Excerpts from the novel"The Brothers Karamazov"
Excerpts from the novel"The Brothers Karamazov"
Tears by Wilkie Collins
Your tears come easy, when you're young, and beginning the world. Your tears come easy, when you're old, and leaving it. I burst out crying.
Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone
Moral Certainty by Felix Adler
We seek to become morally certain — that is, certain for moral purposes — of what is beyond the reach of demonstration. But our moral optimism must include the darkest facts that pessimism can point to, include them and transcend them.
Compassion by Simone Weil
Difficult as it is really to listen to someone in affliction, it is just as difficult for him to know that compassion is listening to him.
True humor springs not more from the head than from the heart. It is not contempt; its essence is love. It issues not in laughter, but in still smiles, which lie far deeper.
The highest forms of understanding we can achieve are laughter and human compassion.
A well-developed sense of humor is the pole that adds balance to your steps as you walk the tightrope of life.
William Arthur Ward
Humour brings insight and tolerance. Irony brings a deeper and less friendly understanding.
Someone who makes you laugh is a comedian. Someone who makes you think and then laugh is a humorist.
Intellectual hospitality & Freedom of thought by Robert Ingersoll
Tom Barabas - After the Rain
Every man should be Mentally honest.
He should preserve as his most precious jewel the perfect
veracity of his soul.
He should examine all questions presented to his mind, without prejudice, -- unbiased by hatred or love -- by desire or fear. His object and his only object should be to find the truth. He knows, if he listens to reason, that truth is not dangerous and that error is. He should weigh the evidence, the arguments, in honest scales -- scales that passion or interest cannot change. He should care nothing for authority -- nothing for names, customs or creeds -- nothing for anything that his reason does not say is true.
Of his world he should be the sovereign, and his soul should wear the purple. From his dominions should be banished the hosts of force and fear.
He should be Intellectually Hospitable.
The real searcher after truth will not receive the old because it is old, or reject the new because it is new. He will not believe men because they are dead, or contradict them because they are alive. With him an utterance is worth the truth, the reason it contains, without the slightest regard to the author. He may have been a king or serf -- a philosopher or servant, -- but the utterance neither gains nor loses in truth or reason. Its value is absolutely independent of the fame or station of the man who gave it to the world.
Nothing but falsehood needs the assistance of fame and place, of robes and maitres, of tiaras and crowns.
The wise, the really honest and intelligent, are not swayed or governed by numbers -- by majorities.
They accept what they really believe to be true. They care nothing for the opinions of ancestors, nothing for creeds, assertions and theories, unless they satisfy the reason.
In all directions they seek for truth, and when found, accept it with joy -- accept it in spite of preconceived opinions -- in spite of prejudice and hatred.
This is the course pursued by wise and honest men, and no other course is possible for them.
In every department of human endeavor men are seeking for the truth -- for the facts. The statesman reads the history of the world, gathers the statistics of all nations to the end that his country may avoid the mistakes of the past. The geologist penetrates the rocks in search of facts -- climbs mountains, visits the extinct craters, traverses islands and continents that he may know something of the history of the world. He wants the truth.
The chemist, with crucible and retort, with countless experiments, is trying to find the qualities of substances -- to ravel what nature has woven.
The great mechanics dwell in the realm of the real. They seek by natural means to conquer and use the forces of nature. They want the truth -- the actual facts.
The physicians, the surgeons, rely on observation, experiment and reason. They become acquainted with the human body -- with muscle, blood and nerve -- with the wonders of the brain. They want nothing but the truth.
And so it is with the students of every science. On every hand they look for facts, and it is of the utmost importance that they give to the world the facts they find.
Their courage should equal their intelligence. No matter what the dead have said, or the living believe, they should tell what they know. They should have intellectual courage.
If it be good for man to find the truth -- good for him to be intellectually honest and hospitable, then it is good for others to know the truths thus found.
Every man should have the courage to give his honest thought. This makes the finder and publisher of truth a public benefactor.
Those who prevent, or try to prevent, the expression of honest thought, are the foes of civilization -- the enemies of truth. Nothing can exceed the egotism and impudence of the man who claims the right to express his thought and denies the same right to others.
It will not do to say that certain ideas are sacred, and that man has not the right to investigate and test these ideas for himself.
Who knows that they are sacred? Can anything be sacred to us that we do not know to be true?
For many centuries free speech has been an insult to God. Nothing has been more blasphemous than the expression of honest thought. For many ages the lips of the wise were sealed. The torches that truth had lighted, that courage carried and held aloft, were extinguished with blood.
Truth has always been in favor of free speech -- has always asked to be investigated -- has always longed to be known and understood. Freedom, discussion, honesty, investigation and courage are the friends and allies of truth. Truth loves the light and the open field. It appeals to the senses -- to the judgment, the reason, to all the higher and nobler faculties and powers of the mind. It seeks to calm the passions, to destroy prejudice and to increase the volume and intensity of reason's flame.
It does not ask man to cringe or crawl. It does not desire the worship of the ignorant or the prayers and praises of the frightened. It says to every human being, "Think for yourself. Enjoy the freedom of a god, and have the goodness and the courage to express your honest thought.
Evanthia Reboutsika ~ Carousel
Quotes from John Milton's Paradise Lost
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.
By force, hath overcome but half his foe.
Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds
of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
Do they only stand
By ignorance, is that their happy state,
The proof of their obedience and their faith?
O fair foundation laid whereon to build
Suspicious,reasonless.Why should their Lord
Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know?
Can it be death?”
All who have their reward on Earth,the fruits
Of painful superstition and blind zeal,
Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find
Fit retribution,empty as their deeds.
Be strong,live happy and love,but first of all
Him whom to love is to obey,and keep
His great command!
What in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
Nothing in this world is hidden forever by Wilkie Collins
Fahad Ebn Saud Photography
Nothing in this world is hidden forever.The gold which has lain for centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one day on the surface. Sand turns traitor, and betrays the footstep that has passed over it; water gives back to the tell-tale surface the body that has been drowned. Fire itself leaves the confession, in ashes, of the substance consumed in it. Hate breaks its prison-secrecy in the thoughts, through the doorway of the eyes; and Love finds the Judas who betrays it by a kiss. Look where we will, the inevitable law of revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting preservation of a secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.
Wilkie Collins,No Nam
Sensibility by Thomas Moore
Lisa Holloway Photography
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
Quotes on Good and Evil in Man
Max rive Photography
Everybody,my friend, everybody lives for something better to come.That's why we want to be considerate of every man-Who knows what's in him,why he was born and what he can do?
The best men are not consistent in good-- why should the worst men be consistent in evil.
You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps. Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping.
For those who limp go not backwards.
But you who are strong and swift,see that you do not limp before the lame,deeming it kindness.
Insightful Happiness Quotes
Svetlana Kvashina photography
Before we set our hearts too much on anything, let us examine how happy are those who already possess it.
Duc de La Rochefoucauld
The myriad things are complete in us.There is no greater joy than to reflect on ourselves and become sincere.
Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven; and every countenance, bright with smiles, and glowing with innocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a supreme and ever-shining benevolence.
Humanism Quote by Arthur Conan Doyle
I should dearly love that the world should be ever so little better for my presence.Even on this small stage we have our two sides, and something might be done by throwing all one's weight on the scale of breadth, tolerance, charity, temperance, peace, and kindliness to man and beast. We can't all strike very big blows, and even the little ones count for something.
Arthur Conan Doyle
Inspiration For the New Year(poems & quotes) :New Year by Ella Wheeler Wilcox*How beautiful the turning of the year! by Turlough O'Carolan*The year Ahead by Horatio Nelson Powers
Sayonara No Natsu(Summer of Goodbye)
(Theme Song frm"From up on Poppy hill"
New Year(As the old year sinks down in Time's ocean...)
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
As the old year sinks down in Time's ocean,
Stand ready to launch with the new,
And waste no regrets, no emotion,
As the masts and the spars pass from view.
Weep not if some treasures go under,
And sink in the rotten ship's hold,
That blithe bonny barque sailing yonder
May bring you more wealth than the old.
For the world is for ever improving,
All the past is not worth one to-day,
And whatever deserves our true loving,
Is stronger than death or decay.
Old love, was it wasted devotion?
Old friends, were they weak or untrue?
Well, let them sink there in mid ocean,
And gaily sail on to the new.
Throw overboard toil misdirected,
Throw overboard ill-advised hope,
With aims which, your soul has detected,
Have self as their centre and scope.
Throw overboard useless regretting
For deeds which you cannot undo,
And learn the great art of forgetting
Old things which embitter the new.
Sing who will of dead years departed,
I shroud them and bid them adieu,
And the song that I sing, happy-hearted,
Is a song of the glorious new.
How beautiful the turning of the year!
How beautiful the turning of the year!
A moment artificial yet profound:
Point upon an arbitrary chart
Passing like a breath upon the heart,
Yearning with anticipation wound,
New hope new harbored in old-fashioned cheer.
Even when the boundary line is clear,
We recognize the oneness of the ground.
Years, like circles, do not end or start
Except we lay across their truth our art,
Adjusting dates as they go round and round
Revolving to a tune long sung and dear.
The Year Ahead
Horatio Nelson Powers
A flower unblown; a book unread;
A tree with fruit unharvested;
A path untrod; a house whose rooms
Lack yet the heart's divine perfumes;
A landscape whose wide border lies
In silent shade beneath the skies;
A wondrous fountain yet unsealed;
A casket with its gifts concealed--
This is the Year that for you waits
Beyond tomorrow's mystic gates.
If this life of ours
Be a good glad thing,why should we make us merry
Because a year of it is gone? but Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come
Whispering ‘It will be happier;’ and old faces
Press round us, and warm hands close with warm hands,..
Like April sap to the topmost tree, that shoots
New buds to heaven, whereon the throstle rock’d
Sings a new song to the new year—and you,
Strike up a song, my friends, and then to bed.
New year by Peggy Toney Horton
Each New Year,we have before us a brand new book containing 365 blank pages.Let us fill them with all the forgotten things from last year—the words we forgot to say,the love we forgot to show,and the charity we forgot to offer.
Peggy Toney Horton
Happy New Year 2015! - Music Maksim Mrvica
Reflections on New year by Wilferd A. Peterson
The conventional Happy New Year approach is to think of the New Year as something that happens outside of our selves.It is a good luck wish that the New Year, in some magical way, will bring us our heart’s desire.
We look to the New Year to make us happy. When we expect happiness to come to us from the outside, we are usually disappointed. Happiness is not guaranteed by sunny weather, a raise in pay, a new car, a beautiful home or anything else of a material nature. External things are often possessed by very unhappy people.
Happiness does not come out of a New Year, it comes out of men and women. Life does not change when we hang a new calendar on the wall or when the clock strikes midnight and a New Year begins.The only way life will change for us is when we change ourselves.
Wilferd A. Peterson
Play your own instrument in the orchestra of life by Dale Carnegie(Inspiring life quote)
You are something new in this world.Be glad of it.
Make the most of what nature gave you.
In the last analysis, all art is autobiographical.
You can sing only what you are.You can paint only
what you are.You must be what your experiences,
your environment,and your heredity have made you.
For better or for worse,you must cultivate your own
little garden.For better or for worse,you must
play your own little instrument in the orchestra of life.
Excerpt From Jesus the Son of Man:Man From Lebanon by Khalil Gibran
Music:Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
Ralph Vaughan Williams
Excerpt From Jesus,the son of man
Chapter:A man from Lebanon,Nineteen centuries afterward
Master, master singer,
Master of words unspoken,
Seven times was I born, and seven times have I died
Since your last hasty visit and our brief welcome.
And behold I live again,
Remembering a day and a night among the hills,
When your tide lifted us up.
Thereafter many lands and many seas did I cross,
And wherever I was led by saddle or sail
Your name was prayer or argument.
Men would bless you or curse you;
The curse, a protest against failure,
The blessing, a hymn of the hunter
Who comes back from the hills
With provision for his mate.
Your friends are yet with us for comfort and support,
And your enemies also, for strength and assurance.
Your mother is with us;
I have beheld the sheen of her face in the countenance of all mothers;
Her hand rocks cradles with gentleness,
Her hand folds shrouds with tenderness.
And Mary Magdalen is yet in our midst,
She who drank the vinegar of life, and then its wine.
Master, Master Poet,
Master of words sung and spoken,
They have builded temples to house your name,
And upon every height they have raised your cross,
A sign and a symbol to guide their wayward feet,
But not unto your joy.
Your joy is a hill beyond their vision,
And it does not comfort them.
They would honor the man unknown to them.
And what consolation is there in a man like themselves,
a man whose kindliness is like their own kindliness,
A god whose love is like their own love,
And whose mercy is in their own mercy?
They honor not the man, the living man,
The first man who opened His eyes and gazed at the sun
With eyelids unquivering.
Nay, they do not know Him, and they would not be like Him.
They would be unknown, walking in the procession of the unknown.
They would bear sorrow, their sorrow,
And they would not find comfort in your joy.
Their aching heart seeks not consolation
in your words and the song thereof.
And their pain, silent and unshapen,
Makes them creatures lonely and unvisited.
Though hemmed about my kin and kind,
They live in fear, uncomraded;
Yet they would not be alone.
They would bend eastward when the west wind blows.
They call you king,
And they would be in your court.
They pronounce you the Messiah,
And they would themselves be anointed with the holy oil.
Yea, they would live upon your life.
Master, Master Singer,
Your tears were like the showers of May,
And your laughter like the waves of the white sea.
When you spoke your words were the far-off whisper of their
lips when those lips should be kindled with fire;
You laughed for the marrow in their bones that was
not yet ready for laughter;
And you wept for their eyes that yet were dry.
Your voice fathered their thoughts and their understanding.
Your voice mothered their words and their breath.
Seven times was I born and seven times have I died,
And now I live again, and I behold you,
The fighter among fighters,
The poet of poets
King above all kings,
A man half-naked with your road-fellows.
Every day the bishop bends down his head
When he pronounces your name.
And every day the beggars say:
"For Jesus' sake
Give us a penny to buy bread."
We call upon each other,
But in truth we call upon you,
Like the flood tide in the spring of our want and desire,
And when our autumn comes, like the ebb tide.
High or low, your name is upon our lips,
The Master of infinite compassion.
Master, Master of our lonely hours,
Here and there,betwixt the cradle and the coffin,
I meet your silent brothers,
The free men, unshackled,
Sons of your mother earth and space.
They are like the birds of the sky,
And like the lilies of the field.
They live your life and think your thoughts,
And they echo your song.
But they are empty-handed,
And they are not crucified with the great crucifixion,
And therein is their pain.
The world crucifies them every day,
But only in little ways.
The sky is not shaken,
And the earth travails not with her dead.
They are crucified and there is none to witness their agony.
They turn their face to right and left
And find not one to promise them a station in his kingdom.
Yet they would be crucified again and yet again,
That your God may be their God,
And your Father their Father.
Master, Master Lover,
The Princess awaits your coming in her fragrant chamber,
And the married unmarried woman in her cage;
The harlot who seeks bread in the streets of her shame,
And the nun in her cloister who has no husband;
The childless woman too at her window,
Where frost designs the forest on the pane,
She finds you in that symmetry,
And she would mother you, and be comforted.
Master, Master Poet,
Master of our silent desires,
The heart of the world quivers with the throbbing of your heart,
But it burns not with your song.
The world sits listening to your voice in tranquil delight,
But it rises not from its seat
To scale the ridges of your hills.
Man would dream your dream but he would not wake to your dawn
Which is his greater dream.
He would see with your vision,
But he would not drag his heavy feet to your throne.
Yet many have been enthroned inn your name
And mitred with your power,
And have turned your golden visit
Into crowns for their head and sceptres for their hand.
Master, Master of Light,
Whose eye dwells in the seeking fingers of the blind,
You are still despised and mocked,
A man too weak and infirm to be God,
A God too much man to call forth adoration.
Their mass and their hymn,
Their sacrament and their rosary, are for their imprisoned self.
You are their yet distant self, their far-off cry, and their passion.
But Master, Sky-heart, Knight of our fairer dream,
You do still tread this day;
Nor bows nor spears shall stay your steps.
You walk through all our arrows.
You smile down upon us,
And though you are the youngest of us all
You father us all.
Poet, Singer, Great Heart,
May our God bless your name,
And the womb that held you, and the breasts that gave you milk.
And may God forgive us all.
Inspiring Christmas Thoughts & Quotes
We hear the beating of wings over Bethlehem and
a light that is not of the sun or of the starsw
shines in the midnight sky.
Let the beauty of the story take away all narrowness, all thought of formal creeds. Let it be remembered as a story that has happened again and again, to men of many different races, that has been expressed through many religions, that has been called by many different names. Time and space and language lay no limitations upon human brotherhood.
New York Times editorial of December 25, 1937
The earth has grown old with its burden of care
But at Christmas it always is young,
The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair
And its soul full of music breaks the air,
When the song of angels is sung.
Your friendship is a glowing ember
Through the year; and each December
From its warm and living spark
We kindle flame against the dark
And with its shining radiance light
Our tree of faith on Christmas night.
Thelma J. Lund