[b]José Saramago
We have an odd relationship with words. We learn a few when we are small, throughout our lives we collect others through education, conversation, our contact with books, and yet, in comparison, there are only a tiny number about whose meaning, sense, and denotation we would have absolutely no doubts, if one day, we were to ask ourselves seriously what they meant. Thus we affirm and deny, thus we convince and are convinced, thus we argue, deduce, and conclude, wandering fearlessly over the surface of concepts about which we only have the vaguest of ideas, and, despite the false air of confidence that we generally affect as we feel our way along the road in verbal darkness, we manage, more or less, to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other.[/b]
Probably true…but only more or less than it’s probably not.
There are such moments in life, when, in order for heaven to open, it is necessary for a door to close.
Anyone here ever had one?
Don’t you know, If you don’t step outside yourself, you’ll never discover who you are.
Oh for christ sakes, he thought.
It was my fault, she sobbed, and it was true, no one could deny it, but it is also true, if this brings her any consolation, that if, before every action, we were to begin by weighing up the consequences, thinking about them in earnest, first the immediate consequences, then the probable, then the possible, then the imaginable ones, we should never move beyond the point where our first thought brought us to a halt.
Sounds like a plan, he thought.
Strictly speaking, we do not make decisions, decisions make us.
Loosely speaking that may or may not be true.
Unlike Joseph her husband, Mary is neither upright nor pious, but she is not blame for this, the blame lies with the language she speaks if not with the men who invented it, because that language has no feminine form for the words upright and pious.
Let’s tie this somehow to Brett Kavanaugh.