"Everyone calls 'barbarity' that to which he is not accustomed."

"Chacun appelle 'barbarie' ce qui n'est pas de son usage."

"When I play with my cat, how do I know that she is not passing time with me, rather than I with her?"

- from "An Apology for Raymond Sebond" by Michel de Montaigne (February 28, 1533 - September 13, 1592)

"If you want to give me a present, give me a good life . . ."

"If you want to give me a present - give me a good life. That would be something I could value."

from East of Eden, by John Steinbeck (February 27, 1902 - December 20, 1968)

Psst! Wanna deal on Gandhi's glasses?

A reporter asked Gandhi what he thought of modern civilization. The Mahatma answered, "That would be a good idea."

"The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart."

His head is bowed. He thinks of men and kings.
He is among us — as in times before!
And we who toss and lie awake for long,
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.

The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?
Too many peasants fight, they know not why;
Too many homesteads in black terror weep.

from Lincoln Walks at Midnight (In Springfield, Illinois) by Vachel Lindsay

For Elizabeth Bishop, born this day in 1911

This is the time of year
when almost every night
the frail, illegal fire balloons appear.
Climbing the mountain height,

rising toward a saint
still honored in these parts,
the paper chambers flush and fill with light
that comes and goes, like hearts.

- from The Armadillo, by Elizabeth Bishop (for Robert Lowell)

On this day Charles Hardin Holley died, and John Keats was fatally stricken.

"Milo Venus was a beautiful lass
she had the world in the palm of her hand
but she lost both her arms in a wrestling match
to win a brown eyed handsome man
she fought and won herself a brown eyed handsome man"
- “Brown Eyed Handsome Man” by Chuck Berry,
recorded by Buddy Holly


“The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending!
’Tis not content so soon to be alone.”
- John Keats, On leaving some friends at an early Hour

On this day was born Mr. Joyce

"His smile faded as he walked, a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. Useless words. Things go on same, day after day: squads of police marching out, back: trams in, out. Those two loonies mooching about. Dignam carted off. Mina Purefoy swollen belly on a bed groaning to have a child tugged out of her. One born every second somewhere. Other dying every second. Since I fed the birds five minutes. Three hundred kicked the bucket. Other three hundred born, washing the blood off, all are washed in the blood of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa."
. . . James Joyce, Ulysses