You will never be pretty enough, skinny enough, smart enough, successful enough, or famous enough for the media
A man may live to be as old as Methuselah,_ said Mr. Filer, __nd may labour all his life for the benefit of such people as those; and may heap up facts on figures, facts on figures, facts on figures, mountains high and dry; and he can no more hope to persuade __m that they have no right or business to be married, than he can hope to persuade __m that they have no earthly right or business to be born. And that we know they haven__. We reduced it to a mathematical certainty long ago!
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A man may live to be as old as Methuselah,_ said Mr. Filer, __nd may labour all his life for the benefit of such people as those; and may heap up facts on figures, facts on figures, facts on figures, mountains high and dry; and he can no more hope to persuade __m that they have no right or business to be married, than he can hope to persuade __m that they have no earthly right or business to be born. And that we know they haven__. We reduced it to a mathematical certainty long ago!
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Now I have to say I'm a complete atheist, I have no religious views myself and no spiritual views, except very watered down humanistic spiritual views, and consciousness is just a fact of life, it's a natural fact of life.
It required all his delicate Epicurean education to prevent his doing something about it; he had to repeat over to himself his favorite notions: that the injustice and unhappiness in the world is a constant; that the theory of progress is a delusion; that the poor, never having known happiness, are insensible to misfortune. Like all the rich he could not bring himself to believe that the poor (look at their houses, look at their clothes) could really suffer. Like all the cultivated he believed that only the widely read could be said to know that they were unhappy.
They call good evil and evil good. There are those who are so easily offended that they lose their ability to ever discern any truth, and this is often derived from a sort of frenzy by way of their own masked prejudice.
What connexion can there be, between the place in Lincolnshire, the house in town, the Mercury in powder, and the whereabout of Jo the outlaw with the broom, who had that distant ray of light upon him when he swept the churchyard-step? What connexion can there have been between many people in the innumerable histories of this world, who, from opposite sides of great gulfs, have, nevertheless, been very curiously brought together!
if the world go wrong, it was, in some off-hand manner, never meant to go right.