I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
This river will teach you everything you need to learn. The water follows and trusts the current. It doesn't try to direct itself but allows itself to be pulled easily and naturally to the ocean. The current knows where its going. That's why its the current. The twigs bob merrily along the surface and trhe fish trust everything the current brings. The water is called by what is greater, the ocean, where the current both begins and ends. And this is how we are led when we trust our source and allow that source to lead us along to the fullest, happiest expression of life.
Some movies bring out the creativity in you. Every single audience member can become creative in the face of a particular movie. If you happen to like my films, it's because my films provide a bed for you on which you can find your creativity. The Hollywood movies do not provide that for you.
The truth is, almost nobody wants to experience real nature. What people want is to spend a week or two in a cabin in the woods, with screens on the windows. They want a simplified life for a while, without all their stuff. Or a nice river rafting trip for a few days, with somebody else doing the cooking. Nobody wants to go back to nature in any real way, and nobody does. It's all talk
The work of science has nothing whatever to do with consensus. Consensus is the business of politics.Science, on the contrary, requires only one investigator who happens to be right, which means that he or she has results that are verifiable by reference to the real world. In science consensus is irrelevant. What is relevant is reproducible results. The greatest scientists in history are great precisely because they broke with the consensus.There is no such thing as consensus science. If it's consensus, it isn't science. If it's science, it isn't consensus. Period.http://www.michaelcrichton.net/speech-alienscauseglobalwarming.html
If I be the first of us to die,Let grief not blacken long your sky.Be bold yet modest in your grieving.There is a change but not a leaving.For just as death is part of life,The dead live on forever in the living.And all the gathered riches of our journey,The moments shared, the mysteries explored,The steady layering of intimacy stored,The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,The wordless language of look and touch,The knowing,Each giving and each taking,These are not flowers that fade,Nor trees that fall and crumble,Nor are they stone,For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstandAnd mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.What we were, we are.What we had, we have.A conjoined past imperishably present.So when you walk the wood where once we walkedtogetherAnd scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand,And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,Be still.Close your eyes.Breathe.Listen for my footfall in your heart.I am not gone but merely walk within you.
Whenever we encounter the Infinite in man, however imperfectly understood, we treat it with respect. Whether in the synagogue, the mosque, the pagoda, or the wigwam, there is a hideous aspect which we execrate and a sublime aspect which we venerate . So great a subject for spiritual contemplation, such measureless dreaming -- the echo of God on the human wall!
She has never been a pretty crier. She sobbed the way she did everything else - with passion and excess. That she had managed to keep it inside her this long was astounding to James. He thought of pushing open the half-closed door and kneeling before his wife, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and helping her upstairs. He raised his hand, stroking the wood of the door, planning to say something to calm her. But what wisdom could he offer Gus, when he could not even heed it himself? James walked upstairs again, got into bed, covered his head with a pillow. And hours later, when Gus crept beneath the sheets, he tried to pretend that he did not feel the weight of her grief, lying between them like a fitful child, so solid that he could not reach past it to touch her.
Advertisements are of great use to the vulgar. First of all, as they are instruments of ambition. A man that is by no means big enough for the Gazette, may easily creep into the advertisements; by which means we often see an apothecary in the same paper of news with a plenipotentiary, or a running footman with an ambassador.