By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
—Rabindranath Tagore, “Stray Birds”
Shorn, the ghosts of my hair condemn me with a malignant reflex for every comb I come across.
Rice by Chun Yang-Hee
To you who eat a lot of rice because you are lonely
To you who sleep a lot because you are bored
To you who cry a lot because you are sad
I write this down
Chew on your feelings that are cornered like you would chew on rice
Anyway, life is something that you need to digest.
Recklessness is the way of the young. And tolerance is the beauty of adulthood. But there is such a thing as going too far…reigning in children who stray too far beyond the lines is also an adult’s job.
Respect to all science communicators, bloggers and journalists. Breaking the whole into digestible pieces takes a truckload of brilliance, eloquence and patience. I’d rather remain a recluse than face idiots; that would get me arrested for one thing or another.
Writing without revising is the literary equivalent of waltzing gaily out of the house in your underwear.
Chance seldom interferes with the wise man; his greatest and highest interests have been, are, and will be, directed by reason throughout his whole life.
The flesh receives as unlimited the limits of pleasure; and to provide it requires unlimited time. But the mind, intellectually grasping what the end and limit of the flesh is, and banishing the terrors of the future, procures a complete and perfect life, and we have no longer any need of unlimited time. Nevertheless the mind does not shun pleasure, and even when circumstances make death imminent, the mind does not lack enjoyment of the best life.