Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Action speaks louder than words but not nearly as often.
Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.
Total abstinence is so excellent a thing that it cannot be carried to too great an extent. In my passion for it I even carry it so far as to totally abstain from total abstinence itself.
Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
The best answers to the world's most frequently-asked question:
I wanna live. I don't wanna die. That's the whole meaning of life: not dying!
I figured that shit out for myself in the third grade.
- George Carlin
Life is problems. Living is solving problems.
- Raymond Feist
Prime numbers are what is left when you have taken all the patterns away. I think prime numbers are like life.
They are very logical but you could never work out the rules, even if you spent all your time thinking about them.
- Mark Haddon
I'm twelve years old. I run into a synagogue. I ask the rabbi the meaning of life.
He tells me the meaning of life, but he tells it to me in Hebrew. I don't understand Hebrew.
Then he wants to charge me $600 for Hebrew lessons.
- Woody Allen
You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of.
You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.
- Albert Camus
It's a stupid question. Life just exists. I see life as a dance. Does a dance have to have meaning?
You're dancing because you enjoy it.
- Jackie Mason
In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in his cosmic loneliness.
And God said, "Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done." And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat, looked around, and spoke. "What is the purpose of all this?" he asked politely.
"Everything must have a purpose?" asked God.
"Certainly," said man.
"Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this," said God.
And He went away.
We are here on earth to fart around and don't let anybody tell you different.
- Kurt Vonnegut
Sunday, June 3, 2012
An excerpt from Salinger's short story in which the narrator touchingly reminisces over his deceased brother. If you like it, you can find the full text here.
At about nine, I had the very pleasant notion that I was the Fastest Boy Runner in the World. It's the kind of queer, basically extracurricular conceit, I'm inclined to add, that dies hard, and even today, at a super-sedentary forty, I can picture myself, in street clothes, whisking past a series of distinguished but hard-breathing Olympic milers and waving to them, amiably, without a trace of condescension. Anyway, one beautiful spring evening when we were still living over on Riverside Drive, Bessie sent me to the drugstore for a couple of quarts of ice cream. I came out of the building at that very same magical quarter hour described just a few paragraphs back. Equally fatal to the construction of this anecdote, I had sneakers on - sneakers surely being to anyone who happens to be the Fastest Boy Runner in the World almost exactly what red shoes were to Hans Christian Andersen's little girl. Once I was clear of the building, I was Mercury himself, and broke into a 'terrific' sprint up the long block to Broadway. I took the corner at Broadway on one wheel and kept going, doing the impossible: increasing speed. The drugstore that sold Louis Sherry ice cream, which was Bessie's adamant choice, was three blocks north, at 113th. About halfway there, I tore past the stationery store where we usually bought our newspapers and magazines, but blindly, without noticing any acquaintances or relatives in the vicinity. Then, about a block further on, I picked up the sound of pursuit at my rear, plainly conducted on foot. My first, perhaps typically New Yorkese thought was that the cops were after me - the charge, conceivably, Breaking Speed Records on a Non-School-Zone Street. I strained to get a little more speed out of my body, but it was no use. I felt a hand clutch out at me and grab hold of my sweater just where the winning-team numerals should have been, and, good and scared, I broke my speed with the awkwardness of a gooney bird coming to a stop. My pursuer was, of course, Seymour, and he was looking pretty damned scared himself. 'What's the matter? What happened?' he asked me frantically. He was still holding on to my sweater. I yanked myself loose from his hand and informed him, in the rather scatological idiom of the neighborhood, which I won't record here verbatim, that nothing had happened, nothing was the matter, that I was just running, for cryin' out loud. His relief was prodigious. 'Boy, did you scare me!' he said. 'Wow, were you moving ! I could hardly catch up with you!' We then went along, at a walk, to the drugstore together. Perhaps strangely, perhaps not strangely at all, the morale of the now Second-Fastest Boy Runner in the World had not been very perceptibly lowered. For one thing, I had been outrun by him. Besides, I was extremely busy noticing that he was panting a lot. It was oddly diverting to see him pant.