Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

[Meno_]

The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

The world is everything that is the case.

The human body is the best picture of the human soul.

What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.

Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.

If we spoke a different language, we would perceive a somewhat different world.

What can be shown, cannot be said.

For a large class of cases - though not for all - in which we employ the word meaning it can be defined thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

Philosophy is not a theory but an activity.

Wittgenstein

[Meno_]

Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable.



Buckminister Fuller

[Meno_]

"Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.


War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.

The best books... are those that tell you what you know already.



If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.

If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—for ever.



But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.

Tags: language, power-of-words, propaganda, thought

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.


We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.

Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them.


Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious.




Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is this. The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from the oligarchies of the past in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were cowards and hypocrites. The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just around the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means; it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power. Now you begin to understand me.



Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.

If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love."

George Orwell, 1984

[Meno_]

"My father was a mulatto, my grandfather was a Negro, and my great-grandfather a monkey. You see, Sir, my family starts where yours ends."


Alexander Dumas

[Meno_]

The Lone

"Shrill shriek the crows
that to the town in whirls roam:
soon come the snows -
weal unto him, who - has a home!

Now you stand still,
look back, alas! how far unfurled!
You fool! You will
escape the winter to the world?

The world - a gate
to thousand deserts, mute and chill!
Who lost his fate,
as you have lost, stands nowhere still.

Now you are pale
and cursed to wander winter's rise,
like fumes prevail
that always seek the colder skies.

Seek, bird, and shriek
your desert-bird-song, worn and torn! -
And hide, you freak,
your bleeding heart in ice and scorn!

Shrill shriek the crows
that to the town in whirls roam:
soon come the snows -
woe unto him, who has no home!"

Nietzche attribution

[Meno_]

"Now, what if Others were encapsulated in Things, in a way that Being towards Things were not ontologically severable, in Heidegger's terms, from Being towards Others? What if the mode of Dasein of Others were to dwell in Things, and so forth? In the same light, then, what if the Thing were a Dublette of the Self, and not what is called the Other? Or more radically still, what if the Self were in some fundamental way becoming a Xerox copy, a duplicate, of the Thing in its assumedessence?"

notes on Heidegger

[Meno_]

"Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms."



Heidegger

[Meno_]

https://podbay.fm/p/the-partially-exami ... 1375899230

[Meno_]

apologetic me no


"Iife is a constant battle of always trying to better oneself. One wants to be better than she or he was the day before, and be better than those around her or him. Meno, from Plato’s dialogue Meno, is a perfect example of someone who is was concerned with being the best, especially when it leads to powerand having power. But heHowever, Meno was far less concerned with bettering himself than ensuring he was better than everyone those around him. This desire led him to ask the philosopher Socrates, “Can virtue be taught?” (Meno, 70a). Throughout Meno Socrates and Meno work towards trying to definedefining virtue and determine determining if it virtue can be taught to those who do not have it. At the beginning of the dialogue Meno is ignorant…show more content…
Socrates takes more of the stance of a teacher in Apology. In the Apology Socrates is placed on trial and is attempting to defend his actionshow he is viewed and his teaching practice. Socrates is attempting to teach, or prove, that he is an innocent man who does not deserve punishment for his actions. If Socrates is attempting to teach anything it is that he is an innocent man. Socrates explains that he tries to dismantle the “wise” men of Athens who say they are wise because wisdom comes from accepting your own ignorancethey do not accept their own ignorance. Socrates says that wisdom comes from accepting that you do not know. This is paralleled with Meno’s acceptance of his own ignorance in Meno, which was a moment where he gains wisdom. Socrates is not trying to learn anything in ApologyUnlike in Meno, there is nothing Socrates is trying to learn in the Apology. He asks fewer questions in Apology than he does in Meno because there is not a definite question he is looking for an answer tothe Apology. Perhaps if Socrates was asking more questionsSocrates avoids asking questions because it would take his credibilityquestioning would challenge his credibility away while he was on trial. The jury could not trust a man who is asking questions of his own innocence. The only time in the Apology where he does ask questions is when he attempts discredit one of his accusers, Meletus. Socrates points out Meletus’…show more content…
We can go on a search, but if we are not wise to the fact that we are ignorant of what we are looking for we cannot go on a true philosophical search. Meno could only continue to learn of the nature of virtue once he accepted and admitted his own ignorance towards virtue. Socrates helped him on his way, while not teaching him but learning alongside Meno. Socrates taught much more in the Apology, and the teaching was not successful because it did not prevent his sentence to death. Socrates’ understanding of his own ignorance led to his wisdom, which allowed him to face his death"


freestar

[Great Again]

"Now, what if Others were encapsulated in Things, in a way that Being towards Things were not ontologically severable, in Heidegger's terms, from Being towards Others? What if the mode of Dasein of Others were to dwell in Things, and so forth? In the same light, then, what if the Thing were a Dublette of the Self, and not what is called the Other? Or more radically still, what if the Self were in some fundamental way becoming a Xerox copy, a duplicate, of the Thing in its assumedessence?"
notes on Heidegger

"Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms."
Heidegger

Greetings, Meno.

I have read some thirty to forty Heidegger books and I cannot imagine that he would have said what you quote him as saying.

Sorry.

[Meno_]

"Now, what if Others were encapsulated in Things, in a way that Being towards Things were not ontologically severable, in Heidegger's terms, from Being towards Others? What if the mode of Dasein of Others were to dwell in Things, and so forth? In the same light, then, what if the Thing were a Dublette of the Self, and not what is called the Other? Or more radically still, what if the Self were in some fundamental way becoming a Xerox copy, a duplicate, of the Thing in its assumedessence?"
notes on Heidegger

"Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms."
Heidegger

Greetings, Meno.

I have read some thirty to forty Heidegger books and I cannot imagine that he would have said what you quote him as saying.

Sorry.

Great Again

No problem, the sources are correct, the
I think the first is direct from him the other may have been cimmentary/analysis by a credible source. I will dig it up and post it, as soon as I can.

[Meno_]

Catholic-Link

The Dark Night: Stanzas of the Soul

"One dark night,
fired with love’s urgent longings
— ah, the sheer grace! —
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.

In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
— ah, the sheer grace! —
in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.

On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.



This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
— him I knew so well —
there in a place where no one appeared.

O guiding night!
O night more lovely than the dawn!
O night that has united
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her Lover.

Upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping,
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.

When the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair,
it wounded my neck
with its gentle hand,
suspending all my senses.



I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.

– St. John of the Cross-

[Sculptor]

Die Baume stehn der Frucht entladen,
Und gelbes Laub verweht ins Tal ...

Johann Heinrich Voss

Soll ich dich mit einem Sommertag vergleichen?
Du bist schöner und gemäßigter:
Raue Winde schütteln die süßen Knospen des Mais,
Und Sommerpacht hat ein allzu kurzes Datum;
Manchmal zu heiß leuchtet das Auge des Himmels,
Und oft ist sein goldener Teint verdunkelt;
Und jede Messe von Messe nimmt irgendwann ab,
Durch Zufall oder den Lauf der Natur ungetrimmt;
Aber dein ewiger Sommer soll nicht verblassen,
Verliere auch nicht den Besitz der Schönheit, die du schuldest;
Noch soll der Tod prahlen, du wanderst in seinem Schatten,
Wenn du in ewigen Linien zur Zeit wachst:
Solange Menschen atmen oder Augen sehen können,
So lange lebt dies, und dies gibt dir Leben.

[Meno_]

I understand You're German and though I understand a scattering , You may want to translate, thanks, my translator is out.

Oh, got it in part.


The trees stand empty of fruit,
And yellow leaves blow into the valley...

Johann Heinrich Voss


Should I compare you to a summer day?
You are more beautiful and more temperate:
Harsh winds shake the sweet buds of the corn,
.and summer lease has too short a date;
Sometimes the eye of heaven shines too hot,



Comment: there are veritable similarities between the two verses. (With the Saint's Dark night.)

[Meno_]

The woman bent down to pick up the fallen pomegranate from the grass. It was ripe, it had burst open in the fall, stained her white dress. The vision of the laden barge, the pale island, the flowery meadow returned to her loving spirit along with the Creator's words: 'This is my body...Take and


The heat of his night time fever was being brushed away entirely by the breeze as the light mists evaporated. The same process that was happening around him, was happening within him too. He was being reborn with the morning.

It was like a Stygian plain, like a vision of Hades: a land of shadows, vapours and water. Everything was going misty and disappearing like spirits. The moon was enchanting and pulling at the plain just as she enchants and pulls at the sea, drinking all that vast earthly dampness from the horizon with her silent, insatiable throat.


But the daily tasks and prayers of men, the ancient city tired from having lived too long, the ravaged marble and worn out bells, all those things oppressed by the weight of memories, all those perishable things were rendered humble in comparison with the tremendous blazing Alps that tore at the sky with their thousand unyielding spikes, a vast, solitary city that was waiting, perhaps, for a new race of Titans.



They remained silent, while the bronze tolling passed over their heads so powerfully that they seemed to hear it in the very roots of their hair like a quiver of their flesh.


He followed the glances of some of them like a ray of love directed at a woman seated somewhere, engrossed in her own thoughts, made languorous by secret delights and softened in some impure way, with a snow-white face in which her mouth opened like a hive damp with honey.

Gabriele D'Annunzio, The Flame = (Il Fuoco) -

[Great Again]

"Now, what if Others were encapsulated in Things, in a way that Being towards Things were not ontologically severable, in Heidegger's terms, from Being towards Others? What if the mode of Dasein of Others were to dwell in Things, and so forth? In the same light, then, what if the Thing were a Dublette of the Self, and not what is called the Other? Or more radically still, what if the Self were in some fundamental way becoming a Xerox copy, a duplicate, of the Thing in its assumedessence?"
notes on Heidegger

"Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms."
Heidegger

Greetings, Meno.

I have read some thirty to forty Heidegger books and I cannot imagine that he would have said what you quote him as saying.

Sorry.

Great Again

No problem, the sources are correct, the
I think the first is direct from him the other may have been cimmentary/analysis by a credible source. I will dig it up and post it, as soon as I can.

You have not provided a source anywhere. As long as the source is missing, every quote is merely an assertion - without any proof.

Sorry.

[Meno_]

No problem , my bad. The source was lost do to an unrecoverable phone's memory being lost.

[Meno_]

Found it:


"Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms.
Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, Autobiography of a Corpse'



Sorry You are right it was not Heidegger


And no patent relevance appeared to exist to Heidegger.
But there must be something, otherwise put it down to mistake. (

[Great Again]

Found it:


"Hiding my half existence behind the opaque walls of my skull, concealing it like a shameful disease, I did not consider the simple fact that the same thing could be occurring under other skullcaps, in other locked rooms.
Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, Autobiography of a Corpse'



Sorry You are right it was not Heidegger

That's what I thought.

Thank you.

[Meno_]

Stendhal Quotes

Only great minds can afford a simple style.
...
A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love. ...

If you don't love me, it does not matter, anyway I can love for both of us.

“A good book is an event in my life.” ...

“One can acquire everything in solitude except character.” ..
.
“There are as many styles of beauty as there are visions of happiness.” ...

“I love her beauty, but I fear her mind.” ...

“A novel is a mirror walking along a main road.”

[Meno_]

"In the hairy backroom,
Where you're filled with doubt,
And the junk nearly reaches the ceiling,
Even the cockroaches check out."


Anonymous friemd,, now gone

[Meno_]

"journey out of the self,
There are many detours, washed-out interrupted raw places
Where the shale slides dangerously
And the back wheels hang almost over the edge
At the sudden veering, the moment of turning.
Better to hug close, wary of rubble and falling stones.
The arroyo cracking the road, the wind-bitten buttes, the canyons,
Creeks swollen in midsummer from the flash-flood roaring into the narrow valley.
Reeds beaten flat by wind and rain,
Grey from the long winter, burnt at the base in late summer.
-- Or the path narrowing,
Winding upward toward the stream with its sharp stones,
The upland of alder and birchtrees,
Through the swamp alive with quicksand,
The way blocked at last by a fallen fir-tree,
The thickets darkening,
The ravines ugly."


Theodore Roethke

[Meno_]

After Great Pain …

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go:

Emily Dickinson"

[Meno_]

"On writing
I think at first, until one has got the spout of this long disused fountain clear, it is better to let the water burst out when it will & so force away the accumulation of decayed vegetation, moss, slime & dead fish which are thick upon & around it."

— Vivienne Haigh-Wood[1](Eliot)

[Meno_]

"Strange Meeting by Wilfred Owen

A soldier’s vision of the hell of war resonates beyond its maker’s brief life











Strange Meeting

It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,—
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand fears that vision’s face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
“Strange friend,” I said, “here is no cause to mourn.”
“None,” said that other, “save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now …”