Author: Nike (---.126.254.80.donpac.ru)
Date: 01-20-06 14:50
The former post was off topic and was removed as it was a violation of our
Great Books spirit.
These forums are being phased out & replaced. Join us at our new
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jollyrogerwest.com Great Books forums,
and booksliterature.com Great Books forums.
Please respect that these are Great Books sites. We far prefer
discussions along the following
It\'s silly talking about how many years we will have to spend in the
jungles of Vietnam when we could pave the whole country and put parking
stripes on it and still be home by Christmas.
A human being is a part of a whole, called by us _universe_, a part
limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and
feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical
delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us,
restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons
nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by
widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the
whole of nature in its beauty. --Albert Einstein
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love\'s face
May still seem love to me, though alter\'d new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many\'s looks, the false heart\'s history
Is writ in moods, and frowns, and wrinkles strange.
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate\'er thy thoughts, or thy heart\'s workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell.
How like Eve\'s apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven\'s graces,
And husband nature\'s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.
The summer\'s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself, it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.
Information is the oxygen of the modern age. It seeps through the walls
topped by barbed wire, it wafts across the electrified borders.