The theatre, for all its artifices, depicts life in a sense more truly than history, because the medium has a kindred movement to that of real life, though an artificial setting and form.
There are persons who cannot make friends. Who are they? Those who cannot be friends. It is not the want of understanding or good nature, of entertaining or useful qualities, that you complain of: on the contrary, they have probably many points of attraction; but they have one that neutralizes all these --they care nothing about you, and are neither the better nor worse for what you think of them. They manifest no joy at your approach; and when you leave them, it is with a feeling that they can do just as well without you. This is not sullenness, nor indifference, nor absence of mind; but they are intent solely on their own thoughts, and you are merely one of the subjects they exercise them upon. They live in society as in a solitude.
If goodness were only a theory, it were a pity it should be lost to the world. There are a number of things, the idea of which is a clear gain to the mind. Let people, for instance, rail at friendship, genius, freedom, as long as they will --the very names of these despised qualities are better than anything else that could be substituted for them, and embalm even the most envenomed satire against them.
Anarchism asserts the possibility of an organization without discipline, fear, or punishment, and without the pressure of poverty: a new social organism which will make an end to the terrible struggle for the means of existence, --the savage struggle which undermines the finest qualities in man, and ever widens the social abyss. In short, Anarchism strives towards a social organization which will establish well-being for all.
Ever reviled, accursed, ne'er understood,Thou art the grisly terror of our age.Wreck of all order, cry the multitude,Art thou, and war and murder's endless rage.O, let them cry. To them that ne'er have strivenThe truth that lies behind a word to find,To them the word's right meaning was not given.They shall continue blind among the blind.But thou, O word, so clear, so strong, so pure,Thou sayest all which I for goal have taken.I give thee to the future! Thine secureWhen each at least unto himself shall waken.Comes it in sunshine? In the tempest's thrill?I cannot tell--but it the earth shall see!I am an Anarchist! Wherefore I willNot rule, and also ruled I will not be!
Indeed, the keynote of government is injustice. With the arrogance and self-sufficiency of the King who could do no wrong, governments ordain, judge, condemn, and punish the most insignificant offenses, while maintaining themselves by the greatest of all offenses, the annihilation of individual liberty.
As much as we like to think that we are independent-minded, free-willed, autonomous individuals, the fact remains that some part of us is still susceptible to programming.Programming can happen to anyone. Intelligence, education, common sense, belief, or convictions offer little protection. All it takes is repetition (the slow route) or vulnerability (the fast route) and, eventually, we're hooked. Master programmers - from cult leaders to cigarette companies to government agencies - do both, as often as possible, whether you like it or not.Ironically, the more immune to programming you think you are, the more susceptible you become.
Opusculum paedagogicumThe pears are not viols,Nudes or bottles.They resemble nothing else.They are yellow formsComposed of curvesBulging toward the base.They are touched red.They are not flat surfacesHaving curved outlines.They are roundTapering toward the top.In the way they are modelledThere are bits of blue.A hard dry leaf hangsFrom the stem.The yellow glistens.It glistens with various yellows,Citrons, oranges and greensFlowering over the skin.The shadows of the pearsAre blobs on the green cloth.The pears are not seenAs the observer wills.