17 e aristocratic, ordonator, trufas fata de animalic, sever fata de inima, "incomod", chiar lipsit de sentiment, negermanic, retinut fata de burlesc si naturalete, inclinat spre generalizare si cu aere de suveranitate fata de trecut, deoarece este increzator in sine. in mare masura si animal de prada, multa deprindere ascetica pt a putea ramane stapan. secolul tariei de vointa dar si al pasiunii puternice. secolul 18 e dominat de femeie, visator, inteligent, cam plat, avand totusi un anumit spirit la dispozitia dorintelor sale, a inimii, libertin in delectarea cu cele spirituale, subminand orice gen de autoritate. ametit, voios, limpede, uman, fals fata de sine, o mare canalie au fond, sociabil. secolul 19 e mai animalic, mai subteran, mai urat, mai realist, mai badaran si tocmai de aceea considerat "mai bun" "mai cinstit" mai smerit in fata "realitatii", mai autentic. dar slab in vointa, dar trist si sumbru, pofticios dar fatalist. nu se teme si nici nu stimeaza ratiunea sau inima. adanc convins de dominatia poftelor [Schopenhauer vorbea de "vointa" dar nimic nu e mai caracteristic pt filozofia sa, decat ca ii lipseste tocmai vointa per se]. pana si morala e redusa la un singur instinct ["mila"]. faptul ca stiinta devenit intr'un asemenea grad suverana arata ca secolul 19 s'a eliberat de dominatia idealurilor. abia o anumita lipsa de pretentii in felul nostru de a dori ne face posibila starea de curiozitate si rigoare stiintifica - aceasta stranie virtute care ne apartine. secolul 19 cauta instinctiv teorii cu ajutorul carora isi simte justificata subordonarea fatalista fata de real. suntem niste oameni care se autodesfiinteaza.

If someone had told him at that moment that he was in love, passionately in love, he would have rejected the notion with surprise and possibly even with indignation. And if someone had gone on to say that Aglaya's letter was a love letter, arranging a lovers' rendezvous, he would have burned with shame for such a man and, perhaps, have challenged him to a duel. All this was perfectly sincere and not once did he have any doubt or admit the slightest "double" thought about the possibility of this girl loving him, or even of him loving her. He would have been ashamed of having such an idea! The possibility of love for him, for "a man like him," he would have found monstrous. It crossed his mind that, if there was anything to it at all, it was simply a prank on her part, but he was quite unconcerned by the whole matter and found it all too natural. [...] All that concerned him was to see her again tomorrow, early in the morning, to sit beside her on the green bench, and hear her tell him how to load a pistol and to look at her. He wanted nothing more than that.

Theseus Within the Labyrinth pt.2 But nobody like Theseus likes a smart girl, always telling him to dress warmly and eat plenty of fiber. She was one of those people who are never in doubt. Had he sharpened his sword, tied his sandals? Without her, of course, he would have never escaped the labyrinth. Why hadn’t he thought of that trick with the ball of yarn? But as he looked down at her sleeping form, this woman who was already carrying his child, maybe he thought of their future together, how she would correctly foretell the mystery or banality behind each locked door. So probably he shook his head and said, Give me a dumb girl any day, and crept back to his ship and sailed away. Of course Ariadne was revenged. She would have told him to change the sails, to take down the black ones, put up the white. She would have reminded him that his father, the king of Athens, was waiting on a high cliff scanning the Aegean for Theseus’s returning ship, white for victory, black for defeat. She would have said how his father would see the black sails, how the grief for the supposed death of his one son would destroy him. But Theseus and his men had brought out the wine and were cruising a calm sea in a small boat filled to the brim with ex-virgins. Who could have blamed him? Until he heard the distant scream and his head shot up to see the black sails and he knew. The girls disappeared, the ship grew quiet except for the lap-lap of the water. Staring toward the spot where his father had tumbled headfirst into the Aegean, Theseus understood he would always be a stupid man with a thick stick, scratching his forehead long after the big event. But think, does he change his mind, turn back the ship, hunt up Ariadne and beg her pardon? Far better to be stupid by himself than smart because she’d been tugging on his arm; better to live in the eternal present with a boatload of ex-virgins than in that dark land of consequences promised by Ariadne, better to live like any one of us, thinking to outwit the darkness, but knowing it will catch us, that we will be surprised like the Minotaur on his couch when the door slams back and the hired gun of our personal destruction bursts upon us, upsetting the good times and scaring the girls. Better to be ignorant, to go into the future as into a long tunnel, without ball of yarn or clear direction, to tiptoe forward like any fool or saint or hero, jumpy, full of second thoughts, and bravely unprepared.

Science is another important field of human effort. Science is the pursuit of pure truth, and the systematizing of it. In such an employment as that, one might reasonably hope to find all things done in honesty and sincerity. Not at all, my ardent and inquiring friends, there is a scientific humbug just as large as any other. We have all heard of the Moon Hoax. Do none of you remember the Hydrarchos Sillimannii, that awful Alabama snake? It was only a little while ago that a grave account appeared in a newspaper of a whole new business of compressing ice. Perpetual motion has been the dream of scientific visionaries, and a pretended but cheating realization of it has been exhibited by scamp after scamp. I understand that one is at this moment being invented over in Jersey City. I have purchased more than one “perpetual motion” myself. Many persons will remember Mr. Paine—“The Great Shot-at” as he was called, from his story that people were constantly trying to kill him—and his water-gas. There have been other water gases too, which were each going to show us how to set the North River on fire, but something or other has always broken down just at the wrong moment. Nobody seems to reflect, when these water gases come up, that if water could really be made to burn, the right conditions would surely have happened at some one of the thousands of city fires, and that the very stuff with which our stout firemen were extinguishing the flames, would have itself caught and exterminated the whole brave wet crowd!