Bertrand Russel:
The best way to overcome it—so at least it seems to me—is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river: small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.
更多...
A Good Feeling to Have
The Cool Way
Fred Rogers:
What do you do with the mad that you feel
When you feel so mad you could bite?
When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong…
And nothing you do seems very right?
What do you do? Do you punch a bag?
Do you pound some clay or some dough?
Do you round up friends for a game of tag?
Or see how fast you go?
更多...
Bilge Ebiri:
At the end of The Grand Budapest Hotel, decades after the central events, it is remarked of M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), the film’s exceedingly courtly and crafty concierge hero, that “his world had vanished long before he ever entered it.” On its surface, the movie has, up to this point, shown us how Gustave’s old-world manners and code of honor were destroyed by the rise of totalitarianism and twentieth-century political violence. Now, this touching line suggests that these values had perhaps disappeared even earlier, and Gustave was merely living in their ruins without quite realizing it.
更多...
