The Writings on the Wall
Monday, August 18, 2008
On the nexts
"They call the wooden blinds "sheesh" and tell me it's the Persian word for glass. So that which sits next to a thing is called by its name. I have had this thought many times and feel as though I should draw some conclusion from it, but so far I haven't."
Ahdaf Soueif - Sandpiper
contributed by: Evaluna
Ahdaf Soueif - Sandpiper
contributed by: Evaluna
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
On the essence
Who dares deny that this is true:
The whole is more than all its parts?
A whole love than divided love,
Or than half love from fifty hearts?
Yet who dare either this deny:
The part is more than is the whole?
That treasures halved with one dear love
Are more than double to the soul?
Arthur Dillon
The whole is more than all its parts?
A whole love than divided love,
Or than half love from fifty hearts?
Yet who dare either this deny:
The part is more than is the whole?
That treasures halved with one dear love
Are more than double to the soul?
Arthur Dillon
Sunday, August 10, 2008
On Beings
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Shakespeare - All the world's a stage (from As You Like It 2/7) -
