Kevin's Watch

Flann O'Brien wrote:If a man stands before a mirror and sees in it his reflection, what he sees is not a true reproduction of himself but a picture of himself when he was a younger man. De Selby’s explanation of this phenomenon is quite simple. Light, as he points out truly enough, has an ascertained and finite rate of travel. Hence before the reflection of any object in a mirror can be said to be accomplished, it is necessary that rays of light should first strike the object and subsequently impinge on the glass, to be thrown back again to the object to the eyes of a man, for instance. There is therefore an appreciable and calculable interval of time between the throwing by a man of a glance at his own face in a mirror and the registration of the reflected image in his eye.

So far, one may say, so good. Whether this idea is right or wrong, the amount of time involved is so negligible that few reasonable people would argue the point. But de Selby ever loath to leave well enough alone, insists on reflecting the first reflection in a further mirror and professing to detect minute changes in this second image. Ultimately he constructed the familiar arrangement of parallel mirrors, each reflecting diminishing images of an interposed object indefinitely. The interposed object in this case was de Selby’s own face and this he claims to have studied backwards through an infinity of reflections by means of ‘a powerful glass’. What he states to have seen through his glass is astonishing. He claims to have noticed a growing youthfulness in the reflections of his face according as they receded, the most distant of them — too tiny to be visible to the naked eye — being the face of a beardless boy of twelve, and, to use his own words, ‘a countenance of singular beauty and nobility’. He did not succeed in pursuing the matter back to the cradle ‘owing to the curvature of the earth and the limitations of the telescope.’

Vader wrote:

Flann O'Brien wrote:If a man stands before a mirror and sees in it his reflection, what he sees is not a true reproduction of himself but a picture of himself when he was a younger man. De Selby’s explanation of this phenomenon is quite simple. Light, as he points out truly enough, has an ascertained and finite rate of travel. Hence before the reflection of any object in a mirror can be said to be accomplished, it is necessary that rays of light should first strike the object and subsequently impinge on the glass, to be thrown back again to the object to the eyes of a man, for instance. There is therefore an appreciable and calculable interval of time between the throwing by a man of a glance at his own face in a mirror and the registration of the reflected image in his eye.

So far, one may say, so good. Whether this idea is right or wrong, the amount of time involved is so negligible that few reasonable people would argue the point. But de Selby ever loath to leave well enough alone, insists on reflecting the first reflection in a further mirror and professing to detect minute changes in this second image. Ultimately he constructed the familiar arrangement of parallel mirrors, each reflecting diminishing images of an interposed object indefinitely. The interposed object in this case was de Selby’s own face and this he claims to have studied backwards through an infinity of reflections by means of ‘a powerful glass’. What he states to have seen through his glass is astonishing. He claims to have noticed a growing youthfulness in the reflections of his face according as they receded, the most distant of them — too tiny to be visible to the naked eye — being the face of a beardless boy of twelve, and, to use his own words, ‘a countenance of singular beauty and nobility’. He did not succeed in pursuing the matter back to the cradle ‘owing to the curvature of the earth and the limitations of the telescope.’

Some people say "If you can't beat them, join them". I say "If you can't beat them, beat them", because they will be expecting you to join them, so you will have the element of surprise.

Taggart: I got it! I got it!
Hedley Lamarr: You do?
Taggart: We'll work up a Number 6 on 'em.
Hedley Lamarr: [frowns] I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one.
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a whampin' and whompin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folk, of course.
Hedley Lamarr: You spare the women?
Taggart: Naw! We rape the shit out of them at the Number 6 Dance later on.
Hedley Lamarr: Marvelous!

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

- from Ferris Bueller's Day Off

Fist and Faith wrote:I've spent a lot of money on booze and women. The rest I just wasted.

"But is it really necessary?" she began. "I don't think I look on marriage quite as you do. It seems to me extraordinary that everything should hang on what Mark says about something he doesn't understand."
"Child," said the Director, "it is not a question of how you or I look on marriage but how my Masters look on it."
"Someone said they were very old fashioned. But -"
"That was a joke. They are not old fashioned; but they are very, very old."
"They would never think of finding out first whether Mark and I believed in their ideas of marriage?"
"Well - no," said the Director with a curious smile. "No. Quite definitely they wouldn't think of doing that."
"And would it make no difference to them what a marriage was actually like - whether it was a success? Whether the woman loved her husband?"
Jane had not exactly intended to say this: much less to say it in the cheaply pathetic tone which, it now seemed to her, she had used. Hating herself, and fearing the Director's silence, she added, "But I suppose you will say I oughtn't to have told you that."
"My dear child," said the Director, "you have been telling me that ever since your husband was mentioned."
"Does it make no difference?"
"I suppose," said the Director, "it would depend on how he lost your love."
Jane was silent. Though she could not tell the Director the truth, and indeed did not know it herself, yet when she tried to explore her inarticulate grievance against Mark, a novel sense of her own injustice and even of pity for her husband, arose in her mind. And her heart sank, for now it seemed to her that this conversation, to which she had vaguely looked for some sort of deliverance from all problems was in fact involving her in new ones.
"It was not his fault," she said at last. "I suppose our marriage was just a mistake."
The Director said nothing.
"What would you - what would the people you are talking of - say about a case like that?"
"I will tell you if you really want to know," said the Director.
"Please," said Jane reluctantly.
"They would say," he answered, "that you do not fail in obedience through lack of love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience."

dlbpharmd wrote:

Fist and Faith wrote:I've spent a lot of money on booze and women. The rest I just wasted.

Where is this from?

rusmeister wrote:Assuming that we are sticking to fiction in literature...
Preceding passage included, quote highlighted:

"But is it really necessary?" she began. "I don't think I look on marriage quite as you do. It seems to me extraordinary that everything should hang on what Mark says about something he doesn't understand."
"Child," said the Director, "it is not a question of how you or I look on marriage but how my Masters look on it."
"Someone said they were very old fashioned. But -"
"That was a joke. They are not old fashioned; but they are very, very old."
"They would never think of finding out first whether Mark and I believed in their ideas of marriage?"
"Well - no," said the Director with a curious smile. "No. Quite definitely they wouldn't think of doing that."
"And would it make no difference to them what a marriage was actually like - whether it was a success? Whether the woman loved her husband?"
Jane had not exactly intended to say this: much less to say it in the cheaply pathetic tone which, it now seemed to her, she had used. Hating herself, and fearing the Director's silence, she added, "But I suppose you will say I oughtn't to have told you that."
"My dear child," said the Director, "you have been telling me that ever since your husband was mentioned."
"Does it make no difference?"
"I suppose," said the Director, "it would depend on how he lost your love."
Jane was silent. Though she could not tell the Director the truth, and indeed did not know it herself, yet when she tried to explore her inarticulate grievance against Mark, a novel sense of her own injustice and even of pity for her husband, arose in her mind. And her heart sank, for now it seemed to her that this conversation, to which she had vaguely looked for some sort of deliverance from all problems was in fact involving her in new ones.
"It was not his fault," she said at last. "I suppose our marriage was just a mistake."
The Director said nothing.
"What would you - what would the people you are talking of - say about a case like that?"
"I will tell you if you really want to know," said the Director.
"Please," said Jane reluctantly.
"They would say," he answered, "that you do not fail in obedience through lack of love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience."

CS Lewis, "That Hideous Strength"

Auleliel wrote:

rusmeister wrote:Assuming that we are sticking to fiction in literature...
Preceding passage included, quote highlighted:

"But is it really necessary?" she began. "I don't think I look on marriage quite as you do. It seems to me extraordinary that everything should hang on what Mark says about something he doesn't understand."
"Child," said the Director, "it is not a question of how you or I look on marriage but how my Masters look on it."
"Someone said they were very old fashioned. But -"
"That was a joke. They are not old fashioned; but they are very, very old."
"They would never think of finding out first whether Mark and I believed in their ideas of marriage?"
"Well - no," said the Director with a curious smile. "No. Quite definitely they wouldn't think of doing that."
"And would it make no difference to them what a marriage was actually like - whether it was a success? Whether the woman loved her husband?"
Jane had not exactly intended to say this: much less to say it in the cheaply pathetic tone which, it now seemed to her, she had used. Hating herself, and fearing the Director's silence, she added, "But I suppose you will say I oughtn't to have told you that."
"My dear child," said the Director, "you have been telling me that ever since your husband was mentioned."
"Does it make no difference?"
"I suppose," said the Director, "it would depend on how he lost your love."
Jane was silent. Though she could not tell the Director the truth, and indeed did not know it herself, yet when she tried to explore her inarticulate grievance against Mark, a novel sense of her own injustice and even of pity for her husband, arose in her mind. And her heart sank, for now it seemed to her that this conversation, to which she had vaguely looked for some sort of deliverance from all problems was in fact involving her in new ones.
"It was not his fault," she said at last. "I suppose our marriage was just a mistake."
The Director said nothing.
"What would you - what would the people you are talking of - say about a case like that?"
"I will tell you if you really want to know," said the Director.
"Please," said Jane reluctantly.
"They would say," he answered, "that you do not fail in obedience through lack of love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience."

CS Lewis, "That Hideous Strength"

I like the quote, even though I couldn't stand the book.

Krazy Kat wrote:I once asked my nephew, when he was about six of seven, what he thought God looked like, he said:

The old man on a ten-pound note.

Cheeky little monkey!

aliantha wrote:

Krazy Kat wrote:I once asked my nephew, when he was about six of seven, what he thought God looked like, he said:

The old man on a ten-pound note.

Cheeky little monkey!

So who is it, really, who's on the 10-pound note?

Auleliel wrote:

aliantha wrote:

Krazy Kat wrote:I once asked my nephew, when he was about six of seven, what he thought God looked like, he said:

The old man on a ten-pound note.

Cheeky little monkey!

So who is it, really, who's on the 10-pound note?

According to Google images, Darwin.

It's like watching a movie, but I'm sitting in the front row and it's in 3D!