Neglect meaning -
1.(noun) lack of attention and due care
Synonyms: disregard
2.[noun] the state of something that has been unused and neglected; “the house was in a terrible state of neglect”
Synonyms: disuse
3.[noun] willful lack of care and attention
Synonyms: disregard
4.[noun] the trait of neglecting responsibilities and lacking concern
Synonyms: negligence, fulness
5.[noun] failure to act with the prudence that a reasonable person would exercise under the same circumstances
Synonyms: negligence, carelessness, nonperformance
6.[verb] leave undone or leave out; “How could I miss that typo?”; “The workers on the conveyor belt miss one out of ten”
Synonyms: pretermit, omit, drop, miss, leave out, overlook, overleap
7.[verb] fail to do something; leave something undone; “She failed to notice that her child was no longer in his crib”; “The secretary failed to call the customer and the company lost the account”
Synonyms: fail
8.[verb] fail to attend to; “he neglects his children”
9.[verb] give little or no attention to; “Disregard the errors”
Synonyms: ignore, disregard
In a world where it is so easy to neglect, deny, pervert and suppress the truth, the scientist may find his discipline severe. For him, truth is so seldom the sudden lightthat showsneworderand beauty; more often, truth is the uncharted rock that sinks his ship in the dark.
-Cornforth, SirJohnWarcup
Nobel prize speech.
A potent quack, long versed in human ills, Who first insults the victim whom he kills; Whose murd’rous hand a drowsy bench protect, And whose most tender mercy is neglect.
-Crabbe, George
The Village, bk.1, l.282.
I throw myself down in my Chamber, and I call in, and invite God, and his Angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his Angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
-Donne,John
Sermon preached at the funeral of Sir William Cockayne, 12 Dec.
It is the fate of those who toil at the lower employments of lifeto be exposed to censure, without hope of praise; to be disgraced by miscarriage or punished for neglect Among these unhappy mortals isthe writer of dictionaries Every other author mayaspire to praise; the lexicographer can only hope to escape reproach.
-Johnson, Samuel known as Dr Johnson
A Dictionary of the English Language, preface.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed, Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
-Jonson, Ben
^10 Epicoene, act1, sc.1.
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“Love is not a matter of belief. It is a matter of demonstration. It is not a question of authority, but one of perception.” Rebazar Tarzs
“Love makes the difference. The richest people on earth are those who have love, God’s love.” Sri Harold Klemp
“Be not deceived for God is not mocked. Whatever a man sows, that shall he reap.” Jesus Christ of Nazareth
“A man’s mind stretched by a new idea can never go back to its original dimension.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes
“The perfect way is difficult for those who pick and choose. We should neither like nor dislike and all will become clear.” Rebazar Tarzs
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Lao Tzu
“You will never find yourself until you face the truth.” Pearl Bailey
“Worship the gods if you wish, but first, know thyself.” Socrates
“Of all the wonders I yet have known, it baffles me that men should fear death, knowing that death is inevitable and must come when it must come.” William Shakespeare
“Life is keeping in balance.” Paul Twitchel/Rebarzar Tarz
“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow. It only saps today of its strength.” A.J. Cronin
“Seek and you will find, knock and it shall be opened, ask and it shall be given to you.” Jesus Christ of Nazareth
“If you don’t ask, you don’t get.” Mahatma Ghandi
“Thousands of candles can be lighted by one candle and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” Budha
“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish as fools.” Dr. Martin Luther King
“The future belongs to those who belief in the beauty of their dreams.” Eleanor Roosevelt
“The greatest man is he who chooses right with invincible determination.” Seneca the Roman
“I was lost until I met you. Now I’m happy in today and hopeful for tomorrow.” -unknown, Submitted by Aimee, canada
“It is the dim haze of mystery that adds enchantment to pursuit.” – antonio macavado
“Between living and dreaming there’s a third thing guess it.” – anonymous -Submitted by sarah stinson
“Our wants are many, Our needs are few.” – James Perry
“If you love someone set them free, If they come back it was meant to be”.Anna Jovanovic
“Fear only exists to those who believe in it” – Diana Melkumova
“My wish is not to mean everything to everyone but to mean something to someone!” – Ashley Sowers
“Pencils have erasers because people make mistakes.” Ty Ross
“Friendship is a sheltering tree.”- Anuja, India
“You cannot escape your past, but you can make your future.” – Diana Melkumova
A young fool would grow up to be an old fool,if care is not taken. – Shodi Media
“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”
“There is no smoke without fire.” – Submitted by Bunmi Afonja
“Life is much deeper than you think.” – Michelle Gonzalez
“To the world you may be one person but to one person you may be the world.” – Chanel Bell
“Don’t be sad it’s over, be glad it happened.” – Ashley A
“It’s simple like a dimple, comes with a smile and it’s free” – Nasir R. Mecklai
“I Love you not only for what you are, but for who I am when I’m with you.” – Megan
“My great self is the self that is the greatest self within me” – Nasir R. Mecklai
“Notice the world around you. God is in everything and everyone…”- Megan
“Who is to say I can not live in that dream, who is to say it is not real…” –
“I don’t know how you got in but I’ll never let you out again…”- Megan
“If it’s meant to be…. it will be” – Heather H
One never tests the depth of the river with two feet, only one. – Rachel Bouffard
Life: Never stop believing in the beauty of your dreams Because without them we are nothing – Sareena Choudhury
Life: Sometimes life is not what you want it to be But to stay alive we just have to deal – Sareena Choudhury
Love: When you really love someone you accept all, You never give up and never let go, You love that person unconditionally, You love them completely – Michelle Janine bordeleau
When in love, be fair and honest, even when it hurts.
I wrote Your Name In The sand but The waves Washed It Away, Then I wrote It In The sky but the Wind Blew It Away, So I wrote It In My Heart and That’s where It Will stay
Never start frowning because you never know who’s falling in love with your smile
Do not wish upon a star, reach for one!
life: Our eyes are place in the front of you heads, because its more important to look ahead than back.
No guy is worth your tears, and when you find the one that is, he wont make you cry!
- By Adina
Don’t expect love to be as it is because when you do, you’ll never appreciate its existence.
Remember that there’s one true love for you to have and hold. It may not be the best but it is the one you deserve. – Anna Liza dorado
“Imperfections of the human state, are outweighed by the human love ” – Randeep Dosanjh
To the world you may be one person but to one person you may be the world – kaitlin
Life is like a box of chocolate you never know what you are going get – Joh Stueber forest gump
People come and people go, but friends always stick around. Even if they’re not in perfect sight, they’re in your heart. – Tara Grace
When you love someone put their name in a circle instead of a heart, heart’s break but
circles go on forever – Sandy
Love not with your mouth, but with your heart. Because words are just things that come out of peoples mouths. But actions show the affection. – McNair Dixon
LOVE IS NOT SOMETHING WE ARE IN……..LOVE ISN’T THOSE WORDS WE SAY IT IS SOMETHING WE DO! – NICOLE
“To us the child has come to give us means to leave our legacy” – Oliver Mbamara
“Don’t be stuck on the past be ready for what lies ahead!!!!!” – Cheyann
“if you love somebody so much you have to get them before it’s to late” Malissa Fairbanks
“On the wings of forgiveness is carried all other wisdom.” – Honey Judith Rubin
“Even a simple smile could be the mightiest gift of love” – Oliver Mbamara
“Do not go where the path may lead but go where there is no path and leave a trail.” – Brielle Rhode I.
“Life is the greatest gift to ever receive.” – Cameron Mason
“It’s not the end,till its the end.” Hans
“life is something that just doesn’t wait for you…you have to go and catch up with it!” – Brittany
“If you love someone don’t put their name in a heart put it in a circle because a heart can be broken but a circle goes on forever” – Ashley
“if you have the courage to love you must have courage to suffer – Hardik
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Francesco Petrarch, one of greatiest Italian scholar, poet, and humanist, was born shortly after 1300, in the time of Renaissance, became famous mostly for his love poems addressed to Laura de Noves. She was the love of Petrarch’s life, an idealized beloved whom he met in 1327 and who died in 1348. It was for Laura which Petrarch wrote the “Canzoniere”.
***
Voi ch’ascoltate in rime sparse il suono
di quei sospiri ond’io nudriva ‘l core
in sul mio primo giovenile errore
quand’era in parte altr’uom da quel ch’i’ sono,
del vario stile in ch’io piango et ragiono
fra le vane speranze e ‘l van dolore,
ove sia chi per prova intenda amore,
spero trovar pietà, nonché perdono.
Ma ben veggio or sí come al popol tutto
favola fui gran tempo, onde sovente
di me mesdesmo meco mi vergogno;
et del mio vaneggiar vergogna è ‘l frutto,
e ‘l pentersi, e ‘l conoscer chiaramente
che quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno.
***
(english)
You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes,
of those sighs on which I fed my heart,
in my first vagrant youthfulness,
when I was partly other than I am,
I hope to find pity, and forgiveness,
for all the modes in which I talk and weep,
between vain hope and vain sadness,
in those who understand love through its trials.
Yet I see clearly now I have become
an old tale amongst all these people, so that
it often makes me ashamed of myself;
and shame is the fruit of my vanities,
and remorse, and the clearest knowledge
of how the world’s delight is a brief dream.
Francesco Petrarch was born shortly after 1300 in a time and place where very few could read or write and those that did considered it a chore where as Petrarch saw a blessing. His passion to write his thoughts to paper was only overcome by the need to sleep or eat.
So great was his desire to write his thoughts and feelings and so difficult was it to find anyone in Europe to match his desire he found himself writing to Cicero, one of the only people he believed really shared his passion. (Cicero was a Roman Poet/Politician that died over 1200 years before Petrarch was born).
All what is known is that Petrarch met Laura in Avignon, where he had entered the household of an influential cardinal. She is generally believed to have been the 19-year-old wife of Hugues de Sade. Petrarch saw her first time in the church of Saint Claire. According to several modern scholars, it is possible that Laura was a fictional character. However, she was a more realistically presented female character than in the conventional songs of the troubadours or in the literature of courtly love.
“In my youth I was blessed with an agile, active body, though not particularly strong; and while I cannot boast of being very handsome, I was good-looking enough in my younger days. I had a clear complexion, between light and dark, lively eyes, and for many years sharp vision, which, however, unexpectedly deserted me when I passed my sixtieth birthday, and forced me, reluctantly, to resort to the use of glasses. Although I had always been perfectly healthy, old age assailed me with its usual array of discomforts.” (from ‘Letter to Posterity’)
“True, we love life, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness.”
“Man has no greater enemy than himself.”
“Love is the crowning grace of humanity, the holiest right of the soul, the golden link which binds us to duty and truth, the redeeming principle that chiefly reconciles the heart of life, and is prophetic of eternal good.”
“Five enemies of peace inhabit with us / avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.”
“Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together”
“To be able to say how much you love is to love but little”
“Suspicion is the cancer of friendship.”
“Books have led some to learning and others to madness”
“There is no lighter burden, nor more agreeable, than a pen”
“It is more honorable to be raised to a throne than to be born to one. Fortune bestows the one, merit obtains the other.”
“A short cut to riches is to subtract from our desires”
“Sameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure”
“The aged love what is practical while impetuous youth longs only for what is dazzling.”
“All pleasure in the world is a passing dream.”
eathian Francesco Petrarch quote
“Who naught suspects is easily deceived.”
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This is really very sad, but the fantasy novelist, Sir Terry Pratchett, 61, author of the hugely successful Discworld books, has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s diseasein 2007, has made an emotional plea for the right to take his own life, saying: ‘I live in hope I can jump before I am pushed’. ‘I’ll die before the endgame, says Terry Pratchett in call for law to allow assisted suicides in UK.
Sir Terry, who was knighted in the 2009 New Year Honours, said in an article in the Mail on Sunday: ‘I intend, before the endgame looms, to die sitting in a chair in my own garden with a glass of brandy in my hand and Thomas Tallis on the iPod.
‘Oh, and since this is England, I had better add, “If wet, in the library”. Who could say that this is bad?’
Sir Terry said he would be happy to accept help from the medical profession. He said he had no doubt that there were people with a ‘passion for caring’, but asked them to accept there are people ‘who have a burning passion not to need to be cared for’.
The author rejected the idea that allowing assisted suicide would amount to legalising euthanasia, in which those unwilling to die would be killed off.
He said some ways of looking after those with chronic illnesses, including forcible or ‘peg’ feeding of Alzheimer’s sufferers, were degradpulsorying and painful. ‘I am certain no one sets out to be cruel, but our treatment of the elderly ill seems to have no philosophy to it. As a society, we should establish whether we have a policy of life at any cost.’
Sir Terry added: ‘I have seen people profess to fear that the existence of a formalised approach to assisted dying could lead to it somehow becoming part of national health policy.
‘I very much doubt this could be the case. We are a democracy and no democratic government is going to get anywhere with a policy of comor even recommended euthanasia.
‘If we were ever to end up with such a government, we would be in so much trouble that the problem would become the least of our worries. But neither do I believe in a duty to suffer the worst ravages of terminal illness.’
Terry Pratchett quotes
“Build a man a fire, and he’ll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.”
“In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.”
inocntlilgrlNOT Terry Pratchett quote
“And therefore education at the University mostly worked by the age-old method of putting a lot of young people in the vicinity of a lot of books and hoping that something would pass from one to the other, while the actual young people put themselves in the vicinity of inns and taverns for exactly the same reason.”
“It is often said that before you die your life passes before your eyes. It is in fact true. It’s called living.”
“The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp”
“The intelligence of the creature known as a crowd, is the square root of the number of people in it.”
“In the beginning there was nothing, which exploded.”
rainstormsong Terry Pratchett quote
“Most gods throw dice, but Fate plays chess, and you don’t find out til too late that he’s been playing with two queens all along.”
“I meant,” said Ipslore bitterly, “what is there in this world that truly makes living worth while?” Death thought about it “Cats,” he said eventually, “Cats are Nice”
“It’s not worth doing something unless you were doing something that someone, somewere, would much rather you weren’t doing.”
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There are many favorite books and authors but the books which are always by the hand, the books you want to reread are not too many I guess. One of such books I always keep on my table are Henry Miller’s ones and the most loved of them are The Colossus of Maroussi and The Time of the Assassins (about Arthur Rimbaud).
“His was the most terrible deception I know of. He asked for more than any man dared and he received infinitely less than he deserved.”
Henry Miller on Rimbaud
“It was in 1927, in the sunken basement of a dingy house in Brooklyn that I first heard Rimbaud’s name mentioned. I was then 36 years old and in the depths of my own protracted Season in Hell. An absorbing book about Rimbaud was lying about the house but I never glanced at it. The reason was that I loathed the woman who owned it and who was then living with us. In looks, temperament and behavior she was, as I later discovered, as near to resembling Rimbaud as it is possible to imagine.
As I say, though Rimbaud was all the engrossing topic of conversation between Thelma and my wife, I made no effort to know him. In fact, I fought like the very devil to put him out of my mind; it seemed to me then that he was the evil genius who had unwittingly inspired all my trouble and misery. I saw that Thelma, whom I despised, had identified herself with him, was imitating him as best she could, not only in her behavior but in the kind of verse she wrote. Everything conspired to make me repudiate his name, his influence, his very existence. I was then at the very lowest point of my whole career, my morale was completely shattered. I remember sitting in the cold dank basement trying to write by the light of a flickering candle with a pencil. I was trying to write a play depicting my own tragedy. I never succeeded in getting beyond the first act.
In that state of despair and sterility I was naturally highly sceptical [sic] of the genius of a seventeen-year-old poet. All that heard about him sounded like an invention of crazy Thelma’s. I was then capable of believing that she could conjure up subtle torments with which to plague me, since she hated me as much as I did her. The life which the three of us were leading, and which I tell about at great length in The Rosy Crucifixion, was like an episode in one of Dostoievsky’s tales. It seems unreal and incredible to me now.
The point is, however, that Rimbaud’s name stuck. Thought I was not even to glance at his work until six or seven years later, at the home of Anais Nin in Louveciennes, his presence was always with me. It was a disturbing presence, too. “Some day you will have to come to grips with me.” That’s what his voice kept repeating in my ears. The day I read the first line of Rimbaud I suddenly remembered that is was of Le Bateau Ivre that Thelma had raved so much. The Drunken Boat! How expressive that title now seems in light of all the subsequently experienced! Thelma meanwhile died in an insane asylum. And if I had not gone to Paris, begun to work there in earnest, I think my fate would have been the same. In that basement on Brooklyn Heights my own ship had foundered. When finally the keel burst asunder and drifted out to the open sea, I realized that I was free, that the death I had gone through liberated me.
If that period in Brooklyn represented my Season in Hell, then the Paris period, especially from 1932 to 1934, was the period of my Illuminations.
Coming upon Rimbaud’s work at this time, when I had never been so fecund, so jubilant, so exalted, I had to push him aside, my own creations were more important to me. A mere glance at his writings and I knew what lay in store for me. He was pure dynamite, but I had first to fling my own stick. At this time I did not know anything about his life, except from the snatches Thelma had let drop years ago. I had yet to read a line of biography. It was in 1943, while living at Beverly Glen with John Dudley, the painter, that I first read about Rimbaud. I read Jean-Marie Carre’s A Season in Hell and then Enid Starkie’s work. I was overwhelmed, tongue-tied. It seemed to me that I had never read of a more accursed existence than Rimbaud’s. I forgot completely about my own sufferings, which far outweighed his. I forgot about the frustrations and humiliations I had endured, the depths of despair and impotence to which I had sunk time and time again. Like Thelma in the old days, I too could talk of nothing but Rimbaud. Everybody who came to the house had to listen to the song of Rimbaud.
It is only now, eight years after I first heard the name, that I am able to see him clearly, to read him like a clairvoyant. Now I know how great his contribution, how terrible his tribulations. Now I understand the significance of his life and work – as much, that is, as once can say he understands the life and work of another. But what I see most clearly is how I miraculously escaped suffering the same vile fate.
Rimbaud experienced his great crisis when he was eighteen, at which moment in his life he had reached the edge of madness; from this point on his life is an unending desert. I reached mine at the age of thirty-six to thirty-seven, which is the age at which Rimbaud dies. From this point on, my life begins to blossom. Rimbaud turned from literature to life; I did the reverse. Rimbaud fled from the chimeras he had created; I embraced them. Sobered by the folly and waste of mere experience of life, I halted and converted my energies to creation. I plunged into writing with the same fervor and zest that I had plunged into life. Instead of losing life, I gained life; miracle after miracle occurred, every misfortune being transformed into a good account. Rimbaud, though plunging into a realm of incredible climates and landscapes, into a world of phantasy [sic] as strange and marvelous as his poems, became more and more bitter, taciturn, empty and sorrowful.
Rimbaud restored literature to life; I have endeavored to restore life to literature. In both of us the confessional quality is strong, the moral and spiritual preoccupation uppermost. The flair for language, for music rather than literature, is another trait in common. With him I have felt an underlying primitive nature which manifests itself in strange ways. Claudel styled Rimbaud “a mystic in the wild state.” Nothing could describe him better. He did not “belong” – not anywhere. I have always had the same feeling about myself. The parallels are endless. I shall go into them in some detail, because in reading the biographies and the letters I saw these correspondences so clearly that I could not resist making note of them. I do not think I am unique in this respect; I think there are many Rimbauds in this world and that their number will increase in time. I think the Rimbaud type will displace, in the world to come, the Hamlet type and the Faustian type. The trend toward a deeper split. Until the old world dies out utterly, the “abnormal” individual will tend more and more to become the norm. The new man will find himself only when the warfare between the collectivity and the individual ceases. Then we shall see the human type in its fullness and splendor”.
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Love is a desire for that lost half of ourselves.
Young is the one that plunges in the future and never looks back.
The basis of shame is not some personal mistake of ours, but the ignominy, the humiliation we feel that we must be what we are without any choice in the matter, and that this humiliation is seen by everyone.
Solitude: sweet absence of faces.
Anyone whose goal is ’something higher’ must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.
Tomas did not realize at the time that metaphors are dangerous. Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love.
When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object.
There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, for someone, pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echos.
The sound of laughter is like the vaulted dome of a temple of happiness.
I think, therefore I am is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches.
Let us consider the critic, therefore, as a discoverer of discoveries.
The serial number of a human specimen is the face, that accidental and unrepeatable combination of features. It reflects neither character nor soul, nor what we call the self. The face is only the serial number of a specimen.
Happiness is the longing for repetition.
Optimism is the opium of the people.
Eroticism is like a dance: one always leads the other.
Without the meditative background that is criticism, works become isolated gestures, historical accidents, soon forgotten.
Nudity is the uniform of the other side… nudity is a shroud.
He took over anger to intimidate subordinates, and in time anger took over him.
How goodness heightens beauty!
The light that radiates from the great novels time can never dim, for human existence is perpetually being forgotten by man and thus the novelists discoveries, however old they may be, will never cease to astonish.
For a novelist, a given historic situation is an anthropologic laboratory in which he explores his basic question: What is human existence?
Mankind’s true moral test, its fundamental test (which lies deeply buried from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals. And in this respect mankind has suffered a fundamental debacle, a debacle so fundamental that all others stem from it.
Ambition is a poor excuse for not having sense enough to be lazy.
Art is the human disposition of sensible or intelligible matter for an esthetic end.
Mysticism and exaggeration go together. A mystic must not fear ridicule if he is to push all the way to the limits of humility or the limits of delight.
Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty even in times of greatest distress.
True human goodness, in all its purity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power.
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I find this text by famous American writer Bruce Sterling very important and interesting. The text was pablished on wired 20 May
1. Literature is language-based and national; contemporary society is globalizing and polyglot.
2. Vernacular means of everyday communication — cellphones, social networks, streaming video — are moving into areas where printed text cannot follow.
3. Intellectual property systems failing.
4. Means of book promotion, distribution and retail destabilized.
5. Ink-on-paper manufacturing is an outmoded, toxic industry with steeply rising costs.
6. Core demographic for printed media is aging faster than the general population. Failure of print and newspapers is disenfranching young apprentice writers.
7. Media conglomerates have poor business model; economically rationalized “culture industry” is actively hostile to vital aspects of humane culture.
8. Long tail balkanizes audiences, disrupts means of canon-building and fragments literary reputation.
9. Digital public-domain transforms traditional literary heritage into a huge, cost-free, portable, searchable database, radically transforming the reader’s relationship to belle-lettres.
10. Contemporary literature not confronting issues of general urgency; dominant best-sellers are in former niche genres such as fantasies, romances and teen books.
11. Barriers to publication entry have crashed, enabling huge torrent of subliterary and/or nonliterary textual expression.
12. Algorithms and social media replacing work of editors and publishing houses; network socially-generated texts replacing individually-authored texts.
13. “Convergence culture” obliterating former distinctions between media; books becoming one minor aspect of huge tweet/ blog/ comics/ games / soundtrack/ television / cinema / ancillary-merchandise pro-fan franchises.
14. Unstable computer and cellphone interfaces becoming world’s primary means of cultural access. Compositor systems remake media in their own hybrid creole image.
15. Scholars steeped within the disciplines becoming cross-linked jack-of-all-trades virtual intelligentsia.
16. Academic education system suffering severe bubble-inflation.
17. Polarizing civil cold war is harmful to intellectual honesty.
18. The Gothic fate of poor slain Poetry is the specter at this dwindling feast.
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Freedom is not a reward or a decoration that is celebrated with champagne…Oh no! It’s a…long distance race, quite solitary and very exhausting.
The welfare of the people in particular has always been the alibi of tyrants, and it provides the further advantage of giving the servants of tyranny a good conscience.
The aim of art, the aim of a life, can only be to increase the sum of freedom and responsibility to be found in every man and in the world. It cannot, under any circumstances, be to reduce or suppress that freedom, even temporarily.
Integrity has no need of rules.
Freedom is not a gift received from the State or leader, but a possession to be won every day by the effort of each and the union of all.
Freedom of the press is perhaps the freedom that has suffered the most from the gradual degradation of the idea of liberty.
How many crimes are permitted simply because their authors could not endure being wrong.
Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear.
An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself.
Freedom is nothing else but a chance to be better.
Absolute justice is achieved by the suppression of all contradiction, therefore it destroys freedom.
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The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose
Robert Frost
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with elgantine.
Shakespeare
People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.
Iris Murdoch
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
John Boyle O’Reilly
Which is loveliest in a rose? Its coy beauty when it’s budding, or its splendour when it blows?
George Barlow
I’d rather have roses on my table
than diamonds ’round my neck.
Emma Goldman
A primrose by the river’s brim
A yellow rose was to him.
And it was nothing more.
William Wordsworth
But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
William Shakepeare
The world is a rose, smell it and pass it to your friends.
Persian Proverb
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