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The seat of consciousness and intelligence was from the earliest times regarded by the Egyptians as both the heart and the bowels or abdomen. Our surgeon, however, has observed the fact that injuries to the brain affect other parts of the body, especially in his experience the lower limbs. He notes the drag or shuffle of one foot, presumably the partial paralysis resulting from a cranial wound, and the ancient commentator carefully explains the meaning of the obsolete word used for "shuffle. ↗
Praxeology is a theoretical and systematic, not a historical, science. Its scope is human action as such, irrespective of all environmental, accidental, and individual circumstances of the concrete acts. Its cognition is purely formal and general without reference to the material content and the particular features of the actual case. It aims at knowledge valid for all instances in which the conditions exactly correspond to those implied in its assumptions and inferences. Its statements and propositions are not derived from experience. They are, like those of logic and mathematics, a priori. They are not subject to verification or falsification on the ground of experience and facts. ↗
#empiricism #falsification #libertarianism #pseudoscience #reality
I love my mother. My mother loves my dad. Those two facts are undeniable. I want my father to live. I want him to fight to live as long as he can. My mother wants to let him pass. She does not want him suffering anymore. She says that I am not there in the middle of the night at home, when he begs her to let him die. I say that he should not be taking the medicine that the doctor is prescribing, that it made Mike Tyson want to eat his opponents young. ↗
My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one. But first, Father Zeus, I must speak to you privately." Zeus beckoned Artemis forward. He leaned down and listened as she spoke in his ear. A feeling of panic seized me. "Annabeth," I said under my breath. "Don't." She frowned at me. "What?" Look, I need to tell you something," I continued. The words came stumbling out of me. "I couldn't stand it if… I don't want you to—" Percy?" she said. "You look like you're going to be sick." And that's how I felt. I wanted to say more, but my tongue betrayed me. It wouldn't move because of the fear in my stomach ↗
Failed relationships can be described as so much wasted makeup. Forget the laughs, forget the fights, forget the sex, forget the jealousy. But take off your hat and observe a moment's silence for the legions of unknown tubes of foundation, mascara, eyeliner, blusher and lipstick who died that it might all have been possible. But who died in vain. ↗
I resolutely refuse to believe that the state of Edward's health had anything to do with this, and I don't say this only because I was once later accused of attacking him 'on his deathbed.' He was entirely lucid to the end, and the positions he took were easily recognizable by me as extensions or outgrowths of views he had expressed (and also declined to express) in the past. Alas, it is true that he was closer to the end than anybody knew when the thirtieth anniversary reissue of his Orientalism was published, but his long-precarious condition would hardly argue for giving him a lenient review, let alone denying him one altogether, which would have been the only alternatives. In the introduction he wrote for the new edition, he generally declined the opportunity to answer his scholarly critics, and instead gave the recent American arrival in Baghdad as a grand example of 'Orientalism' in action. The looting and destruction of the exhibits in the Iraq National Museum had, he wrote, been a deliberate piece of United States vandalism, perpetrated in order to shear the Iraqi people of their cultural patrimony and demonstrate to them their new servitude. Even at a time when anything at all could be said and believed so long as it was sufficiently and hysterically anti-Bush, this could be described as exceptionally mendacious. So when the Atlantic invited me to review Edward's revised edition, I decided I'd suspect myself more if I declined than if I agreed, and I wrote what I felt I had to. Not long afterward, an Iraqi comrade sent me without comment an article Edward had contributed to a magazine in London that was published by a princeling of the Saudi royal family. In it, Edward quoted some sentences about the Iraq war that he off-handedly described as 'racist.' The sentences in question had been written by me. I felt myself assailed by a reaction that was at once hot-eyed and frigidly cold. He had cited the words without naming their author, and this I briefly thought could be construed as a friendly hesitance. Or as cowardice... I can never quite act the stern role of Mr. Darcy with any conviction, but privately I sometimes resolve that that's 'it' as it were. I didn't say anything to Edward but then, I never said anything to him again, either. I believe that one or two charges simply must retain their face value and not become debauched or devalued. 'Racist' is one such. It is an accusation that must either be made good upon, or fully retracted. I would not have as a friend somebody whom I suspected of that prejudice, and I decided to presume that Edward was honest and serious enough to feel the same way. I feel misery stealing over me again as I set this down: I wrote the best tribute I could manage when he died not long afterward (and there was no strain in that, as I was relieved to find), but I didn't go to, and wasn't invited to, his funeral. ↗
#cowardice #edward-said #fitzwilliam-darcy #george-w-bush #house-of-saud
Ô toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges, Dieu trahi par le sort et privé de louanges, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Ô Prince de l'exil, à qui l'on a fait tort Et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines, Guérisseur familier des angoisses humaines, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui, même aux lépreux, aux parias maudits, Enseignes par l'amour le goût du Paradis, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Ô toi qui de la Mort, ta vieille et forte amante, Engendras l'Espérance, — une folle charmante! Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut Qui damne tout un peuple autour d'un échafaud. Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi dont l'oeil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux Où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi dont la large main cache les précipices Au somnambule errant au bord des édifices, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui, magiquement, assouplis les vieux os De l'ivrogne attardé foulé par les chevaux, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui, pour consoler l'homme frêle qui souffre, Nous appris à mêler le salpêtre et le soufre, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui poses ta marque, ô complice subtil, Sur le front du Crésus impitoyable et vil, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Toi qui mets dans les yeux et dans le coeur des filles Le culte de la plaie et l'amour des guenilles, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Bâton des exilés, lampe des inventeurs, Confesseur des pendus et des conspirateurs, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Père adoptif de ceux qu'en sa noire colère Du paradis terrestre a chassés Dieu le Père, Ô Satan, prends pitié de ma longue misère! Prière Gloire et louange à toi, Satan, dans les hauteurs Du Ciel, où tu régnas, et dans les profondeurs De l'Enfer, où, vaincu, tu rêves en silence! Fais que mon âme un jour, sous l'Arbre de Science, Près de toi se repose, à l'heure où sur ton front Comme un Temple nouveau ses rameaux s'épandront! ↗
My sincere thanks to friends and family, especially my mother, father, brother, and Mandy, who continue to love and support me despite my obsessions. ↗
The state does not oppose the freedom of people to express their particular cultural attachments, but nor does it nurture such expression—rather [...] it responds with 'benign neglect' [....] The members of ethnic and national groups are protected against discrimination and prejudice, and they are free to maintain whatever part of their ethnic heritage or identity they wish, consistent with the rights of others. But their efforts are purely private, and it is not the place of public agencies to attach legal identities or disabilities to cultural membership or ethnic identity. This separation of state and ethnicity precludes any legal or governmental recognition of ethnic groups, or any use of ethnic criteria in the distribution of rights, resources, and duties. ↗
#discrimination #ethnicity #individuals #liberalism #liberties
