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-   -   quotation debate, part II (http://www.zefrank.com/bulletin_new/showthread.php?t=13246)

YsaPur EsChomuw 03-30-2008 02:45 PM

If I only had a little humility I would be perfect.

Ted Turner

12"razormix 03-30-2008 02:54 PM

and i'll pull your crooked teeth
you'll be perfect just like me

billy corgan

zero 03-30-2008 03:08 PM

why can't i be you?

- robert smith

12"razormix 03-30-2008 03:18 PM

you're venus as a boy

zero 03-30-2008 03:34 PM

nothing stands in your way
when youre a boy


Anna 03-30-2008 04:07 PM

One of the rules of Brienne school was that each pupil should know
something about agriculture. To illustrate this study, each one of the
one hundred and fifty boys had a little garden-spot set aside for him to
cultivate and keep in order.

Some of the boys did this from choice, and because they loved to watch
things grow; but many of them were careless, and had no love for fruit
or flowers; so while some of the garden-plots were well kept, others
were neglected.

Napoleon was glad of this garden-plot, for it gave him something which
he could call his own. He cared for it faithfully; but he wished to make
it even more secluded. He remembered his dear grotto at Ajaccio, and
studied over a plan to make his garden-plot just such a real retreat.
But it was not large enough for this. He looked about him. The boys to
whom belonged the garden-plots on either side of him were careless and
neglectful. Their gardens received no attention; they were overgrown
with weeds; their hedges were full of gaps and holes.

"I will take them," said Napoleon; "what one cannot care for, another

Marcus Bales 03-31-2008 09:03 AM

Once upon a time two explorers came upon a clearing in the jungle. In the clearing were growing many flowers and many weeds. One explorer says, "Some gardener must tend this plot." The other disagrees, "There is no gardener." So they pitch their tents and set a watch. No gardener is ever seen. "But perhaps he is an invisible gardener." So they set up a barbed-wire fence. They electrify it. They patrol with bloodhounds. (For they remember how H. G. Well's The Invisible Man could be both smelt and touched though he could not be seen.) But no shrieks ever suggest that some intruder has received a shock. No movements of the wire ever betray an invisible climber. The bloodhounds never give cry. Yet still the Believer is not convinced. "But there is a gardener, invisible, intangible, insensible, to electric shocks, a gardener who has no scent and makes no sound, a gardener who comes secretly to look after the garden which he loves." At last the Sceptic despairs, "But what remains of your original assertion? Just how does what you call an invisible, intangible, eternally elusive gardener differ from an imaginary gardener or even from no gardener at all?"

--Antony Flew

YsaPur EsChomuw 03-31-2008 11:42 AM

”We’re Prisoners of War,” Chacko said. “Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter.”
Then, to give Estha and Rahel a sense of historical perspective (though perspective was something, which, in the weeks to follow, Chacko himself would sorely lack), he told them about the Earth Woman. He made them imagine that the earth – four thousand six hundred million years old – was a forty-six-year-old woman – as old, say, as Aleyamma Teacher, who gave them Malayalam lessons. It had taken the whole of the Earth Woman’s life for the earth to become what it was. For the oceans part. For the mountains to rise. The Earth Woman was eleven years old, Chacko said, when the first single-celled organisms appeared. The first animals, creatures like worms and jellyfish, appeared only when she was forty. She was over forty-five – just eight months ago – when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
“The whole of human civilisation as we know it,” Chacko told the twins, “began only two hours ago in the Earth Woman’s life. As long as it takes us to drive from Ayemenem to Cochin.”
It was an awe-inspiring and humbling thought, Chacko said (Humbling was a nice word, Rahel thought. Humbling along without a care in the world), that the whole contemporary history, the World Wars, the War of Dreams, the Man on the Moon, science, literature, philosophy, the pursuit of knowledge – was no more than a blink of the Earth Woman’s eye.
“And we, my dears, everything we are and ever will be – are just a twinkle in her eye,” Chacko said grandly, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
When he was in this sort of mood, Chacko used his Reading Aloud voice. His room had a church-feeling. He didn’t care whether anyone was listening to him or not. And if they were, he didn’t care, whether or not they had understood what he was saying. Ammu called them his Oxford Moods.
Later, in the light of all that happened, twinkle seemed the completely wrong word to describe the expression in the Earth Woman’s eye. Twinkle was a word with crinkled, happy edges.
While other children of their age learned other things, Estha and Rahel learned how history negotiates its terms and collects its dues from those who break its laws. They heard its sickening thud. They smelled its smell and never forgot it.
History’s smell.
Like old roses on a breeze.
It would lurk for ever in ordinary things. In coat-hangers. Tomatoes. In the tar on the roads. In certain colours. In the plates at a restaurant. In the absence of words. At the emptiness in eyes.
They would grow up grappling with ways of living with what happened. They would try to tell themselves that in terms of geological time it was an insignificant event. Just a blink of the Earth Woman’s eye. That Worse Things had happened. That Worse Things kept happening. But they would find no comfort in the thought.

Arundhati Roy: The God of Small Things

12"razormix 03-31-2008 02:37 PM

i have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.

umberto eco

zero 03-31-2008 03:37 PM

cinema verite is the accountant's truth, as i keep saying. i have insulted many with that, but i've always been after what i call an 'ecstatic truth' — an ecstasy of truth... facts do not create truth. facts create norms, but they do not create an illumination.

- werner herzog

YsaPur EsChomuw 03-31-2008 03:42 PM

‘Look,’ she had said during one of their little chats, ‘ it’s a court of evidence, not truth. We have to forget about the truth, for truth’s sake. The truth is out of reach. And we shouldn’t pretend when we stand up in court that the truth is what we care about. We don’t. We care about what our client says is the truth. I can live with that. It’s the only way to take innocence seriously when all evidence points the other way. The truth? What’s that? It’s something the jury decided after I sat down.’

William Brodrick: the gardens of the dead

zero 03-31-2008 04:49 PM

LAWYER: mr. hill, this bass-fishing defence isn't going to cut it. hmm. were you abused as a child?
HANK: what? no!
LAWYER: are you sure? juries eat that up.
HANK: maybe i ought to tie that long hair on your head to the short hair on your ass and kick you down the street! i told you, i am not a doper!

Anna 03-31-2008 06:22 PM

Karen Crowder: You don't want the money?
Michael Clayton: Keep the money. You'll need it.

Don Jefferies: Is this fellow bothering you?

Michael Clayton: Am I bothering you?

Don Jefferies: Karen, I've got a board waiting in there. What the hell's going on? Who are you?

Michael Clayton: I'm Shiva, the God of death.

T.I.P. 03-31-2008 08:31 PM

"You're Hell's Angels, then ?" asked Big Ted, sarcastically. If there's one thing real Hell's Angels can't abide, it's weekend bikers.

The four strangers nodded.

"What chapter are you from, then?"

The Tall Stranger looked at Big Ted. Then he stood up. It was a complicated motion; if the shores of the seas of night had deck chairs, they'd open up something like that.
He seemed to be unfolding himself forever.
He wore a dark helmet, completely hiding his features. And it was made of that weird plastic, Big Ted noted. Like, you looked in it, and all you could see was your own face.

Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett - Good Omens

Hyakujo's Fox 03-31-2008 09:51 PM

Yes it's true, what they say, it's better the devil you know.

~ Kylie Minogue

brightpearl 03-31-2008 10:34 PM

God runs electromagnetics by wave theory on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and the Devil runs them by quantum theory on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.
~Wm. Bragg, Sr.

YsaPur EsChomuw 04-01-2008 12:23 AM


Originally Posted by brightpearl (Post 382907)
God runs electromagnetics by wave theory on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and the Devil runs them by quantum theory on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.
~Wm. Bragg, Sr.

Oh, so that's why my electrical generator doesn't work on Sundays!

Anna 04-02-2008 03:11 AM

The spirit of resistance to government is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it to be always kept alive. It will often be exercised when wrong, but better so than not to be exercised at all. I like a little rebellion now and then. It is like a storm in the atmosphere. --Thomas Jefferson

zero 04-03-2008 03:30 PM

remember, remember, the 5th of november
the gunpowder treason and plot;
i see of no reason why gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot.

guy fawkes, guy fawkes,
'twas his intent.
to blow up the king and the parliament.
three score barrels of powder below.
poor old england to overthrow.

- children's rhyme recited each guy fawkes night, the 5th of november, when effigies of him are traditionally burned.

Marcus Bales 04-03-2008 11:05 PM

Treason never prospers --
What's the reason?
Why, when it prospers
None dare call it treason.

Hyakujo's Fox 04-04-2008 02:03 AM

A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murder is less to fear.

-- Cicero Marcus Tullius

Marcus Bales 04-04-2008 10:20 AM

Truth made you a traitor as it often does in a time of scoundrels. - Lillian Hellman

YsaPur EsChomuw 04-04-2008 10:35 AM

Compromise is but the sacrifice of one right or good in the hope of retaining another-too often ending in the loss of both.

Marcus Bales 04-04-2008 11:17 AM

The pursuit, even of the best things, ought to be calm and tranquil. -- Marcus Tullius Cicero

12"razormix 04-05-2008 02:17 PM

waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. be one.

marcus aurelius

zero 04-05-2008 02:30 PM

one flash of light
but no smoking pistol

i never done good things
i never done bad things
i never did anything out of the blue


12"razormix 04-05-2008 02:33 PM

blue, blue, electric blue
that's the colour of my room

YsaPur EsChomuw 04-05-2008 02:35 PM

There is more war fever, and troops are being entrained. There is a party of dervishes in their long pointed hats and voluminous robes, overblowing on their shawms and neys, crashing their cymbals and thrashing their drums, salivating, screaming, rolling their eyes. All around them the ordinary folk are falling into the contagious hysteria, crying out, swooning, in an ebullition of fanaticism.
Mustafa Kemal sees this and feels a bitter shame and embarrassment on behalf of his people. The blood rises to his cheeks, and anger to his throat. He divines clearly the advanced symptoms of spiritual and philosophical immaturity, he smells a repellent backwardness, a radical irrationality and credulity which is only just beneath the surface, and he is increasingly convinced that it is Islam that is holding his people back, locking them behind the door that separates the medieval from the modern age. He will never understand why it is that so many of them actually like to be there, locked behind the door, enwombed within their tiny horizon, perpetually consoled and reassured by their tendentious but unchanging certainties.

Louis de Bernières: Birds Without Wings

Marcus Bales 04-06-2008 12:34 PM

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war ...

from Howl, Allen Ginsberg

YsaPur EsChomuw 04-06-2008 01:15 PM

Having suddenly sighted, through the porthole of an interstellar vehicle,
that village brawl, known as the Battle of Nations,
that local flare-up of the hot blood of the human race;
political parties, protesters, screaming, flailing soap-box orators;
philosophies shining in every colour above the rutting rabble of devils;
taxes, like road-tax, smoke-tax, air-tax, sky-tax, wet-tax, dry-tax, to name but a few,
the impalings, hangings, drawings and quarterings, the stake,
well, everything that is covered and covered up by the term: East- Central Europe;
and realizing also that in this brothel, where beggars bargain for beggars,
we try to establish the golden section between prosperity and freedom
every time we see tomorrow's butterfly in the worm of today,
in other words, we even manage to love somehow our intolerable madness, -
the Angel of the Lord, an innocent country character from an open, transparent world,
could only gape and say this much: WELL, I NEVER!

An outsider, if such could exist

zero 04-07-2008 04:30 PM

okay. if all those advanced ETs are out there, why haven’t they introduced themselves to us by now? the most popular answer is what i call the "benign anthropologist" conjecture. the aliens have not contacted us, this scenario assumes, because they don’t want to disturb the evolution of our pristine culture.

- lee gentry

Hyakujo's Fox 04-07-2008 08:52 PM

I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say? 'Hello, meat. How's it going?'

+ Terry Bisson

Anna 04-08-2008 03:02 AM

Good evening. Here is the news on Friday, the 27th of Geldof. Archaeologists near mount Sinai have discovered what is believed to be a missing page from the Bible. The page is currently being carbon dated in Bonn. If genuine it belongs at the beginning of the Bible and is believed to read "To my darling Candy. All characters portrayed within this book are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. - The new sensation sweeping the solar system is the total immersion video game, "Better Than Life." Using the new senso lock feedback technology, "Better Than Life" is able to detect all your desires and fantasies and then make them come true. So great is the appeal of "Better Than Life" when one store in New Tokyo ran out of stocks rubber nuclear weapons had to be deployed to disperse the crowd.


Hyakujo's Fox 04-08-2008 04:26 AM

In the future, women will have breasts all over. In the future, it will be a relief to find a place without culture. In the future, plates of food will have names and titles. In the future, we will all drive standing up. In the future, love will be taught on television and by listening to pop songs.

# th #

brightpearl 04-08-2008 07:59 AM

The present is never our goal: the past and present are our means: the future alone is our goal. Thus, we never live but we hope to live; and always hoping to be happy, it is inevitable that we will never be so.

~Blaise Pascal

zero 04-08-2008 09:41 AM

time present and time past
are both perhaps present in time future,
and time future contained in time past.
if all time is eternally present
all time is unredeemable.
what might have been is an abstraction
remaining a perpetual possibility
only in a world of speculation.
what might have been and what has been
point to one end, which is always present.
footfalls echo in the memory
down the passage which we did not take
towards the door we never opened
into the rose-garden.

my words echo


in your mind.

- t.s. eliot from burnt norton

Hyakujo's Fox 04-09-2008 10:16 AM

The Garden of Forking Paths is an incomplete, but not false, image of the universe as conceived by Ts'ui Pen. Unlike Newton and Schopenhauer, your ancestor did not believe in a uniform and absolute time; he believed in an infinite series of times, a growing, dizzying web of divergent, convergent, and parallel times. That fabric of times that approach one another, fork, are snipped off, or are simply unknown for centuries, contains all possibilities. In most of those times, we do not exist; in some, you exist but I do not; in others, I do and you do not; in others still, we both do. In this one, which the favouring hand of chance has dealt me, you have come to my home; in another, when you come through my garden you find me dead; in another, I say these same words, but I am an error, a ghost.

~ Jorge Luis Borges

zero 04-11-2008 02:18 PM

does every new universe constructed have to be nice?
- philip k. dick from the three stigmata of palmer eldritch

Anna 04-11-2008 06:32 PM

12"razormix 04-12-2008 11:55 AM

you must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.

friedrich nietzsche

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