philosophical

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.

What kind of man will feel depressed at being idle? There is nothing finer than to be alone with nothing to distract him.If you follow the ways of the world, your heart will be drawn to its sensual defilements and easily led astray; if you go among people, your words will be guided by others' responses rather than come from your heart. There is nothing firm or stable in a life spent between larking about together and quarreling exuberant one moment, aggrieved and resentful the next. You are forever pondering pros and cons, endlessly absorbed in questions of gain and loss. And on top of delusion comes drunkenness, and in that drunkenness you dream.

Hayt felt suddenly that he existed in a dream controlled by some other mind, and that he might momentarily forget this to become lost in the convolutions of that mind.

So oft it chances in particular menThat for some vicious mole of nature inthem__s in their birth (wherein they are not guilty,Since nature cannot choose his origin),By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,Oft breaking down the pales and forts ofreason,Or by some habit that too much o'erleavensThe form of plausive manners__hat thesemen,Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,Being nature__ livery or fortune__ star,Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace,As infinite as man may undergo)Shall in the general censure take corruptionFrom that particular fault. The dram of evilDoth all the noble substance of a doubtTo his own scandal.

If you're going to buy a castle, make sure you get on the property extension ladder.

You can't judge a book by its cover," he said. "No," said Watts. "But you can tell how much it's gonna cost!

The psychological effects of the sun are strange: it had not yet appeared over the horizon and we already felt comforted, just imagining the heat it would bring.

Every day the world subtracts from itself and nothingis immune.

we live best when we live for a cause greater than ourselves

We are all in such a hurry, we want everything at once. We believe that all truth can be stated in a few minutes. The answer to that is that it cannot.

That's a stupid question,' said Malachi. 'Because he didn't warn him. He didn't warn anyone.''No, it's a philosophical question,' Kearns corrected him. 'Which makes it useless, not stupid.

He had always imagined that some sort of emotional mental equipment was meant to arrive, when he was forty-five, say, or fifty, a kind of kit that would enable him to deal with the impending loss of a parent. If he were only in possession of this equipment, he would be just fine. He would be noble and selfless, wise and philosophical. Perhaps he would even have kids of his own, and would presumably possess the kind of maturity that comes with fatherhood, the understanding of life as a process.

It was___ow shall I put it?___ painfully solitary building. Let me explain. Say we have a concept. It goes without saying that there will be slight exceptions to that norm. Now, over time these exceptions spread like stains until finally they form a separate concept. To which other exceptions crop up. It was that kind of building, some ancient life form that had evolved blindly, toward who knows what end.

Truly, great is pride and blindness, so that the blood dripping from the scaffold would be called justice. - Epigraph to the 5'th chapter

I must have missed the fine print disclaimer in my school textbooks while learning about the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution. It must have read: Warning _ by learning this material it will make you a future enemy of the state.

Man is Nature's most wonderful creature. Torturing him, crushing him, murdering him for his beliefs and ideas is more than a violation of human rights-it is a crime against all humanity.

What remains? Our children? Homer touched the flame of the candle with his fingers. The answer wasn__ easy to find for him,Achmed__ words still hurt him. He himself had been damned to be without children, unable for this kindof immortality, so he couldn__ do anything but choose another path to immortatlity. Again he reached for his pen. They can look like us. In their reflection we mirror ourselves in a mysterious way. United withthose we had loved. In their gestures, in their mimics we happily find ourselves or with sorrow. Friends confirm that our sons and daughters are just like us. Maybe that gives us a certainextension of ourselves when we are no more. We ourselves weren__ the first. We have been made from countless copies that have beenbefore us, just another chimera, always half from our fathers and mothers who are again the half oftheir parents. So is there nothing unique in us but are we just an endless mixture of small mosaic parts that never endingly exist in us? Have we been formed out of millions of small parts to a completepicture that has no own worth and has to fall into its parts again? Does it even matter to be happy if we found ourselves in our children, a certain line that hasbeen traveling through our bodies for millions of years? What remains of me?

Time is a tease