If to truth I am a timid friend, I fear that I shall not live on amongst those who shall call this age ancient.
—Dante Alighieri, Paradiso XVII: 118-120
Paradiso XII
He is right low down amongst the fools who maketh affirmation or negation without distinction between case and case.
—Dante Alighieri, Paradiso XII
—Dante Alighieri, Paradiso XII
The Brothers Karamazov
Lise looked at him joyfully. "Alyosha," she murmured again, "look at the door. Isn't mamma listening?"
"Very well, Lise, I'll look; but wouldn't it be better not to look? Why suspect your mother of such meanness?"
"What meanness? As for her spying on her daughter, it's her right, it's not meanness!" cried Lise, firing up. "You may be sure, Alexey Fyodorovitch, that when I am a mother, if I have a daughter like myself I shall certainly spy on her!"
"Really, Lise? That's not right."
"Oh, my goodness! What has meanness to do with it? If she were listening to some ordinary worldly conversation, it would be meanness, but when her own daughter is shut up with a young man ... Listen, Alyosha, do you know I shall spy upon you as soon as we are married, and let me tell you I shall open all your letters and read them, so you may as well be prepared."
"Yes, of course, if so—" muttered Alyosha, "only it's not right."
"Ah, how contemptuous! Alyosha, dear, we won't quarrel the very first day. I'd better tell you the whole truth. Of course, it's very wrong to spy on people, and, of course, I am not right and you are, only I shall spy on you all the same."
"Do, then; you won't find out anything," laughed Alyosha.
"And Alyosha, will you give in to me? We must decide that too."
"I shall be delighted to, Lise, and certain to, only not in the most important things. Even if you don't agree with me, I shall do my duty in the most important things."
"That's right; but let me tell you I am ready to give in to you not only in the most important matters, but in everything. And I am ready to vow to do so now—in everything, and for all my life!" cried Lise fervently, "and I'll do it gladly, gladly! What's more, I'll swear never to spy on you, never once, never to read one of your letters. For you are right and I am not. And though I shall be awfully tempted to spy, I know that I won't do it since you consider it dishonourable. You are my conscience now....
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, translated by Constance Garnett, p 201-202.
"Very well, Lise, I'll look; but wouldn't it be better not to look? Why suspect your mother of such meanness?"
"What meanness? As for her spying on her daughter, it's her right, it's not meanness!" cried Lise, firing up. "You may be sure, Alexey Fyodorovitch, that when I am a mother, if I have a daughter like myself I shall certainly spy on her!"
"Really, Lise? That's not right."
"Oh, my goodness! What has meanness to do with it? If she were listening to some ordinary worldly conversation, it would be meanness, but when her own daughter is shut up with a young man ... Listen, Alyosha, do you know I shall spy upon you as soon as we are married, and let me tell you I shall open all your letters and read them, so you may as well be prepared."
"Yes, of course, if so—" muttered Alyosha, "only it's not right."
"Ah, how contemptuous! Alyosha, dear, we won't quarrel the very first day. I'd better tell you the whole truth. Of course, it's very wrong to spy on people, and, of course, I am not right and you are, only I shall spy on you all the same."
"Do, then; you won't find out anything," laughed Alyosha.
"And Alyosha, will you give in to me? We must decide that too."
"I shall be delighted to, Lise, and certain to, only not in the most important things. Even if you don't agree with me, I shall do my duty in the most important things."
"That's right; but let me tell you I am ready to give in to you not only in the most important matters, but in everything. And I am ready to vow to do so now—in everything, and for all my life!" cried Lise fervently, "and I'll do it gladly, gladly! What's more, I'll swear never to spy on you, never once, never to read one of your letters. For you are right and I am not. And though I shall be awfully tempted to spy, I know that I won't do it since you consider it dishonourable. You are my conscience now....
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, translated by Constance Garnett, p 201-202.
A. K. Dewdney
To some people is given the ability to shrug off the illusion of the bowl [the celestial sphere]. My son is such a one. Sometimes when he looks up, he sees not the bowl, but into the depths of space. The perception is terrifying beyond measure.
—A. K. Dewdney, A Mathematical Mystery Tour, p 104.
—A. K. Dewdney, A Mathematical Mystery Tour, p 104.
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
On the next page she came to a spell "for the refreshment of the spirit". The pictures were fewer here but very beautiful. And what Lucy found herself reading was more like a story than a spell. It went on for three pages and before she had read to the bottom of the page she had forgotten that she was reading at all. She was living in the story as if it were real, and all the pictures were real too.
When she had got to the third page and come to the end, she said, "That is the loveliest story I've ever read or ever shall read in my whole life. Oh, I wish I could have gone on reading it for ten years. At least I'll read it over again."
But here part of the magic of the Book came into play. You couldn't turn back. The right-hand pages, the ones ahead, could be turned; the left-hand pages could not.
"Oh, what a shame!" said Lucy. "I did so want to read it again. Well, at least I must remember it. Let's see ... it was about ... about ... oh dear, it's all fading away again.... And even this last page is going blank. This is a very queer book. How can I have forgotten? It was about a cup and a sword and a tree and a green hill, I know that much. But I can't remember and what shall I do?"
Ever since that day what Lucy means by a good story is a story which reminds her of the forgotten story in the Magician's Book.
...
"Shall I ever be able to read that story again; the one I couldn't remember? Will you tell it to me, Aslan? Oh do, do, do."
"Indeed, yes, I will tell it to you for years and years. But now, come. We must meet the master of this house."
— C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
When she had got to the third page and come to the end, she said, "That is the loveliest story I've ever read or ever shall read in my whole life. Oh, I wish I could have gone on reading it for ten years. At least I'll read it over again."
But here part of the magic of the Book came into play. You couldn't turn back. The right-hand pages, the ones ahead, could be turned; the left-hand pages could not.
"Oh, what a shame!" said Lucy. "I did so want to read it again. Well, at least I must remember it. Let's see ... it was about ... about ... oh dear, it's all fading away again.... And even this last page is going blank. This is a very queer book. How can I have forgotten? It was about a cup and a sword and a tree and a green hill, I know that much. But I can't remember and what shall I do?"
Ever since that day what Lucy means by a good story is a story which reminds her of the forgotten story in the Magician's Book.
...
"Shall I ever be able to read that story again; the one I couldn't remember? Will you tell it to me, Aslan? Oh do, do, do."
"Indeed, yes, I will tell it to you for years and years. But now, come. We must meet the master of this house."
— C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Richard Dawkins
The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.
—Richard Dawkins
—Richard Dawkins
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