It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place.

It is impossible to imagine Goethe or Beethoven being good at billiards or golf.

It is inaccurate to say that I hate everything. I am strongly in favor of common sense, common honesty, and common decency. This makes me forever ineligible for public office.

lol


The capacity of human beings to bore one another seems to be vastly greater than that of any other animal.


The government consists of a gang of men exactly like you and me. They have, taking one with another, no special talent for the business of government; they have only a talent for getting and holding office.

The older I grow the more I distrust the familiar doctrine that age brings wisdom.

The penalty for laughing in a courtroom is six months in jail; if it were not for this penalty, the jury would never hear the evidence.


The difference between a moral man and a man of honor is that the latter regrets a discreditable act, even when it has worked and he has not been caught.

H. L. Mencken,




Let them hate so long as they fear.
(Oderint Dum Metuant)

Lucius Accius, Fragment


Never was anything great achieved without danger.
Niccolo Machiavelli

Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Once you ruin your reputation you can live your life quite free.

exactly....its like me

"The loyalty of men cannot be purchased, but it can be rented reasonably cheap."

Love`s strength standeth in love`s sacrifice

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them. - Henry David Thoreau, American essayist, poet & philosopher (1817-1862)

Hell is other people. - Jean Paul Sartre, French philosopher (1905-1980)

(Though I don't always subscribe to the 2nd, I often know where he's coming from.)

me too...every day

Some few people can be heaven...

People are like mushrooms, keep them in the dark and feed them shit.

Evil destroys itself.

I heart that expression

This post was last modified: 01-16-2008 07:18 AM by NeverMore.

People are like mushrooms, keep them in the dark and feed them shit.

Evil destroys itself.

I heart that expression

yea that's like what your Boss would say to someone in privet behind your back, Makes you wonder how many politicians would go with that tho???

Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat is a strange mixture of introspection, love, hedonism, bitter-sweet loss, despair, fatalism, and outright nihilism. Many moods of the poet, I suppose.

A rubaiya on love:

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse – and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness –
And Wilderness is Paradise now.


On the inscrutability of Death:

Strange, is it not? That of the myriads who,
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.


Whenever I have felt flawed and ugly--like a "vessel of ungainly make"--I have thought of this rubaiya:

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What? did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"


What could be more precious than wine, indeed?

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour - well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.


The stillness of Death:

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust Descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer and--sans End!


Nihilism:

Alike for those who for Today prepare,
And those that after a Tomorrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."


Longing:

Ah, Love! would you and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire!
Shatter it to bits-and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!


Fatalism:

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: not all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.


Despair:

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not your hands to IT for help--for IT
As impotently moves as you or I.


On looking unflinchingly at Death:

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to thee--take that, and do not shrink.


Destiny:

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.