I love smarta**es when it's stuff I agree with.
We love in others what we lack ourselves, and would be everything but what we are.
Once, when the days were ages, And the old Earth was young, The high gods and the sages From Nature's golden pages Her open secrets wrung.
There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.
A face at the window, a tap on the pane, who is it that wants me tonight in the rain?
Day is the Child of Time, And Day must cease to be: But Night is without a sire, And cannot expire, One with Eternity.
There is no death. The thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life.
The narrow slit through which the scientist, if he wants to be successful, must view nature constructs, if this goes on for a long time, his entire character; and, more often than not, he ends up becoming what the German language so appropriately calls a Fachidiot (professional idiot).
I sometimes wonder whether our churches--living as we do in American death-denying culture, relentlessly smiling through our praise choruses--are inadvertently helping people live not as much in hope as in denial.
Nowhere else in history has there ever been a flag that stands for the right to burn itself. This is the fractal of our flag. It stands for the right to destroy itself.
People are governed by the head; a kind heart is of little value in chess.