tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88001810766336808982023-11-15T06:58:17.186-08:00Quotes From Underground"Life itself is a quotation." - BorgesTom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.comBlogger192125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-1777926565275922822021-08-12T10:51:00.004-07:002021-08-12T10:51:39.694-07:00Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-37508502645833097792021-04-01T19:13:00.004-07:002021-04-01T19:13:40.903-07:00War and Peace<p> Just as in astronomy the problem of recognizing the earth's motion lay in the difficulty of getting away from a direct sensation of the earth's immobility and a similar sensation of the planets' motion, so in history the problem of recognizing the dependence of personality on the laws of space, time and causation lies in the difficulty of getting away from the direct sensation of one's own personal independence. But just as in astronomy the new attitude was, 'No, we cannot feel the earth's movement, but if we accept its immobility we are reduced to absurdity, whereas if we accept the movement that we cannot feel we arrive at laws,' so in history the new attitude is 'No, we cannot feel our dependence, but if we accept free will we are reduced to absurdity, whereas if we accept dependence on the external world, time and causation we arrive at laws.'</p>Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-13958428579907519522019-10-17T13:50:00.000-07:002019-10-17T13:50:04.289-07:00If anyone tells you that a certain person speaks ill of you, do not make excuses about what is said of you but answer, "He was ignorant of my other faults, else he would not have mentioned these alone."Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-80133585680127306792019-09-18T12:15:00.000-07:002019-09-18T12:15:03.458-07:00Moral Epistles 1.1Persuade yourself that the matter stands as I write: some time is stolen from us, some is drawn off, and some just flows away. The most shameful loss, though, is the one which occurs through negligence. If you wish to take note, you will see that a large part of life slips away from those who act badly, the greatest portion slips away from those who do nothing, and all of life slips away from those who are busy doing something else. What person can you cite who places a price upon his time, who takes an account of the day, who understands that he is dying every day? We are deceived in this, that we look forward to death: a large part of it has already gone by, and whatever part of our lives is in the past is death’s property now. Therefore, act as you claim to do, and embrace every hour; thus it will happen that you weigh out less of tomorrow, if you throw your hand upon today. Life runs away when it is delayed. All things, my Lucilius, are foreign to us: time alone is ours. Nature has granted us the possession of this one fleeting, slippery thing, from which she expels whoever wishes it. The stupidity of humans is so great that they allow the smallest, most worthless things (certainly, those which can be retrieved) to be added to their account when they have accomplished them, but no one thinks that he owes any debt when he receives time, though this is the one thing which no one is able to pay back readily.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-34604302206365968422019-08-18T10:30:00.000-07:002019-08-18T10:30:16.164-07:00The Devil's NotebookSummertime and the living is lousy. I hate summer. And I'm not alone. Summertime in urban areas is riot-time, tourist-time, pollution-time and psycho-time. In rural areas it's mosquito-time, sunburn/heatstroke -time, pollen-time, litter-time, boredom-time, vandal-time, and gangbang-time. There's no worse time for tragedy than the sticky heat of summer, or for frantic attempts at pleasure. Christmas "joy" in an odious duty, but summer "gaiety" is a maladroit ritual performed with calculated chaos. Persons or refinement prefer the other seasons, which progress through their days less heavy-footedly. Despite nature's tantrums during other seasons, be they storms, floods, ice or snow— man has made summer his personal disaster season. Taking the warmth nature has provided, he has fashioned for himself an environment where his mindlessness flourishes most. It is the only season which validates slobs. Those who have found civilized behavior repugnant the rest of the year can celebrate their boorishness in grand style. I would enjoy spring more were it not for the impending plague of summer with its human locusts thriving in an atmosphere far deadlier (if radiation levels are considered) than the worst blizzards. Other seasons may be violent in themselves, but summer is virulent, an incubator for personal malaise and discord. I like autumn and winter best. A sunny autumn day has a relaxed purity, a mellow tranquility. As with the ancients, my autumn runs from August through October, and winter, from November to February. My favorite aspect of summer is that
on the Solstice the days finally grow shorter and the nights longer. The best thing about any day is its gentle lapse into night, the dark mantle whence all secrets evolve. Winter time is hell for many, and understandably. It's a Tartarus that causes havoc. But within a snug harbor, winter can be the great season of contrast. In my noir world, the sticky glare of summer has no place, save for those parts of the world where nature has cheated humankind by injecting regional and regular fog and rain.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-28286834141532142742019-07-24T17:54:00.004-07:002019-07-24T17:54:40.493-07:00We shall flee rest, we shall flee sleep,<br />
We shall outstrip dawn and spring <br />
And we shall fashion days and seasons <br />
To the measure of our dreams.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-4699760396216434332019-06-06T06:25:00.000-07:002019-06-06T06:25:16.922-07:00ArgumentDays that cannot bring you near<br />
or will not,<br />
Distance trying to appear<br />
something more than obstinate,<br />
argue argue argue with me<br />
endlessly<br />
neither proving you less wanted nor less dear.<br />
<br />
Distance: Remember all that land<br />
beneath the plane;<br />
that coastline<br />
of dim beaches deep in sand<br />
stretching indistinguishably<br />
all the way,<br />
all the way to where my reasons end?<br />
<br />
Days: And think<br />
of all those cluttered instruments,<br />
one to a fact,<br />
canceling each other’s experience;<br />
how they were<br />
like some hideous calendar<br />
“Compliments of Never & Forever, Inc.”<br />
<br />
The intimidating sound<br />
of these voices<br />
we must separately find<br />
can and shall be vanquished:<br />
Days and Distance disarrayed again<br />
and gone<br />
both for good and from the gentle battleground.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-44807655897872629532019-05-27T12:44:00.000-07:002019-05-27T12:44:38.682-07:00AstragalThe road is as bare and harsh as a desert: later, perhaps, calmly, we'll start down magic pathways...From now until then there is still a great deal of pain, a great many people and things to annihilate: thread by thread I unravel, I destroy; I hate myself for making a "project" out of Julien, but I sense too many false and sticky attachments around him, these at least I would like to break off.
<br />
<br />
I used to be pampered, petted, fussed over, too, in the old days: I was intact and able to bite, my cupboard was full and my claws were ingenious.
<br />
<br />
My equipment was destroyed, I am wounded and begging, and it's I now who offers herself and clings; people don't hold onto me at all, for I have nothing to give them but myself, myself naked, and it will take a lot of time and tenderness before some resource, some source springs up in me.<br />
Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-20635346793072451072019-05-24T07:00:00.002-07:002019-05-24T07:00:50.569-07:00Chapter 133: The Chase - First DayYe two are the opposite poles of one thing; Starbuck is Stubb reversed, and Stubb is Starbuck; and ye two are all mankind; and Ahab stands alone among the millions of the peopled earth, nor gods nor men his neighbors! Cold, cold- I shiver!Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-15394645241577568612019-05-21T07:09:00.000-07:002019-05-21T07:09:02.570-07:00This Is LifeMy heart wonders incessantly<br />
If this is life, what is it that they call death?<br />
Love was a dream?<br />
Ask not about the fate of this dream?<br />
Ask not about the punishment<br />
I received for the crime of loyalty.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-56334324181934384042019-05-20T07:08:00.002-07:002019-05-20T07:08:43.831-07:00The Last of the RomansOn 8 October 1912, during the First Balkan War, Lemnos became part of Greece. The Greek navy under Rear Admiral Pavlos Kountouriotis took it over without any casualties from the occupying Turkish Ottoman garrison, who were returned to Anatolia. Peter Charanis, born on the island in 1908 and later a professor of Byzantine history at Rutgers University recounts when the island was occupied and Greek soldiers were sent to the villages and stationed themselves in the public squares. Some of the children ran to see what Greek soldiers looked like. ‘‘What are you looking at?’’ one of them asked. ‘‘At Hellenes,’’ the children replied. ‘‘Are you not Hellenes yourselves?’’ a soldier retorted. ‘‘No, we are Romans."<br />
<br />
(<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemnos">source</a>)Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-75672734978771577202019-05-06T07:53:00.002-07:002019-05-06T07:53:44.726-07:00Little GiddingWe shall not cease from exploration<br />
And the end of all our exploring<br />
Will be to arrive where we started<br />
And know the place for the first time.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-2308674186458834152019-04-20T18:52:00.000-07:002019-04-20T18:52:00.576-07:00Ruth 1:19-21<b>19</b> So they two went until they came to Bethlehem. And it came to pass, when they were come to Bethlehem, that all the city was moved about them, and they said, Is this Naomi?
<br />
<br />
<b>20</b> And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.
<br />
<br />
<b>21</b> <u>I went out full and the Lord hath brought me home again empty</u>: why then call ye me Naomi, seeing the Lord hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-8948802318986483932019-04-20T18:48:00.000-07:002019-04-20T18:48:07.275-07:00All together, they have more death than we, but all together, we have more life than they.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-36479203465934853842019-04-07T08:07:00.002-07:002019-04-07T08:07:17.378-07:00PortraitsWhat I did not know when I was very young was that nothing can take the past away: the past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-35353763971231759752019-03-31T07:55:00.002-07:002019-03-31T07:55:43.228-07:00Robinson JeffersThere is something within us knows our fates from the first, our ends from the very fountain; and we in our nights may overhear its knowledge by accident, all to no purpose.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-73958647485977591832019-03-29T18:40:00.004-07:002019-03-29T18:40:36.762-07:00St. Isaac the SyrianIf you cannot be merciful, at least speak as though you are a sinner. If you are not a peacemaker, at least do not be a troublemaker. If you cannot be assiduous, at least in your thought be like a sluggard. If you are not victorious, do not exalt yourself over the vanquished. If you cannot close the mouth of a man who disparages his companion, at least refrain from joining him in this.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-68022369139327659062019-03-27T02:56:00.000-07:002019-03-27T02:56:11.512-07:00The Grapes of WrathThe bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It’s a monster. Men made it, but they can’t control it.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-50163445256637883962019-03-27T02:52:00.002-07:002019-03-27T02:52:27.189-07:00The Baron in the TreesThis gesture of moving the branch as if waiting for another land to appear, this plunging of his gaze deeper and deeper into the undulating distance as if hoping never to see the horizon, but to succeed, perhaps, in making out some place, alas, far too far away — this was the first real sign of exile…Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-19778911398859460922019-03-27T02:45:00.002-07:002019-03-27T02:45:42.646-07:00The only people I would care to be with now are artists and people who have suffered: those who know what beauty is, and those who know what sorrow is: nobody else interests me.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-84701216176737971262019-03-26T20:24:00.003-07:002019-03-26T20:24:40.437-07:00The Unnameable[T]hat’s what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that’s what I am, the thing that divides the world in two…Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-66480827775849876972019-03-26T19:50:00.002-07:002019-03-26T19:50:29.043-07:00How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-11367082054684171472019-03-26T19:41:00.002-07:002019-03-26T19:41:59.198-07:00The Martian ChroniclesWhat did Time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like, it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box lids, and rain. And, going further, what did Time look like? Time looked like snow dropping silently into a black room or it looked like a silent film in an ancient theater, one hundred billion faces falling like those New Year balloons, down and down into nothing.”Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-62142738774263871192019-02-27T12:23:00.001-08:002019-02-27T12:23:27.886-08:00Chapter 38, DuskBut my whole clock's run down; my heart the all-controlling weight, I have no key to lift again.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8800181076633680898.post-71565992310679035792019-02-02T17:59:00.001-08:002019-05-27T12:45:48.502-07:00Chapter 114, The GilderLet faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.Tom Lorrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15938554273557229030noreply@blogger.com0