Ryerson Quotes

Investigations “eliminated solipsism but not the horror.” The only difference between this new predicament and that of the Tractatus was that rather than being trapped alone in our private thoughts, we were trapped together, with other people, in the institution of language.

It is neither size nor age that makes a man, Mr. Ryerson, but something he has inside. My son has it.

How did Wittgenstein get to this point? The Tractatus is concerned with a disarmingly basic question: How is language possible? When we consider the world around us, everything seems to interact with everything else causally, in accordance with the laws of nature. The exception is a certain strange thing we call language, which somehow manages to interact with other things in the world in an entirely different way: it represents them meaningfully. The ability to represent things allow us to communicate, enables us to deal with things that are not actually present to us, and provides the fabric of our mental life, our daily thoughts. But how is it, exactly, that language produces meaning?

One of the few giveaways in their exchange that Wallace is also a goofy college kid is that he alludes to Descartes as ‘Monsieur D’ and Kant as ‘the Big K.

He was perpetually on guard against the ways that abstract thinking (especially thinking about your own thinking) can draw you away from something more genuine and real.

TIN MAN: “What have you learned, Dorothy?” DOROTHY: “Well, I think it wasn’t enough just to want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em, and it’s that — if I ever go looking for my heart’s desire, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with. Is that right?” GLINDA: “That’s all it is.” The Wizard of Oz, 1939, script by Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allen Woolf. Based on the book by L. Frank Baum.

THE THING THAT ENTRANCED ME about Chicago in the Gilded Age was the city’s willingness to take on the impossible in the name of civic honor, a concept so removed from the modern psyche that two wise readers of early drafts of this book wondered why Chicago was so avid to win the world’s fair in the first place. The juxtaposition of pride and unfathomed evil struck me as offering powerful insights into the nature of men and their ambitions. The more I read about the fair, the more entranced I became. That George Ferris would attempt to build something so big and novel—and that he would succeed on his first try—seems, in this day of liability lawsuits, almost beyond comprehension. A rich seam of information exists about the fair and about Daniel Burnham in the beautifully run archives of the Chicago Historical Society and the Ryerson and Burnham libraries of the Art Institute of Chicago. I acquired a nice base of information from the University of Washington’s Suzallo Library, one of the finest and most efficient libraries I have encountered. I also visited the Library of Congress in Washington, where I spent a good many happy hours immersed in the papers of Frederick Law Olmsted, though my happiness was at times strained by trying to decipher Olmsted’s execrable handwriting. I read—and mined—dozens of books about Burnham, Chicago, the exposition, and the late Victorian era. Several proved consistently valuable: Thomas Hines’s Burnham of Chicago (1974); Laura Wood Roper’s FLO: A Biography of Frederick Law Olmsted (1973); and Witold Rybczynski’s A Clearing in the Distance (1999). One book in particular, City of the Century by Donald L. Miller (1996), became an invaluable companion in my journey through old Chicago. I found four guidebooks to be especially useful: Alice Sinkevitch’s AIA Guide to Chicago (1993); Matt Hucke and Ursula Bielski’s Graveyards of Chicago (1999); John Flinn’s Official Guide to the World’s Columbian Exposition (1893); and Rand, McNally & Co.’ s Handbook to the World’s Columbian Exposition (1893). Hucke and Bielski’s guide led me to pay a visit to Graceland Cemetery, an utterly charming haven where, paradoxically, history comes alive.

Wallace had read the Tractatus, of course (he wrote to Lance Olsen that he thought its first sentence was "the most beautiful opening line in western lit"). He knew that Wittgenstein's book presented a spare and unforgiving picture of the relations among logic, language, and the physical world. He knew that the puzzles solved and raised by the book were influential, debatable, and rich in their implications. But as a flesh-and-blood reader with human feelings, he also knew, though he had never articulated it out loud, that as you labored to understand the Tractatus, its cold, formal, logical picture of the world cold make you feel strange, lonely, awestruck, lost, frightened-a range of moods not unlike those undergone by Kate herself. The similarities were not accidental. Markson's novel, as Wallace put it, was like a 240-page answer to the question, "What if somebody really had to live in a Tractatusized world?" Pronouncing the novel "a kind of philosophical sci-fi," Wallace explained that Markson had staged a human drama on an alien intellectual planet, and in so doing he had "fleshed the abstract sketches of Wittgenstein's doctrine into the concrete theater of human loneliness.

The rise of the resistance movement in Pennsylvania is examined in great detail by Richard Alan Ryerson, The Revolution Is Now Begun: The Radical Committees of Philadelphia, 1765-1776 (Philadelphia,1978) .

There’s a real lesson in the observation that most VC funds have a hit ratio of only 1-in-10 investees becoming successful. But most VC investors are unable to learn from it because they are caught in their own over-confidence.

The faster you act, the more stable your company becomes and the higher your chances of success. Perfectionists make lousy entrepreneurs.

Before 2000, proof of concept was often defined as: I turn on the light, and the light goes on, thus the technology worked. Today, proof of concept has evolved, and many Angels (and Dragons) want to ensure not only that the light goes on but also that someone will pay to read under the light.

Their forethought in cutting and depositing upon the bottoms of the waters and ingeniously fastening there vast quantities of the birch or willow, the bark of which was to serve as food during the long winter months, was far ahead of the habits of the improvident people, who literally took “no thought for the morrow,” and so were often at starvation point, while the industrious beavers in their warm, cozy homes had enough and to spare.

The boys were desirous of having the pleasure that morning of giving the dogs their breakfast. They were very much surprised, however, when informed that the dogs were only fed once a day, and that that one meal was given to them in the evening, when their day’s work was done. This information at first aroused their sympathies for the dogs, but after some experience they found out that they could not only do much better work on one good meal a day, but were always in much better health.

But when a woman gets proud and conceited and carries on like this one did she is hard to cure. The fact was, her husband was too kind to her. He did not give her plenty of work to keep her busy and out of mischief. Instead of making her chop the wood and carry the water, and do other hard things, he did it for her, for he was very proud of her and she was indeed a beautiful woman. He did, however, make her stay in their wigwam instead of allowing her to go about wherever she liked.

With all his powers he set to work and it was not very long ere he had a large raft made out of the floating logs. As the last spot of land was now being overwhelmed by the flood, and he pitied the animals that were swimming about, he took them on the raft with him.

What at first was a surprise to them was that the brigades that held these best records were the Christian ones, who took time to say their prayers morning and evening and always rested on the Sabbath. This proved that these hard-working men, who rested one day in seven, could do and did better and faster work than those who knew no Sabbath, but pushed on from day to day without rest. Man as a working animal needs the day of rest, and with one off in seven will, as has been here and in other places proved, do better work in the remaining six than the one who takes no day of rest.

But stern measures had to be adopted in this year of the small-pox plague. A proclamation was issued by the Governor of the Province of Manitoba, absolutely prohibiting any trade or communication in any way with the infected district. Not a single cart or traveller was permitted to go on the trail. This meant a good deal of suffering and many privations for the isolated Missionaries and traders and other whites who, for purposes of settlement or adventure, had gone into that remote interior country.

Happy woman! Better live in a log hut without a chair or table or bedstead, without flour or tea or potatoes, entirely dependent upon the nets in the lake for food, if the Lord Jesus is a constant Guest, than in a mansion of a millionaire, surrounded by every luxury, but destitute of His presence.

When some of the Indians were getting excited about their lands, and the treaties which were soon to be made with the Government, William, in writing to a friend, said: “I care for none of these things; they will all come right. My only desire is to love Jesus more and more, so as to see Him by-and-by.

We see him," said one, "that paleface with his little pan, and he go up and down our rivers and lakes, and he stop on the shores and he put sand in that pan, and he whirl it round and round so fast that some of the sand keep flying out with the water. Then when only little left in the bottom of that pan, that man puts it on white paper and he looks at it for some time through little round things he takes out of his pocket. Then he throws it all away and then he tries again, and then he goes somewhere else and tries same as this, and then when night is coming on and he throws his last sand away, he says bad words and goes back to his camp.

I know it must be hard work for you white people to sleep with your heads completely covered up, but you will have to do it here, or you will freeze to death. You must be very careful, for this seems to be a very cold night indeed.

At first, long years ago, the Hudson’s Bay Company’s officials bitterly opposed the observance of the Sabbath by their boatmen and tripmen; but the missionaries were true and firm, and although persecution for a time abounded, eventually right and truth prevailed, and our Christian Indians were left to keep the day without molestation. And, as has always been found to be the case in such instances, there was no loss, but rather gain. Our Christian Indians, who rested the Sabbath day, were never behindhand. On the long trips into the interior or down to York Factory or Hudson Bay, these Indian canoe brigades used to make better time, have better health, and bring up their boats and cargoes in better shape, than the Catholic Half-breeds or pagan Indians, who pushed on without any day of rest. Years of studying this question, judging from the standpoint of the work accomplished and its effects on men’s physical constitution, apart altogether from its moral and religious aspect, most conclusively taught me that the institution of the one day in seven as a day of rest is for man’s highest good.

Our Sabbaths were days of quiet rest and delightful communion with God. Together we worshipped Him Who dwelleth not in temples made with hands. Many were the precious communions we had with Him Who had been our Comforter and our Refuge under other circumstances, and Who, having now called us to this new work and novel life, was sweetly fulfilling in us the blessed promise: “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.

After a long discussion it was resolved that in revenge for man's tyranny they would inflict rheumatism, lumbago, and similar diseases upon every hunter who should kill one of their number unless he took great care to ask pardon for the offense. That is the reason why so many hunters say, just before they shoot, 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Deer, but shoot you I must, for I want your flesh for food.' They know that if they do this they are safe.

Unlike logical modality and plain-old physical modality, situational physical modality, he observed, is not eternal and unchanging but rather highly sensitive to details of time and place (as the Eiffel Tower example illustrates).

The story ‘Good Old Neon’ invokes two conundrums from mathematical logic, the Berry and Russell paradoxes, to describe a psychological double bind that the narrator calls the ‘fraudulence paradox.

I tried to say some comforting words, but oh, how hollow and full of mockery they seemed! I could not but feel that all he said was true, awfully true—that we, who have the Book, with all it reveals of the loving Father and His Son Jesus, are verily guilty because we are not more prompt and zealous in sending and carrying the gospel to those who have it not, that their dark minds may be illuminated and their cruel natures made kind and affectionate.

Indians have never, without reluctance, accepted the white man's civilization. This can hardly be wondered at, when we remember that the phases of it which were first presented to them were not of a very high type. The " palefaces " whom the Indians generally first met, were loaded down with " fire-water " and a greed for gain. By them the Indians were first made drunk and then swindled and robbed, first of their furs and then of their lands. Is it any wonder that when they " came to themselves," they were chary about accepting such a civilization

In Boat 4, most of the women realized that their husbands and sons could be among those struggling in the icy water, since they had waved good-bye to them only half an hour before. With Quartermaster Perkis at the tiller, Marian Thayer, Madeleine Astor, and Emily Ryerson and her younger daughter began rowing back determinedly, despite a few protests in their boat. Seven men were pulled into Boat 4, all of them crew or stewards. One passenger, the wife of a New York stockbroker, recognized her bedroom steward as he was hauled aboard. Two of the rescued men soon died, and several others lay moaning and delirious for most of the night.

There is something glorious and exhilarating in getting away from civilization for a time, and living close to the heart of nature in some of her wildest domains. Then, when it is possible to throw them off, we get some idea of the despotism of many of the customs of civilization.

The most somber group of all, however, were the Ryersons of Haverford, Pennsylvania, who were returning home for the funeral of their twenty-one-year-old son, Arthur, a Yale student who been thrown from an open car while motoring on the Easter weekend. The family had received word by telegram in Paris, and Arthur Ryerson Sr. had cabled back to arrange his son’s funeral for April 19, two days after the Titanic was to arrive. His wife, Emily, was being given comfort by two of her daughters, Suzette, aged twenty-one, and Emily, aged eighteen, while thirteen-year-old Jack Ryerson was tended by his tutor, Grace Bowen. The Ryersons were part of Philadelphia Main Line society, named for the fashionable suburban towns built along the Main Line of the Pennsylvania Railroad and a group that would be well represented on the Titanic’s first-class passenger list.

100%原版制作學历證书【+V信1954 292 140】《怀雅逊大学學位證》Ryerson University

The next morning was, as usual, bright and cloudless, but it was bitterly cold. The mercury was frozen in one thermometer, and in the other one the spirit indicated fifty-five below zero. Yet so impatient were these spirited children to be off with their gifts to Souwanas, and with something also for each member of the family, that their pleadings prevailed. A cariole with plenty of fur robes was soon at the door, and with old Kennedy as their driver they were soon speeding away behind a train of dogs.

This is your platoon sergeant, Halleck. This is your platoon medic, Holzinger. This is your radioman, Loomis, and this is your call-sign, Decoy Red One Six. These are your squad leaders—Ryerson, Spicer, and Keesey. Tonight’s password is 'Ontario.' Your position extends from the edge of that gully to the blowdown over there. We don’t expect a push here, so your job is to keep the Germans from infiltrating. That means a one hundred percent alert all night, every night. Listen for the enemy. Don’t make any noise at all or you’ll take fire from both sides. Don’t smoke, the Germans will see the light and blow you to hell. Don’t fall asleep, you’ll wake up with your throat cut. Don’t give any orders, you don’t know what you’re doing. Let Halleck run things until you know the score. A guide will relieve you at 0630 hours exactly. If you hear anyone come up behind you before that, shoot him.

100%原版制作《瑞尔森大学學位證》【+V信1954 292 140】Ryerson University

One genuine case was that of an old man who was one of the Wood Cree Indians that lived beyond Norway House. He renounced his old life and habits, burned his medicine bag, and gave himself to the Saviour. Great and marvelous was the change produced in him. When he came to the church for baptism, in answer to my question, “Name this man,” he promptly said, “Call me Daniel.” “Why Daniel?” I asked. “Because,” he replied, “I heard you preach about Daniel, and you told about his being delivered from the lions. It was a great deliverance, but not as great as mine from my sins.” Then, lifting up his right hand and looking intently at it, he said in a voice that almost startled us all: “Missionary, that hand has mixed the poisons that have killed fourteen people. I have been a very wicked man, but I have heard the Great Spirit’s voice. I have come to him and he has saved me, and my deliverance is greater than that of Daniel, for I was in a deeper, darker place, but he has brought me out into the light.” So, amid the hushed excitement of the audience, we baptized him Daniel. BANFF SPRING HOTEL, CANADIAN NATIONAL PARK

When he came to the church for baptism, in answer to my question, “Name this man,” he promptly said, “Call me Daniel.” “Why Daniel?” I asked. “Because,” he replied, “I heard you preach about Daniel, and you told about his being delivered from the lions. It was a great deliverance, but not as great as mine from my sins.

About an hour later Captain Smith had the Baltic’s warning, too, but there’s no evidence that he showed it to anybody on the bridge. Instead, he took it with him as he started down for lunch about 1:30. On the Promenade Deck he ran into Bruce Ismay, who was taking a pre-lunch constitutional. They exchanged greetings, and the Captain handed the Managing Director the Baltic’s message as a matter of interest. Ismay glanced at it, stuffed it in his pocket, and went on down to lunch. He still had it late in the afternoon when he ran into Mrs. Thayer and Mrs. Ryerson, two of the most socially prominent ladies aboard. Ismay, who liked to remind people who he was, lost no time producing the Baltic message and reading them the titillating news about icebergs ahead.

But in my profession I know one miraculous name. You will be very much surprised. This name is Piet Mondrian. That man painted extremely simple panels, where on a seemingly white ground, divided by what seems to merely be black lines of different sizes and some rectangles of color. If you sit in front of that picture or in front of any of his pictures, but you cannot see it quick, you see it certain times. You have to conentrate and suddenly in front of your eyes, the background recedes, the airy, wonderful structure is advancing towards your eyes and you see the green going far and red coming nearer and the yellow going out of sight. And in front of your eyes is the structure. You are assisting at something that becomes in front of your eyes, that's veritably a becoming, you are assisting at the birth of a form. It is miraculous to recreate the form, but to make you see form being born in front of you -- it is a great miracle. [-- Martin A. Ryerson Lecture, 20 February 1951]

But in my profession I know one miraculous name. You will be very much surprised. This name is Piet Mondrian. That man painted extremely simple panels, where on a seemingly white ground, divided by what seems to merely be black lines of different sizes and some rectangles of color. If you sit in front of that picture or in front of any of his pictures, but you cannot see it quick, you see it certain times. You have to concentrate and suddenly in front of your eyes, the background recedes, the airy, wonderful structure is advancing towards your eyes and you see the green going far and red coming nearer and the yellow going out of sight. And in front of your eyes is the structure. You are assisting at something that becomes in front of your eyes, that's veritably a becoming, you are assisting at the birth of a form. It is miraculous to recreate the form, but to make you see form being born in front of you -- it is a great miracle. [-- Martin A. Ryerson Lecture, 20 February 1951]