The music provokes a sharp longing the music soothes.
Why does any martyr cooperate with his judases?...We see a game beyond the endgame...As Seneca warned Nero: No matter how many of us you kill, you will never kill your successor.
Folks with most to complain about seldom complain most.
clocks in disagreement are worse than no clock at all.
Assured her I've never loved anyone except myself and have no intention of starting now.
Wars are never cured, they just go into remission for a few years.
Pain is strong, aye - but friends' eyes, more strong." I told him that he knows next to nothing about me & I know nothing about him. He jabbed at his eyes & jabbed at mine, as if that single gesture were ample explanation.
A weapon men use against women is the refusal to take them seriously.
Memories are their own descendents masquerading as the ancestors of the present.
over 85% of all statistics are made up on the spot.
If losers can exploit what their adversaries teach them, yes, losers can become winners in the long term.
Try this for deviancy: fabricants are mirrors held up to purebloods' conscience; what purebloods see reflected there sickens them. So they blame you for holding the mirror." I hid my shock by asking when purebloods might blame themselves. Mephi replied, "History suggests, not until they are made to.
Perpetual encagement endows any mirage of salvation with credibility.
Anticipating the end of the world is humanity's oldest passtime
If we believe that humanity may transcend tooth and claw, if we believe divers races & creeds can share this world as peaceably as the orphans share their candlenut tree, if we believe leaders must be just, violence muzzled, power accountable & the riches of the Earth & its Oceans shared equitably, such a world will come to pass.
But you have read Madame Bovary?' (I'd never heard of her books.) 'No.
I pass through many Me's in the course of my day, each one selfish with his time. The Lying-in-Bed me and the Enjoying-the-Hot-Shower Me are particularly selfish. The Late Me loathes the pair of them.
The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.
Eva. Every day I've climbed up the belfry chanting a lucky chant at one syllable per beat, "To-day-to-day-let-her-be-here-to-day-to-day.
People pontificate, "Suicide is selfishness." Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call in a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reason: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one's audience with one's mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it - suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what's selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.
Do," said Louisa finally, "whatever you can't not do.
So little is actually worthy of belief or disbelief. Better to strive to coexist than seek to disapprove . . .
The song instantly insisted it'd never existed.
As many truths as men. Occasionally, I glimpse a truer Truth, hiding in imperfect simulacrums of itself, but as I approach, it bestirs itself & moves deeper into the thorny swamp of dissent.
Birdsong foamed in the hour-before-dawn garden.
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