Quote from the book you're reading

"He spent the afternoon watching the indicator light turn from red to orange to green and thought about how useless it was to be angry at anybody about an abstract principle. He'd really fucked it up with Roon, probably for good. All the anticlone propaganda he'd swallowed - what had it left him? How could any idea that drives a man away from the people who love him be considered sound?"

Blueprints of the Afterlife by Ryan Boudinot

 

Oh yay

Just commenting to follow, i'll have to gather quotes later

 

for there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.
-The Unbearable Lightness of Being

(I dunno if its just the translation or what, but I find the writing in this book to be a bit pretentious. But I did like and relate to the above quote)

 

the waitress was mexican and beautiful .I ate and then I wrote her a little love note on the back of the bill .

 

What about a quote From your Favorite Book ? I am asking Permish here Rue ?

 

Planning on picking up and reading Moby's new book "then it fell apart", but the library here doesn't have it. The one in Los Angeles has Irvine Welsh's "Acid House", so may read that, but for now, no quotes to speak of!

I wish I could think of some really profound words to share.

 

Even now
I mind the coming and talking of wise men from towers
Where they had thought away their youth. And I, listening,
Found not the salt of the whispers of my girl,
Murmur of confused colours, as we lay near sleep;
Little wise words and little witty words,
Wanton as water, honied with eagerness.

In the sink the high white foam cooled and ticked
as the bubbles burst. Under the piers it was very
high tide and the waves splashed on rocks they had
not reached in a long time.

Even now
I mind that I loved cypress and roses, clear,
The great blue mountains and the small grey hills,
The sounding of the sea. Upon a day
I saw strange eyes and hands like butterflies;
For me at morning larks flew from the thyme
And children came to bathe in little streams.

Doc closed the book. He could hear the waves beat
under the piles and he could hear the scampering
of white rats against the wire. He went into the
kitchen and felt the cooling water in the sink.
He ran hot water into it. He spoke aloud to the
sink and the white rats, and to himself:

Even now
I know that I have savoured the hot taste of life
Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast.
Just for a small and a forgotten time
I have had full in my eyes from off my girl
The whitest pouring of eternal light ...

He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. And the
white rats scampered and scrambled in their cages.
And behind the glass the rattlesnakes lay still and
stared into space with their dusty, frowning eyes.

 

"Pissantgobshite." She peered at me over her dark glass of Guinness, mildly offended but intruiged.
Not very goddesslike language, huh?

 

"Hendrix played Delta blues for sure--only the Delta may have been on Mars," bluesman and critic Tony Glover once wrote.


-Turn on Your Mind

 

"joy in the issuing of new life from the ashes of the funeral-pile of nations that have consumed themselves away."

"if she be but tickled with a hoe, she laughs in harvest."

 

I realize you already followed up on this post but for future reference...

I discovered you can click that "Watch Thread" link to the right of the Thread Title and without even having to post, it'll alert you when there are new posts and you can track the thread. (I chose without receiving email notifications) Then you can just unwatch when you post or want to stop getting alerts.

 

"Yoshi awoke knowing that sometime in his sleep, he had made the decision to kill.

His eyes opened to the flickering yellow light of the half-melted candle in the hurricane lamp, and after a second of disorientation in which he feared he had awakened in the wrong century, he remembered he was in Lara's quarters. His jaw ached. He had been sleeping sitting up, with one side of his face flattened against the hard lap of the rolltop desk.

He had not been able to bring himself to sleep in her bed.

The pain awakened his anger. He had been dreaming just then of Reiko, and he could still taste the bitterness that had filled him in his dream: anger at her for leaving him, fury that she was not with him now, when he most needed her. Dying alone was a cruel thing. Of all times, he wanted her with him now, so badly that he saw her in front of him, there, in Lara's quarters, laughing, hair and eyes shining. Her eyes were clear amber glass, nothing hidden, so that he could see right down to the bottom of them, just as on their honeymoon he had looked down through the warm celery waters off HoVanKai and seen minnows nibbling his feet. He had always read those eyes: seen the joy in them each day when she greeted him, seen the pain when their infant daughter died. He could bear his own sorrow, but he could not bear the grief in Reiko's eyes. Even then, it had seemed she still loved him."

 

A 21st -century statement of the same idea may be found in the physicist David Deutsch’s defense of enlightenment, The Beginning of Infinity. Deutsch argues that if we dare to understand, progress is possible in all fields , scientific, political, and moral:

 

No one will know if you've only just started reading the book that moment because you wanna quote it ; ) so yeah, fine.

 

We enjoy what we're told is the most advance healthcare in history, but at the same time we're seeing epidemics of obesity, heart disease, cancer, diabetes and hundreds of other hideous maladies that have become the new normal. The reality disproves the narrative, yet we still subscribe to the narrative; that's the definition of mindless conformity and herd mentality. The only metric by which to judge healthcare is the health of the people it serves, which is not just bad but unnaturally bad.

 

I don't know who he is, but I know where he is... The other side. You see, its always the same. The one who is doing all the killings is from the other side... Prepare yourself police man.

 

"Indian civilization, like that of China, has contributed little or nothing to the culture of the Western world. From the prosaic pedantry of China, however, we pass, in India, to a region where fancy and sensibility have held sway, though the absence of energy, and of true human dignity and freedom, has prevented the people from exhibiting historical progress of the highest order. Indian records present us with no political action; the people have achieved no foreign conquests, and have repeatedly succumbed to foreign invasion. They are a people of dreams, not of deeds. In regard to general history, India has been an object of desire to other nations from very early times, as a land teeming with riches and marvels; the treasures of nature, such as pearls, perfumes, diamonds, elephants, gold; and treasures of wisdom in her sacred books. Alexander the Great was the first European recorded to have arrived there by land; in modern times the European nations first made their way to India by sea round the Cape of Good Hope. The Hindoos are one of the three Aryan races of Asia, and probably crossed the Indus into the rich alluvial river-plain of the Ganges about 2,000 years B.C. They dispossessed the peoples, probably of Tartar origin, to the north of the River Nerbudda, and gradually penetrated the great southern peninsula known as the Deccan. The dark-skinned aboriginal natives were by no means exterminated, and their descendants, in the persons of the hill tribes and others, amount to many millions."

 

"Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost."

"Kitsch is the aesthetic ideal of all politicians and all political parties and movements. Those of us who live in a society where various political tendencies exist side by side and competing influences cancel or limit one another can manage more or less to escape the kitsch inquisition: the individual can preserve his individuality; the artist can create unusual works. But whenever a single political movement corners power, we find ourselves in the realm of totalitarian kitsch"



"A year or two after emigrating, she happened to be in Paris on the anniversary of the Russian invasion of her country. A protest march had been scheduled, and she felt driven to take part. Fists raised high, the young Frenchmen shouted out slogans condemning Soviet imperialism. She liked the slogans, but to her surprise she found herself unable to shout along with them. She lasted only a few minutes in the parade.
When she told her French friends about it, they were amazed. “You mean you don't want to fight the occupation of your country?” She would have liked to tell them that behind Communism, Fascism, behind all occupations and invasions lurks a more basic, pervasive evil and that the image of that evil was a parade of people marching with raised fists and shouting identical syllables in unison. But she knew she would never be able to make them understand. Embarrassed, she changed the subject."

"Vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves"

"History is as light as individual human life, unbearably light, light as a feather, as dust swirling into the air, as whatever will no longer exist tomorrow."

All from The Unbearable Lightness of Being