I have known sorrow — therefore I
May laugh with you, O friend, more merrily
Than those who never sorrowed upon earth
And know not laughter’s worth.I have known laughter — therefore I
May sorrow with you far more tenderly
Than those who never guess how sad a thing
Seems merriment to one heart’s suffering.Theodosia Pickering Garrison (1874-1944) American poet
“Knowledge,” The Century Magazine (1900-08)
(Source)
People couldn’t become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked.
Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) English author
Good Omens, “Eleven Years Ago” (1990) [with Neil Gaiman]
(Source)
Boy! let my cup with rosy wine o’erflow,
Above the melting of the summer snow:
Let my wet hair with wasteful odour shine,
And loads of roses round my temples twine:
Tombs of the Caesars, your sad honours cry,
“Live, little men, for lo! the gods can die.”[Sextantes, Calliste, duos infunde Falerni,
Tu super aestivas, Alcime, solve nives,
Pinguescat nimio madidus mihi crinis amomo
Lassenturque rosis tempora sutilibus.
Tam vicina iubent nos vivere Mausolea,
Cum doceant, ipsos posse perire deos.]Martial (AD c.39-c.103) Spanish Roman poet, satirist, epigrammatist [Marcus Valerius Martialis]
Epigrams [Epigrammata], Book 5, epigram 64 (5.54) [tr. Hodgson (1809)]
(Source)
Martial could see the Mausoleum of Augustus from his house on the Quirinal.
"Summer snow" was snow preserved (or transported from the mountains) until the summer, used like ice to cool drinks.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
You, boy, two measures of brisk wine let flow,
And you, pour on it summer cooling snow;
Let my moist hairs with rich perfumes abound,
With loads of rosy wreaths my temples crown'd:
"Live now," our neighbouring stately tombs do cry,
"Since kings, you see (your petty gods), can die.
[16th C Manuscript]
Twice four Falernians, dear Callistus, pour:
Diffuse, my Alcimus, the snowy show'r.
Bid my locks fatten with enormous oil:
With textur'd roses make my temples toil.
We learn to live from Mausoleums by,
Which teach us that the gods themselves can dy.
[tr. Elphinston (1782), Book 7, ep. 73]
Fill high the bowl with sparkling wine;
Cool the bright draught with summer snow.
Amid my locks let odours flow;
Around my temples roses twine.
See yon proud emblem of decay,
Yon lordly pile that braves the sky!
It bids us live our little day,
Teaching that gods themselves may die.
[tr. Merivale (1838)]
Fill the double-cyathi cujps with Falernian, pour summer-snow over the wine, let our hair be wet with unstinted perfume, and our temples be loaded with chaplets of roses. The adjacent Mausolea teach us how to live, for they show that even gods can die.
[tr. Amos (1858), 5.65]
Fill double cups of Falernian, Callistus; dissolve into it, Alcimus, the summer snow. Let my hair drip richly with abundance of nard, and my temples be encircled with wreaths of roses. The Mausoleums, close at hand, bid us live, for they teach us that even gods can die.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]
Pour in, Callistus, two double-measures of Falernian; do thou, Alciums, dissolve upon them the summer's snow; let my dripping locks be rich with over-bounteous balm, and my temples droop beneath the knitted roses. Your tombs, so nigh, bid us enjoy life, forasmuch as they teach us that the very gods can die.
[tr. Ker (1919)]
Slave, a full draught of vintage fine,
And bid thy comrade cool the wine,
Let snow its heat allay;
Twine rosy wreaths to deck my head,
Nard shall its precious fragrance shed
To crown my locks to-day;
For Caesar’s tomb that standeth nigh
Doth warn that even gods can die,
I’ll live while yet I may.
[tr. Pott & Wright (1921), "Carpe Diem"]
Callistus, pour two bumpers, pour them neat;
Melt, Alcimus, the snow to quench their heat.
In oozy spikenard steep your perfumed hair
And bow my head with rosy garlands fair.
From yonder Mausoleum breathes the sigh,
"Live while thou mayest, gods themselves must die."
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), ep. 259]
Pour in an extra cup of dark Falernian.
Strain it through the summer's snow and chill.
Anoint my dripping hair with fragrant perfume,
And crown my head with roses, if you will.
The Mausoleum of divine Augustus
Looming close, so very close nearby,
Orders us to live and love existence
Since even gods themselves decline and die.
[tr. Marcellino (1968)]
Callistus, pour in a double double of Falernian. Alcimus, melt summer snow over it. Let my soaked hair be sleek with an excess of unguent and my temples wearied by stitched roses. The Mausoleum so close at hand tells us to live, teaching that the very gods can perish.
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]
Pour me a double measure, of Falernian, Callistus,
and you Alcimus, melt over it summer snows,
let my sleek hair be soaked with excess of perfume,
my brow be wearied beneath the sewn-on rose.
The Mausoleum tells us to live, that one nearby,
it teaches us that the gods themselves can die.
[tr. Kline (2006)]
Callistus, pour me a double of Falernian.
Chill it, Alcimus, with summer snows.
Sleek my damp hair with ample oil of cardamom,
and weight my brows with garlands made of rose.
The Mausoleum of Caesar, so close by,
says, "Live it up, for even gods can die."
[tr. McLean (2014)]
There are plenty of alcoholics who can be magnificent when drunk: it does not make them any less alcoholic.
Ingrid Bengis (1944-2017) American writer, business person
“Monroe According to Mailer: One Legend Feeds on Another,” Ms. (1973-10)
(Source)
Reprinted in Michael Lennon, ed., Critical Essays on Norman Mailer (1986).
Therefore, rise. Force your breath, restore it
By that spirit which wins in every battle it fights,
Unless the beaten body says, “no more!”[E però leva sù; vinci l’ambascia
l’animo che vince ogne battaglia,
col suo grave corpo non s’accascia.]Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 24, l. 52ff (24.52-54) [Virgil] (1320) [tr. Raffel (2010)]
(Source)
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Therefore rise up; your breathing short o'ercome
With Courage, for it ev'ry battle wins;
Unless your heavy limbs submit to sloth.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Arise!-- It ill befits the mounting mind
With mortal cares debas'd, to lag behind.
[tr. Boyd (1802)]
Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness
By the mind’s effort, in each struggle form’d
To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight
Of her corporeal frame to crush her down.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Up then; o'ercome thy breathlessness by mind;
To win the battle mind shall never fail.
If by her own dull body's weight declined
She faint not.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
And therefore rise! conquer thy panting with the soul, that conquers every battle, if with its heavy body it sinks not down.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Then rouse thyself and conquer thy fatigue,
With mind victorious in every battle,
Unless the dull frame subdue its mettle.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Up, up, then, up! conquer thy suff'ring breath,
That courage rouse which ev'ry battle wins,
If not kept down by the too-heavy flesh.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
And therefore raise thee up, o'ercome the anguish
With spirit that o'ercometh every battle,
If with its heavy body it sink not.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
And therefore lift up, conquer the task with the mind that wins every battle, if with its heavy jody it throw not itself down.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Therefore arise, thy weakness stem with worth
Of soul, that of all battles wins the prime,
Unless 'tis borne down by the body's dearth.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
And therefore rise up, conquer the exhaustion with the spirit that conquers every battle, if by its heavy body it be not dragged down.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Wherefore bestir thyself; conquer thy weariness with the courageous soul that conquereth in every fight, if it so be that it is not dragged down by the body's weight.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And so do thou rise up, conquer the shortness
Of breath with spirit that wins every battle.
If with its heavy body it does not totter.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Rise, therefore, conquer thy panting with the soul, which conquers in every battle if it sink not with its body's weight.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
And therefore rise! Quell now thy panting breast
With the soul's strength that winneth every fight,
So it be not by the body's weight deprest.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Rise up; control thy panting breath, and call
The soul to aid, that wins in every fight,
Save the dull flesh should drag it to a fall.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Now, therefore, rise. Control your breath, and call
upon the strength of soul that wins all battles
unless it sink in the gross body's fall.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Rise, therefore; conquer your panting with the soul that vvins every battle, if with its heavy body it sinks not down.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Stand up! Dominate this weariness of yours
with the strength of soul that wins in every battle
if it does not sink beneath the body's weight.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Therefore, get up; defeat your breathlessness
with spirit that can win all battles if
the body’s heaviness does not deter it.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Therefore get up: control your breathlessness
By force of mind, which wins in every battle,
If with its heavy body it does not sink.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
So stand
And overcome your panting -- with the soul
Which wins all battles if it does not despond
Under its heavy body's weight.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 52ff]
And therefore stand up; conquer your panting with the spirit that conquers in every battle, if it does not let the heavy body crush it down.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
So rise, and overcome weariness with spirit, that wins every battle, if it does not lie down with the gross body.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Get up! breathe with the soul, for it is brave
in every battle, and will always win,
unless the heavy body be its grave.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
So upwards! On! And vanquish labored breath!
In any battle mind-power will prevail,
unless the weight of body loads it down.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Get to your feet! Conquer this laboring breath
with strength of mind, which wins the battle
if not dragged down by body's weight.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Therefore arise, with your soul’s flag unfurled
Above your fear, for so your soul prevails
In every battle if the body's weight
Can't sink it.
[tr. James (2013)]
If people will bring dynamite into a powder factory, they must expect explosions.
Dorothy Sayers (1893-1957) English author, translator
Gaudy Night, ch. 5 [Miss Edwards] (1935)
(Source)
When life hands you lemons, make whiskey sours.
W. C. Fields (1880-1946) American entertainer [b. William Claude Dukenfield]
(Attributed)
While attributed to Fields, possibly on a radio show, there is no documentation to indicate he ever actually said it.
More exploration of other references: The Big Apple: “When life gives you lemons, make a whiskey sour. For God’s sake, we’re adults now, people”.
I hav lived in this world jist long enuff tew look karefully the seckond time into things that i am the most certain ov the fust time.
[I have lived in this world just long enough to look carefully the second time into things that I am the most certain of the first time.]
Josh Billings (1818-1885) American humorist [pseud. of Henry Wheeler Shaw]
Complete Works of Josh Billings, “Affurisms,” “Chicken Feed” (1876)
(Source)
Reading those turgid philosophers here in these remote stone buildings may not get you a job, but if those books have forced you to ask yourself questions about what makes life truthful, purposeful, meaningful, and redeeming, you have the Swiss Army Knife of mental tools, and it’s going to come in handy all the time.
Bill Watterson (b. 1958) American cartoonist
Commencement Address, Kenyon College (1990-05-20)
(Source)
If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way of making a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable.
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (1922-2007) American novelist, journalist
Man Without a Country, ch. 3 “Here Is a Lesson in Creative Writing” (2005)
(Source)
Those who believe it permissible to tell white lies soon grow color-blind.
Austin O'Malley (1858-1932) American ophthalmologist, professor of literature, aphorist
Keystones of Thought (1914)
(Source)
It now only remains for me to say in conclusion: Be a fearless cook! Try out new ideas and new recipes, but always buy the freshest and finest of ingredients, whatever they may be. Furnish your kitchen with the most solid and workmanlike equipment you can find. Keep your knives ever sharp and — toujours bon appetit!
Julia Child (1912-2004) American chef and writer
Julia Child’s Kitchen, Introduction (1975)
(Source)
What could I do! Facts are such horrid things!
Jane Austen (1775-1817) English novelist
Lady Susan, Letter 32 “Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan” (1794, pub 1871)
(Source)
You take a Democrat and a Republican and you keep them both out of office and I bet you they will turn out to be good friends and maybe make useful citizens, and devote their time to some work instead of electioneering all the time.
Many who would not take the last cookie would take the last lifeboat.
Mignon McLaughlin (1913-1983) American journalist and author
The Neurotic’s Notebook, ch. 3 (1963)
(Source)
They never fail who die
In a great cause.George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) English poet
Marino Faliero, Act 2, sc. 2 [Israel Bertuccio] (1821)
(Source)
From my point of view, no label, no slogan, no party, no skin color, and indeed no religion is more important than the human being.
James Baldwin (1924-1987) American novelist, playwright, activist
Comment (1963)
(Source)
Included in Karen Thorsen, et al., James Baldwin: The Price of the Ticket, film (1989), a film biography of Baldwin using extensive archival film of the author (the project was started before Baldwin's death, and Baldwin intended to direct it).
I have found, without good citation, two broader contexts for the quotation. First:
The very dangerous effort one has got to make, according to me, is to deal with other people as though they were simply human beings. To remember that no matter what the details of their lives may be like, or how different they may seem to you superficially, or what the social pressures outside of what the psychological pressures are within, to deal with this other human being precisely as though he or she was here for the first and only time. To deal with them in some way that you’d like them to deal with you, no matter the price. From my point of view, no label, no slogan, no party, no skin color, and indeed no religion, is more important than the human being. The human core in everybody, which liberates you and me, because when the chips are down this is all there is -- there isn’t anything else.
The second looks to be a paraphrase of the above:
We must all make the effort to deal with all people simply as human beings. From my point of view, no label, no slogan, no party, no skin color, and indeed no religion is more important than the human being. When the chips are down, this is all that matters.
Without better documentation, I cannot confirm either version.
I remember nothing of this, no ambulance rides, nothing. Nothing between switching out the bedside lamp and the sudden indignity of rebirth: the slaps, the brightness, the tubing, the speed, the urgent insistence that I be choked back into breathing life. I have felt so sorry for babies ever since.
Stephen Fry (b. 1957) British actor, writer, comedian
Moab is My Washpot, “Breaking Out,” ch. 1 (1997)
(Source)
On his suicide attempt by drug overdose at age 17.
Now, now, my sister, the Fates are in command.
Don’t hold me back. Where God and relentless
Fortune call us on, that’s the way we go![Iam iam fata, soror, superant; absiste morari;
quo deus et quo dura vocat Fortuna, sequamur.]Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 12, l. 676ff (12.676-677) [Turnus] (29-19 BC) [tr. Fagles (2006)]
(Source)
Declaring to his sister that, despite her attempts to protect him, Fate dictates he face Aeneas in (likely fatal) battle.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Sister, the Fates have vanquish'd: let us go
The way which Heav'n and my hard fortune show.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]
Sister, now, now, destiny prevails; forbear to stop me; let us follow whither god and rigid fortune calls.
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]
The Fates, the Fates must have their way:
O sister! cease to breed delay:
Where Heaven and cruel Fortune call,
There let me follow to my fall.
[tr. Conington (1866)]
Now, sister, now the fates prevail.
Bid me not pause. Wherever Heaven may lead
And Fortune stern, let us pursue our course.
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 856ff]
Now, O my sister, now fate prevails: cease to hinder; let us follow where deity and stern fortune call.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]
Now, sister, now the Fates prevail! no more for tarrying try.
Nay, let us follow where the God, where hard Fate calleth me!
[tr. Morris (1900)]
"Sister," he cries, "Fate conquers; let us go
The way which Heaven and cruel fortune show."
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 88, l. 787ff]
Fate is too strong, my sister! Seek no more
to stay the stroke. But let me hence pursue
that path where Heaven and cruel Fortune call.
[tr. Williams (1910)]
Now, my sister, now Fate triumphs: cease to hinder; where God and cruel Fortune call, let us follow!
[tr. Fairclough (1918)]
Fate is the winner now; keep out of my way,
My sister: now I follow god and fortune.
[tr. Humphries (1951)]
The fates are too strong for me, sister -- I see it now. Don't hold me back;
Let me go where God and my own unmerciful fortune call me.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1952)]
Sister, fate has won; do not
delay me; let us follow where both god
and cruel fortune call.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 900ff]
Ah, sister, see, fate overpowers us.
No holding back now. We must follow where
The god calls, or implacable Fortune calls.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 915ff]
"Sister," he said, "the time has come at last. The Fates are too strong. You must not delay them any longer. Let us go where God and cruel fortune call me."
[tr. West (1990)]
Now, sister, now fate triumphs: no more delays:
where god and cruel fortune calls, let me follow.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Now, Sister, the Fates triumph at last.
Stop holding me back. We will follow
Where God and cruel Fortune call us.
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]
Sister, fate has won. Stop delaying me.
Let's go where Jove and heartless Fortune call.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]
You don’t seem to realize that a poor person who is unhappy is in a better position than a rich person who is unhappy. Because the poor person has hope. He thinks money would help. I tell you there is no despair like the despair of the man who has everything.
Jean Kerr (1922-2003) American author and playwright [b. Bridget Jean Collins]
Poor Richard, Act 1 [Sydney] (1963)
(Source)
To whom do you award the right to decide which speech is harmful, or who is the harmful speaker? Or to determine in advance what are the harmful consequences going to be that we know enough about in advance to prevent? To whom would you give this job? To whom are you going to award the task of being the censor? Isn’t a famous old story that the man who has to read all the pornography, in order to decide what’s fit to be passed and what is fit not to be, is the man most likely to become debauched? Did you hear any speaker in the opposition to this motion, eloquent as one of them was, to whom you would delegate the task of deciding for you what you could read? To whom you would give the job of deciding for you — relieve you of the responsibility of hearing what you might have to hear? Do you know anyone? Hands up. Do you know anyone to whom you’d give this job? Does anyone have a nominee?
Professor. — What message do people generally send back when you first call on them?
Old Age. — Not at home. Then I leave a card and go. Next year I call; get the same answer; leave another card. So for five or six, — sometimes ten years or more. At last, if they don’t let me in, I break in through the front door or the windows.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (1809-1894) American poet, essayist, scholar
The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, ch. 7, “Incipit Allegoria Senectutis” (1858)
(Source)
Since I do not admit that a person without bias exists, I think the best that can be done with a large-scale history is to admit one’s bias and for dissatisfied readers to look for other writers to express an opposite bias. Which bias is nearer to the truth must be left to posterity.
Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) English mathematician and philosopher
Autobiography, ch. 13 (1968)
(Source)
All who strive to live for something beyond mere selfish aims find their capacities for doing good very inadequate to their aspirations. They do so much less than they want to do, and so much less than they, at the outset, expected to do, that their lives, viewed retrospectively, inevitably look like failure.
Lydia Maria Child (1802-1880) American abolitionist, activist, journalist, suffragist
Letter to John Fraser (1868)
(Source)
His mother was the high priestess. It was her right to go first. To begin the killing, and so she threw herself at him.
He tore the headband from his head so that she would recognize him — oh, poor Agave — to stop her from killing him.
He touched her face and said:
It’s me, mother.
It’s me. Your son, it’s Pentheus.
You had me in Echion’s house.
Mercy, mother, please. I know I messed up, please, please don’t kill me, don’t kill your son —[πρώτη δὲ μήτηρ ἦρξεν ἱερέα φόνου
καὶ προσπίτνει νιν: ὃ δὲ μίτραν κόμης ἄπο
ἔρριψεν, ὥς νιν γνωρίσασα μὴ κτάνοι
τλήμων Ἀγαύη, καὶ λέγει, παρηίδος
ψαύων: Ἐγώ τοι, μῆτερ, εἰμί, παῖς σέθεν
Πενθεύς, ὃν ἔτεκες ἐν δόμοις Ἐχίονος:
οἴκτιρε δ᾽ ὦ μῆτέρ με, μηδὲ ταῖς ἐμαῖς
ἁμαρτίαισι παῖδα σὸν κατακτάνῃς.]Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Bacchæ [Βάκχαι], l. 1114ff [Messenger/Ἄγγελος] (405 BC) [tr. Pauly (2019)]
(Source)
Pentheus' servant, describing how the Bacchantes, led by King Pentheus' mother, Agave, turned on the king after discovering him, disguised, watching them. (Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:
His wretched Mother, like a Priestess,
Began the sacrifice; he threw the cawl
From his dishevel'd hair, that she her Son
Might recognise, nor in his gore imbrue
Her ruthless hands: he touch'd her cheeks and cried;
"I am, I am, O Mother, your own Son,
That Pentheus whom beneath Echion's roof
You bore, take pity on me then, nor slay
Your guilty child."
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]
His mother, as priestess, began the slaughter, and fell upon him. He threw the headband from his head so that the wretched Agave might recognize and not kill him. Touching her cheek, he said: “It is I, mother, your son, Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Echion. Pity me, mother, and do not kill me, your child, for my sins.”
[tr. Buckley (1850)]
His mother first began the sacrifice,
And fell on him. His bonnet from his hair
He threw, that she might know and so not slay him,
The sad Agave. And he said, her cheek
Fondling, "I am thy child, thine own, my mother!
Pentheus, whom in Echion's house you bare.
Have mercy on me, mother! For his sins,
Whatever be his sins, kill not thy son."
[tr. Milman (1865)]
His mother first essayed the sacrifice
And fell on him: then from his hair he tore
The Phrygian bonnet, that Agave might
Know him and slay him not. Fondling her cheek
He said, I, mother, look, I am thy child,
Pentheus, born from thee in Echion's house;
Alas! my mother, do not kill thy son
For his transgression, pity take on me.
[tr. Rogers (1872), l. 1070ff]
His mother first, a priestess for the nonce, began the bloody deed and fell upon him; whereon he tore the snood from off his hair, that hapless Agave might recognize and spare him, crying as he touched her cheek, “O mother! it is I, thy own son Pentheus, the child thou didst bear in Echion’s halls; have pity on me, mother dear! oh! do not for any sin of mine slay thy own son.”
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]
His mother first, priest-like, began the slaughter,
And fell on him: but from his hair the coif
He tore, that she might know and slay him not, --
Hapless Agavê! -- and he touched her cheek,
Crying, "'Tis I -- O mother! -- thine own son
Pentheus -- thou bar'st me in Echion's halls!
Have mercy, O my mother! -- for my sin
Murder not thou thy son -- thy very son!"
[tr. Way (1898)]
'Twas his mother stood
O'er him, first priestess of those rites of blood.
He tore the coif, and from his head away
Flung it, that she might know him, and not slay
To her own misery. He touched the wild
Cheek, crying: "Mother, it is I, thy child,
Thy Pentheus, born thee in Echion's hall!
Have mercy, Mother! Let it not befall
Through sin of mine, that thou shouldst slay thy son!"
[tr. Murray (1902)]
His own mother,
like a priestess with her victim, fell upon him
first. But snatching off his wig and snood
so she would recognize his face, he touched her cheeks,
screaming, "No, no, Mother! I am Pentheus,
your own son, the child you bore to Echion!
Pity me, spare me, Mother! I have done a wrong,
but do not kill your own son for my offense."
[tr. Arrowsmith (1960)]
First his mother started the slaughter as priestess
and falls upon him; he hurled away the snood
from his hair, for the wretched Agaue to recognize
and not kill him -- and says, touching
her cheek, “Look, it is I, mother, your child
Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Echion!
Take pity on me, mother, and do not by reason of my
errors murder your own child!”
[tr. Kirk (1970)]
First his mother, as priestess, began the ritual of death, and fell upon him. He tore off the headband from his hair, that his wretched mother might recognize him and not kill him. "Mother!" he cried, touching her cheek, "it is I, your son, Pentheus, whom you bore to Echion. O mother, have mercy on me; I have sinned, but I am your son: do not kill me!"
[tr. Vellacott (1973)]
His mother
First at the sacrifice of her own son
Fell upon him, angry priestess at the rites of death.
Pentheus, still miraculously alive, tore off wig
And snood, touched her face and hoped for recognition.
He mouthed a last despairing plea in silence, his voice
Broken from the fall.
[tr. Soyinka (1973)]
First came his mother, high priestess of the murder,
and fell upon him, while he threw the ribbon
from his hair so she might recognize him and not kill him,
poor Agave, touching her cheek and saying:
It’s me, mother, me, your son
Pentheus, whom you gave birth to in Echion’s house;
take pity on me, mother, and for my
trespassing do not kill your own son.
[tr. Neuburg (1988)]
His mother,
as priestess of the ritual killing,
was first to fall upon him.
He stripped his head, tore everything away,
hoping that Agave, wretched woman,
would know him and not kill him.
He touched her cheeks and cried:
"No, Mother, no, it is I,
your child, your Pentheus, born to you in Echion's house!
Have pity on me, Mother, I have wronged
but do not kill your son for my offense, not me, your son!"
[tr. Cacoyannis (1982)]
First Agaue, priestess of the kill, began
And fell upon him. He stripped his mitre
From his head, so poor Agaue would know
And not kill him, and said touching
Her cheek, “It’s me, mother, your child
Pentheus, whom you bore in Echion’s house.
Pity me, mother, don’t murder
Me, your son, for my sins!”
[tr. Blessington (1993)]
It was his own mother who first, as sacred priestess, began the slaughter
and falls upon him. He threw the headband from his hair
hoping that the wretched Agae, recognizing her son, might not kill him.
Touching her cheek, he spoke:
"It is I, mother, your son
Pentheus to whom you gave birth in the house of Echion.
Take pity, mother, and do not,
Because of my errors, kill your son."
[tr. Esposito (1998)]
His mother was the first at the killing. She was priestess,
and she rushed to attack him. He tore off his headband
in hopes she would recognize him, not kill him.
He reached out to her cheek, miserable Agavê’s,
and said, “I am yours, Mother, your child Pentheus.
You gave me birth in the house of Echion.
Pity me, Mother. I have made mistakes.
But do not kill your own son because of them.”
[tr. Woodruff (1999)]
As priestess, to begin the slaughter. She
Falls on him and he tears the headband from
His hair so that wretched Agaué will
Recognize him, not kill him, and he touches
Her cheek as he begins to say to her,
“Mother, it’s Pentheus, your child! It’s me!
You gave birth to me in Ekhion’s house.
Have pity on me, Mother! Don’t kill me
For my wrongdoing!”
[tr. Gibbons/Segal (2000), l. 1262ff]
His mother was the priestess and began the killing, hurling herself upon him. He, however, wrenched the headdress from his hair so that poor Agave would recognize him and not kill him. He put his hand to her cheek and said, "It's me, mother, Pentheus, the son you bore in Echion's house! Have pity on me, mother! I have sinned, but do not kill your own son!"
[tr. Kovacs (2002)]
His mother was the first to fall on him,
Frantically, from his face, he pulled his shawl
So that she might recognize him,
He touched her cheek, he implored her,
"It is me, mother, your son, Pentheus,
Pentheus whom you bore to Echion.
Have mercy, mother, do not kill me,
For all that I've done wrong, I'm still your son."
[tr. Teevan (2002)]
The first to fall on him was his own mother! [...] Pentheus pulled his robe aside so that she could see his face, and cried, "Mother! It is I, your Pentheus, born from your own womb! Have mercy, mother. Let it not come to pass that my sins cause you to slay your son!"
[tr. Rao/Wolf (2004)]
First it was his mother, Dionysos’ priestess. She started the slaughter. She jumped upon him with anger and he took the ribbon from his head so that his mother would recognize him and spare him and patted her cheek softly. “It’s me, mother,” he said, “your son, Pentheus. You gave birth to me, mother, in Echion’s palace! Have pity on me, mother! Don’t kill me, don’t kill your son just because he’s made a mistake.”
[tr. Theodoridis (2005)]
His own mother presided as priestess of the
slaughter and started first by falling upon him; and he threw his
sash from off of his hair so that poor, wretched Agave might
recognize, instead of kill, him.
And he says to her, reaching out for her cheek, "It's me mother, your son
Pentheus, who you bore to Echion.
Have mercy on me mother please: don't kill your own son
because of his mistakes."
[tr. Valerie (2005)]
She hurled herself at him. Pentheus tore off
his headband, untying it from his head,
so wretched Agave would recognize him,
so she wouldn't kill him. Touching he cheek,
he cried out, "It's me, mother, Pentheus,
your child. You gave birth to me at home,
in Echion's house. Pity me, mother --
Don't kill your child because I've made mistakes."
[tr. Johnston (2008), l. 1383ff]
His own mother,
like a priestess with her sacrifice, fell on him first.
But he snatched off his head-dress and wig
so she could see who he was.
He reached out his hand to touch her cheek
And cried out: "Mother! Mother! Look!
It's me, Pentheus, your own son!
The son you bore to Echion!
Spare me, Mother, I beg you!
I have done wrong, perhaps,
but you cannot kill your son!"
[tr. Robertson (2014)]
Like a priestess at the sacrificial altar, his mother began the slaughter. Poor Agave. He loosened the band from his hair that she might know him. He touched her cheek, saying, "I am your son, Pentheus, whom you bore in Echion's house -- have pity on me, mother, though I have sinned. Do not kill your son."
[tr. Behr/Foster (2019)]
His own mother, as priestess, began the slaughter, and fell upon him. He threw the miter from his head so that wretched Agaue might recognize and not kill him. Touching her cheek, he said: “It is I, mother, your son Pentheus, whom you bore in the house of Ekhion. Pity me, mother! Do not kill me, your child, for my errors!”
[tr. Buckley/Sens/Nagy (2020)]
His priestess-mother got the killing going,
attacking him. He tore off his headdress
so she would know him and not kill him,
poor Agave. Touching her face, he said:
“It’s me, mother. Your son, Pentheus.
You bore me in Echion’s house.
O mother, have mercy on me.
Don’t kill your son over his mistake.”
[tr. Benn (2022)]
Housekeeping is like being caught in a revolving door.
Marcelene Cox (1900-1998) American writer, columnist, aphorist
“Ask Any Woman” column, Ladies’ Home Journal (1944-10)
(Source)
To me the honour is sufficient of belonging to the universe — such a great universe, and so grand a scheme of things. Not even Death can rob me of that honour. For nothing can alter the fact that I have lived; I have been I, if for ever so short a time. And when I am dead, the matter which composes my body is indestructible — and eternal, so that come what may to my “Soul,” my dust will always be going on, each separate atom of me playing its separate part — I shall still have some sort of a finger in the pie. When I am dead, you can boil me, burn me, drown me, scatter me — but you cannot destroy me: my little atoms would merely deride such heavy vengeance. Death can do no more than kill you.
W. N. P. Barbellion (1889-1919) English diarist [William Nero Pilate Barbellion, pen name of Bruce Frederick Cummings]
The Journal of a Disappointed Man, 1912-12-22 (1919)
(Source)
If you want to go off by yourself and be a hermit, you can do whatever you want. But if you want interaction with other people, then by definition you have to buy into the social contract and restrain some of your behavior some of the time.
Judith Martin (b. 1938) American author, journalist [a.k.a. Miss Manners]
“Polite Company,” interview by Hara Estroff Marano, Psychology Today (1998-03)
(Source)
Tact does for life just what lubricating oil does for machinery. It makes the wheels run smoothly, and without it there is a great deal of friction and the possibility of a breakdown.
Laura Ingalls Wilder (1867-1957) American writer
“Just a Question of Tact,” Missouri Ruralist (1916-10-05)
(Source)
You serve the best wine always, my dear sir,
And yet they say your wines are not so good.
They say you are four times a widower.
They say … A drink? I don’t believe I would.[Tu Setina quidem semper vel Massica ponis,
Papyle, sed rumor tam bona vina negat:
Diceris hac factus caelebs quater esse lagona.
Nec puto nec credo, Papyle, nec sitio.]Martial (AD c.39-c.103) Spanish Roman poet, satirist, epigrammatist [Marcus Valerius Martialis]
Epigrams [Epigrammata], Book 4, epigram 69 (4.69) [tr. Cunningham (1971)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
When I with thee, Cinna, doe die or sup,
Thou still do'st offer me they Gossips cup:
And though it savour well, and be well spiced,
Yet I to taste thereof am not enticed.
Now sith you needs will have me cause alledge,
While I straine curt'sie in that cup to pledge:
One said, thou mad'st that cup so hote of spice,
That it had made thee now a widower twice.
I will not say 'tis so, nor that I thinke it:
But good Sir, pardon me, I cannot drinke it.
[tr. Harington (1618), ep. 101; Book 2, ep. 5]
Pure Massic wine thou does not only drink,
But giv'st thy guests: though some this do not think.
Four wives, 't is said, thy flagon caused to die;
This I believe not, yet not thirst to try.
[tr. Killigrew (1695)]
With the best wines of France you entertain:
Yet that your wine is bad the world complain:
That you have lost four wives by it; but I
Neither believe it, Sir, -- nor am adry.
[tr. Hay (1755)]
Thou Setian and Massic serv'st, Pamphilus, up:
But rumor thy wines has accurst.
A fourth time the wid'wer thou'rt hail'd by the cup:
I neither believe it, nor -- thirst.
[tr. Elphinston (1782)]
You always, it is true, Pamphilus, place Setine wine, or Massic, on table; but rumour says that they are not so pure as they ought to be. You are reported to have been four times made a widower by the aid of your goblet. I do not think this, or believe it, Pamphilus; but I am not thirsty.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]
On Massic and Setinian fares
The guest that banquets in your hall.
Yet, Papilus, report declares
Them not so wholesome after all.
'Tis said that by that wine-jar you
Four times became a widower. Thus
I neither think, nor hold it true,
Nor am I thirsty, Papilus.
[tr. Webb (1879)]
You indeed put on your table always Setine or Massic, Papilus, but rumour says your wines are not so very good: you are said by means of this brand to have been made a widower four times. I don't think so, or believe it, Papilus, but -- I am not thirsty.
[tr. Ker (1919)]
Setine and Massic at your board abound,
Yet some aver your wine is hardly sound;
’Twas this relieved you of four wives they say;
A libel -- but I will not dine to-day.
[tr. Pott & Wright (1921), "A Doubtful Vintage"]
Your butler prates of Setine and of Massic,
But scandal gives it titles not so classic.
"Four wives it's cost you." Gossip's never true,
But I'm not thirsty -- much obliged to you.
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), Ep. 202]
I see you do serve Massic wine
And even glorious Setian.
But rumor has it that they smack
A bit of that Venetian
Mixture that Lucretia served,
That four of your dear wives
On tasting those expensive labels
Promptly lost their lives.
It's all, I'm sure, a lot of talk,
Incredible, I think.
But thank you, no; I've got to go.
Besides, I do not drink.
[tr. Marcellino (1968)]
You serve wine in the very best bottles, Papylus,
but they say the wine is not exactly the best,
they say you've become a widower four times now
thanks to those very bottles.
What a crock!
You know I wouldn't take stock
in a rumor like that, Papylus.
It's just that I'm not thirsty.
[tr. Bovie (1970)]
You always serve Setine or Massic, Papylus, but rumor refuses us such excellent wines. This flask is said to have made you a widower four times over. I don't think so or believe so, Papylus, but -- I'm not thirsty.
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]
Pappus, they say your wine is not good,
it made you a widower four times.
I don't believe that. You're a civilised man.
Nevertheless, my thirst is suddenly gone.v [tr. Kennelly (2008), "A Civilised Man"]
You always serve such fine wine, Papylus,
but rumor makes us pass it up. They say
this flask has widowed you four times. I don't
believe it -- but my thirst has gone away.
[tr. McLean (2014)]
When I stepped through the door, the sharp odor of gin hit me. Charlie was drowning his sorrows, and they apparently were dying hard.
The only basis for fearing the votes of men is to fear those men themselves. To deny the right to vote is to increase those fears.
Lyndon B. Johnson (1908-1973) American politician, educator, US President (1963-69)
Comments, U.S. Senate (1960-03-10)
(Source)
As Senate Majority Leader.
“Here is where you can’t afford to be lazy,”
My Master said. “Lying in feather beds,
Or under quilts, no one conquers fame,
Without which, once your earthly life is dead,
The only traces you leave behind you are smoke
Blown in the air or bubbles breaking in water.[“Omai convien che tu così ti spoltre”,
disse ’l maestro; “ché, seggendo in piuma,
in fama non si vien, né sotto coltre;
sanza la qual chi sua vita consuma,
cotal vestigio in terra di sé lascia,
qual fummo in aere e in acqua la schiuma.”]Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 24, l. 46ff (24.46-51) [Virgil] (1320) [tr. Raffel (2010)]
(Source)
The analogy of life to smoke and foam have been noted by commentators as resembling similar metaphors in Wisdom 2:1-4 and 5:14 and the Aeneid 5.740.
Virgil's urging of Dante to continue on out of a desire for fame, rather than to learn how to be saved or to come closer to God, have only recently been interpreted as an intentional showing that the poet/guide is not perfect -- another reason, beyond being only a virtuous pagan, that he cannot complete the journey with Dante to Paradise. (See here for more commentary on this.)
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
It now is proper, said my Lord, that you
Should from this bed of yours arise; for they
Ne'er Fame acquire who spend their lives in down:
He who, without pursuing her, consumes
His time, leaves himself such tracts behind,
As Froth in Water, or as Smoke in Air.
[tr. Rogers (1782), ll. 44-49]
Arise! -- In vain the slumb'ring soul aspires,
(Her powers betray'd by sloth, extinct her fires)
In vain she tries the dazzling heights of fame:
As morning fogs disperse to meet no more,
As the waves close behind the lab'ring oar,
The dastard soul expires without a name!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 9]
“Now needs thy best of man;” so spake my guide:
“For not on downy plumes, nor under shade
Of canopy reposing, fame is won,
Without which whosoe’er consumes his days
Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth,
As smoke in air or foam upon the wave."
[tr. Cary (1814)]
"Rouse thee," my master urged, "'tis time to throw
This lethargy aside; who dozing lies
'Tween coverlet and feathers, ne'er shall know
Renown, and without her who wastes and dies,
Leaves of himself like trace on earth behind,
As foam on wave, or vapour on the skies."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
"Now it behooves thee thus to free thyself from sloth," said the Master: "for sitting on down, or under coverlet, man come not into fame;
without which whoso consumes his his life, leaves such vestige of himself on earth, as smoke in air or foam in water."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
"Henceforth you must abandon indolence,"
My master said: "'tis not repose on plumes
That leads to fame -- nor yet in shady glooms;
Without the which if one consumes his life,
E'en such a vestige upon the earth he'll make
As smoke in air, or foam on water's track."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
"Now it befits thee to shake off this sloth,"
The Master said, "for resting upon down,
And under quilts is not the way to fame;
And without this he who his life consumes,
Leaves of himself on earth no better trace,
Than smoke in air or on the water foam."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
"Now it behoves thee thus to put off sloth,"
My Master said; "for sitting upon down,
Or under quilt, one cometh not to fame,
Without which whoso his life consumes
Such vestige leaveth of himself on earth,
As smoke in air or in the water foam."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
"Henceforward it behoves that thou brace thyself thus," said the Master; "for not by sitting on feathers does one come into fame, nor under quilts; without the which whoso consumes his life leaves such trace on earth of himself as smoke in air or its froth on water."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
"Henceforth 'tis fitting thou shouldst shake off sloth,"
The master cried, "since idly lapt in down
'Neath coverlets, for him Fame never groweth.
Who so his life consumes without renown.
Leaves such a vestige of himself on earth,
As it were froth on air or water blown."
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
“Now it behoves thee thus to put off sloth,” said the Master, “for, sitting upon down or under quilt, one attains not fame, without which he who consumes his life leaves of himself such trace on earth as smoke in air, or in water the foam."
[tr. Norton (1892)]
"'Tis thus that thou must now shake thyself free from sloth," my Master said, "for seated on down, or under coverlet, man cometh not to fame; unattended by which whoso doth spend his days, leaveth such traces of himself on earth, as smoke in air or foam on water."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
"Thus must thou ever shake off sloth henceforward;"
The Master said, " for sitting upon feathers
Man cometh not to fame, nor under quilting;
Which lacking, whosoe'er consumes his life-time
Leaves of himself on earth just such a vestige
As smoke doth leave in air, and foam in water."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
"Now must thou thus cast off all sloth," said the Master "for sitting on down or under blankets none comes to fame, and without it he that consumes his life leaves such trace of himself on earth as smoke in air or foam on water."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
"Now it behoveth lassitude to leave,"
The Master said, "for softly on down reclined
Or under coverlet, none can fame achieve,
Without which he who dallieth leaves behind
Such vestige of himself on earth imprest
As foam in water or smoke upon the wind."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
"Put off this sloth," the master said, "for shame!
Sitting on feather-pillows, lying reclined
Beneath the blanket is no way to fame --
Fame, without which man's life wastes out of mind,
Leaving on earth no more memorial
Than foam in water or smoke upon the wind."
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
"Up on your feet! This is no time to tire!"
my Master cried. "The man who lies asleep
will never waken fame, and his desire
and all his life drift past him like a dream,
and the traces of his memory fade from time
like smoke in the air, or ripples on a stream."
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
“Now it behooves you thus to cast off sloth,” said my master, “for sitting on down or under coverlet, no one comes to fame, without which whoso consumes his life leaves such vestige of himself on earth as smoke in air or foam on water."
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
"Come on, shake off the covers of this sloth,"
the master said, "for sitting softly cushioned,
or tucked in bed, is no way to win fame;
and without it man must waste his life away,
leaving such traces of what he was on earth
as smoke in wind and foam upon the water."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
“Now you must cast aside your laziness,”
my master said, “for he who rests on down
or under covers cannot come to fame;
and he who spends his life without renown
leaves such a vestige of himself on earth
as smoke bequeaths to air or foam to water."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
"Now is the time for you to rouse yourself,"
The master said; "for sitting on a cushion
Is not the way to fame, nor staying in bed;
And without fame, a man must spend his life
Only to leave such traces upon earth
As smoke leaves in the air, or foam in the water."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
"To cast off sloth
Now well behooves you," said my master then:
"For resting on soft down, or underneath
The blanket's cloth, is not how fame is won --
Without which, one spends life to leave behind
As vestige of himself on earth the sign
Smoke leaves on air, or foam on water."
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 46ff]
“From now on you will have to cast off sloth in this way,” said my master, “for one does not gain fame sitting on down cushions, or while under coverlets;
and whoever consumes his life without fame leaves a mark of himself on earth like smoke in the air or foam in water."
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Now, you must free yourself from sloth: men do not achieve fame, sitting on down, or under coverlets; fame, without which whoever consumes his life leaves only such trace of himself, on earth, as smoke does in the air, or foam on water.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
"Now you must needs," my teacher said, "shake off
your wonted indolence. No fame is won
beneath the quilt or sunk in feather cushions.
Whoever, fameless, wastes his life away,
leaves of himself no greater mark on earth
than smoke in air or froth upon the wave."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
'Now must you cast off sloth,' my master said.
'Sitting on feather cushions or stretched out
under comforters, no one comes to fame.
Without fame, he who spends his time on earth
leaves only such a mark upon the world
as smoke does on the air or foam on water.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
“Now you must,”
My Guide said, “quell the slothful urge to rest.
A swansdown seat and a soft blanket just
Keep you from fame, without which no one who
Consumes his life leaves more trace in the world
Than smoke in air and foam on water do."
[tr. James (2013)]
Death cancels our engagements, but it does not affect the consequences of our acts in life.
Katherine Anne Porter (1890-1980) American journalist, essayist, author, political activist [b. Callie Russell Porter]
Letter draft to Mary Doherty (1932-10-21)
(Source)
In Isabel Bayley, ed., Letters of Katherine Anne Porter, Sec. 2 (1990). Discussing the suicide of her friend, Hart Crane.
We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.
Robert Jones, Jr. (b. 1971) American writer [a.k.a. "Son of Baldwin"]
Twitter (2015-08-18)
(Source)
Frequently misattributed to James Baldwin.
More discussion here: Galería de la Raza: Son of Baldwin.
It is a cliché that most clichés are true, but then like most clichés, that cliché is untrue.
Stephen Fry (b. 1957) British actor, writer, comedian
Moab is My Washpot, “Joining In,” ch. 4 (1997)
(Source)
If a person transgresses any of these rules, the penalty shall fit the crime.
[Quod quis earum rerum migrassit, noxiae poena par esto.]
Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC) Roman orator, statesman, philosopher
De Legibus [On the Laws], Book 3, ch. 4 / sec. 11 (3.4/3.11) [Marcus] (c. 51 BC) [tr. Rudd (1998)]
(Source)
A variant on the Latin legal maxim, culpae poenae par esto, usually rendered "Let the punishment fit the crime" (see also Gilbert & Sullivan, The Mikado (1885)).
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
If any one shall infringe any of these laws, let him bear the penalty.
[tr. Barham (1842)]
If any one shall infringe any of these laws, let him be liable to a penalty.
[tr. Barham/Yonge (1878)]
The punishment for violation of any of these laws shall fit the offense.
[tr. Keyes (1928)]
Whatever of these someone has violated, let the penalty be equivalent to the crime.
[tr. Zetzel (1999)]
Whatever of these matters someone departs from, let there be a penalty equal to the wrongdoing.
[tr. Fott (2013)]
Whatever someone has violated, let the punishment match the offense.
[Bartelett's]
It’s no use crying over spilt evils. It’s better to mop them up laughing.
Eleanor Farjeon (1881-1965) English author
Gypsy and Ginger, “Gypsy and Ginger Take Things Seriously” [Gypsy] (1920)
(Source)
Sometimes it is good for us to have troubles and hardships, for they often call us back to our own hearts. Once there, we know ourselves to be strangers in this world, and we know that we may not believe in anything that it has to offer.
[Bonum nobis est, quod aliquando habeamus aliquas gravitates et contrarietates, quia sæpe hominem ad cor revocant, quatenus se in exilio esse cognoscat, nec spem suam in aliqua mundi re ponat.]
Thomas à Kempis (c. 1380-1471) German-Dutch priest, author
The Imitation of Christ [De Imitatione Christi], Book 1, ch. 12, v. 1 (1.12.1) (c. 1418-27) [tr. Creasy (1989)]
(Source)
See Psalm 119:71.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
It is good for me that I have been in Trouble, says David. Nor is it David's Case alone, for many Men have reason to bless that Providence which sends Crosses and Calamities upon them. These bring Man's Thoughts home, put him upon Reflection, and help him to understand himself and his Condition. They shew him, that he is in a State of Exile and Pilgrimage, and forbid him to set up his Hope and Rest, in a strange Country, where he is no better than a Sojourner.
[tr. Stanhope (1696; 1706 ed.), The Christian's Pattern]
It is good for man to suffer the adversity of this earthly life; for it brings him back to the sacred retirement of the heart, where only he finds, that he is an exile from his native home, and ought not to place his trust in any worldly enjoyment.
[tr. Payne (1803)]
It is good that we have sometimes some troubles and crosses; for they often make a man enter into himself, and consider that he is here in banishment, and ought not to place his trust in any worldly thing.
[ed. Parker (1841)]
It is good for us that we sometimes suffer contrarieties and vexations; for they call a man back to the retirement of his heart, where only he finds, that, as he is an exile from his native home, he ought not to place his trust in any worldly enjoyment.
[tr. Dibdin (1851)]
It is good for us to have sometimes troubles and adversities, for they make a man enter into himself, that he may know that he is in exile, and may not place his hopes in anything of the world.
[ed. Bagster (1860)]
It is good that we have sometime griefs and adversities, for they drive a man to behold himself, and to see that he is here but as in an exile, and be learned thereby to know that he ought not to put his trust in any worldly thing.
[tr. Whitford/Raynal (1530/1871)]
It is good for us that we sometimes have sorrows and adversities, for they often make a man lay to heart that he is only a stranger and sojourner, and may not put his trust in any worldly thing.
[tr. Benham (1874)]
It is good that we have sometimes troubles and crosses; for they often make a man enter into himself, and consider that he is here in banishment, and ought not to place his trust in any worldly thing.
[tr. Anon. (1901)]
It is good for us to have trials and troubles at times, for they often remind us that we are on probation and ought not to hope in any worldly thing.
[tr. Croft/Bolton (1940)]
It is good for us at times to have some burdens and adversities, for they often call a man back to his heart, that he may recognise himself to be in exile, and not fix his hope on anything earthly.
[tr. Daplyn (1952)]
It is good for us to encounter troubles and adversities from time to time, for trouble often compels a man to search his own heart. It reminds him that he is an exile here, and that he can put his trust in nothing in this world.
[tr. Sherley-Price (1952)]
It is good that we sometimes have griefs and adversities, for they drive a man to behold himself and to see that he is but here as in exile, and to learn thereby that he ought not put his trust in any worldly thing.
[tr. Whitford/Raynal (1530/1955)]
It's good for you to go through difficult times now and again, and to have your will thwarted; the effect is often to make a man think -- make him realize that he is living in exile, and it is no use relying upon any earthly support.
[tr. Knox-Oakley (1959)]
It is a good thing that we have to face difficulties and opposition from time to time, because this brings us back to ourselves; it makes us realize that we are exiles and cannot pin our hopes on anything in this world.
[tr. Knott (1962)]
It is good for us now and then to experience difficulties and adversity; for they make man realize again that he is an exile and should not put his hopes on any worldly thing.
[tr. Rooney (1979)]
History proves there is no better advertisement for a book than to condemn it for obscenity. Forbidden fruits have unique flavors, and the bounds of suppression create new limits of desire.
Holbrook Jackson (1874-1948) English journalist, editor, author
The Fear of Books, Part 2, ch. 1 (1932)
(Source)
Weather means more when you have a garden. There’s nothing like listening to a shower and thinking how it’s soaking in around your green beans.
Marcelene Cox (1900-1998) American writer, columnist, aphorist
“Ask Any Woman” column, Ladies’ Home Journal (1944-09)
(Source)
Somewhere — in desolate wind-swept space —
In Twilight-land — in No-man’s land —
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
“And who are you?” cried one a-gape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
“I know not,” said the second Shape,
“I only died last night!”Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1907) American writer, poet, critic, editor
“Identity,” Poems, Part 2 “Interludes” (1885)
(Source)
Teacup formality is a part of etiquette, but an infinitesimal part. How about fast-food informality? That is as much a part of etiquette as the teacup. It is all of our behavior and not simply the formal occasion behavior. And, in fact, the more informal the circumstances, usually the more you need etiquette.
Judith Martin (b. 1938) American author, journalist [a.k.a. Miss Manners]
“Polite Company,” interview by Hara Estroff Marano, Psychology Today (1998-03)
(Source)
Tact is not one thing only. It is a number of qualities working together: insight into the nature of men, sympathy, self-control, a knack of inducing self-control in others, avoidance of human blundering, readiness to give the immediate situation an understanding mind and a second thought. Tact is not only kindness, but kindness skillfully extended.
Of course someone would be that stupid. Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying “End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH,” the paint wouldn’t even have time to dry.
We may all resort, at the summer solstice, to the warmest spots of Italy, to Ardea, Pestum, and Baiae, fervid with the heat of the constellation Leo, since Curiatus condemned the air of Tivoli, when he was on the point of being transported from its extolled waters to those of the Styx. Fate is not to be diverted by localities: when death comes, the pestilent Sardinia is to be found in the middle of the healthy Tivoli.
[Ardea solstitio Castranaque rura petantur
Quique Cleonaeo sidere fervet ager,
Cum Tiburtinas damnet Curiatius auras
Inter laudatas ad Styga missus aquas.
5Nullo fata loco possis excludere: cum mors
Venerit, in medio Tibure Sardinia est.]Martial (AD c.39-c.103) Spanish Roman poet, satirist, epigrammatist [Marcus Valerius Martialis]
Epigrams [Epigrammata], Book 4, epigram 60 (4.60) [tr. Amos (1858)]
(Source)
Sardinia was considered a proverbially unhealthy locale, while Tivoli (Tibur) was considered a healthy resort to travel to during the summer.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
When Leo rages with the summer's sun,
From pestilential climates never run;
Since, in the wholesom'st and the purest air,
The destinies Croatius did not spare.
When thy time's come, death from no place is bound,
Sardinia in the midst of Tibur's found.
[tr. Killigrew (1695)]
To Ardea, Pestum, roam, and e'er so far;
Or glow beneath the Cleonean star:
While Curiatius damns Tiburtian gales,
As down the healthfull streams to Styx he fails.
The Fates no place debars: if Death be there,
Alike is Tibur's and Sardinia's air.
[tr. Elphinston (1782), 9.10]
Let us in the summer solstice retire to Ardea and the country about Paestum, and to the tract which burns under the Cleonaean constellation; since Curiatius has condemned the air of Tivoli, carried off as he was to the Styx notwithstanding its much-lauded waters. From no place can you shut out fate: when death comes, Sardinia is in the midst of Tivoli itself.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]
Go where you will, you cannot shut
The door on Fate; when Death draws nigh,
Then far Sardinia is as near
As Tibur.
[ed. Harbottle (1897)]
Seek ye Ardea in summer's heat, and the field sof castum, and teh meads scorched by Cleonae's star, seeing that Curiatius condemns Tibur's air; from amid waters so belauded was he sent to Styx. In no spot canst thou shut out fate; when death comes even in Tibur's midst is a Sardinia.
[tr. Ker (1919)]
Now must we say, if thou be wise
In summer’s heat to Ardea turn,
Or seek the plain where Castrum lies
And the hot stars of Leo burn.
He that is laid in yonder grave
Saith, "Tarry not but get thee gone."
Here sought he Arno’s healing wave,
But found the stream of Acheron?
[tr. Pott & Wright (1921)]
To Ardea and Castrum let us go
In the dog-days when all the heaven's aglow.
Tibur's a death trap; Curiatius died,
Sent mid its breezes to the Stygian tide.
Death ranges at his will; when so inclined
In Tibur's bosom he'll Sardinia find.
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), ep. 195]
Now in the blazing heat we might as well escape
to Castrum, or Ardea, or any sunburnt landscape,
since Curiatius has laid a curse
on the air of Tivoli by dying there,
where the waters are also salubrious.
No place can fend off death. It's no worse
to expire in sickly Sardinia than in a spa.
[tr. Bovie (1970)]
At the solstice let us make for Ardea and the Castran countryside and whatever fields are scorched by Cleonae's constellation, since Curiatius damns the breezes of Tibur, dispatched to Styx amid her lauded waters. In no place can you shut out fate; when death comes, in the midst of Tibur is Sardinia.
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]
You know a little drink now and then never hurt nobody, but when you can’t git started without asking the bottle, you in trouble.
Surely I wept, leaning upon a ledge
Of the rough rock, so that my escort said,
“Art thou then weak and foolish like the rest?
Here lives true piety when pity dies.
But who more wicked than the man who yields
To sorrow place where judgment is divine!”[Certo io piangea, poggiato a un de’ rocchi
del duro scoglio, sì che la mia scorta
mi disse: “Ancor se’ tu de li altri sciocchi?
Qui vive la pietà quand’è ben morta;
chi è più scellerato che colui
che al giudicio divin passion comporta?]Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet
The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 20, l. 25ff (20.25-30) (1320) [tr. Johnston (1867)]
(Source)
Virgil chides Dante for weeping over the fate of the damned in the third circle, fourth bolgia, who themselves are also weeping.
Maybe. There are a lot of scholarly debates over some of the wording and pronoun references here. Some translators play off the word pietà meaning both "pity" and "piety" in Italian. It's also possible that, rather than the final lines condemning Dante for letting his compassion defy an acceptance of God's judgment, they refer to the sinful arrogance of fortune-tellers (the group being punished here) in believing they can question or change God's decrees for the future.
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Leaning against the rock, I so great grief
Express'd, that thus my Guide to me apply'd;
Are you among the weak to be arrang'd?
When without life, 'tis here Compassion lives.
Who can more wicked be estem'd than He
Who thinks that the divine Decrees are wrong.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 22ff]
Their laboring reins the falling tear bedew'd,
Deep struck with sympathetic woe I stood,
'Till thus the Bard my slumb'ring reason woke: --
"Dar'st thou the sentence of thy God arraign;
Or with presumptuous tears his doom profane?
Say, can thy tears his righteous doom revoke?
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 5]
Against a rock
I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim’d:
“What, and art thou too witless as the rest?
Here pity most doth show herself alive,
When she is dead. What guilt exceedeth his,
Who with Heaven’s judgment in his passion strives?
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Certes I wept so, leaning toward a breast
Of that hard shelf, mine escort chiding said:
"Why wilt thou yet be foolish as the rest?
Here pity best hath life when wholly dead:
What guiltier wretch than he whose grief avowed
Impugns Almighty Judgment?
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Certainly I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard cliff, so that my Escort said to me: "Art thou, too, like the other fools?
"Here pity lives when it is altogether dead. Who more impious than he that sorrows at God's judgment?"
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Sore I lamented, leaning on a rock,
A rough-planed crag, until my guide addressed
The words -- "Are you, too, foolish like the rest?
Here Pity is alive, e'en when quite dead.
And what can be more wicked than the man
Who 'gainst heaven's justice in his passion ran.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Truly I wept, leaning upon a peak
Of the hard crag, so that my Escort said
To me: "Art thou, too, of the other fools?
Here pity lives when it is wholly dead;
Who is a greater reprobate than he
Who feels compassion at the doom divine?
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Of a truth I began to weep leaning against one of the rocks of the hard cliff, so that my Escort said to me: "Art thou yet among the other foolish ones? Here pity lives when it is right dead. Who is more wicked than he who brings passion to the judgement of God?"
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Surely I wept, supported on a rise
Of that fire-hardened rock, so that my guide
Said to me: "Thou too 'mongst the little wise?
Here Pity lives alone, when it hath died.
Who is the greater scelerate than he
Who lets his passion 'gainst God's judgment bide?"
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Truly I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard crag, so that my Guide said to me, “Art thou also one of the fools? Here pity liveth when it is quite dead. Who is more wicked than he who feels compassion at the Divine Judgment?"
[tr. Norton (1892)]
I wept indeed, leaning against a rock on the stony ridge, so overcome, that my Guide said to me: "Art thou too like the other fools? Here pity liveth but when it is truly dead. Who is more lost to righteousness than he whose pity is awakened at the decree of God?"
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Certain, I wept, supported on a comer
Of the hard spur, so freely that my escort
Said to me : "Art thou still among the simple?
Here piety lives when wholly dead is pity.
Who is than he more desperately wicked
Who to the doom divine doth bring compassion?
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
I wept indeed, leaning on one of the rocks of the rugged ridge, so that my Escort said to me: "Art thou too as witless as the rest? Here pity lives when it is quite dead. Who is more guilty than he that makes the divine counsel subject to his will?"
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Truly I wept, leant up against the breast
Of the hard granite, so that my Guide said:
"Art thou then still so foolish, like the rest?
Here pity lives when it is rightly dead.
What more impiety can he avow
Whose heart rebelleth at God's judgment dread?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Truly I wept, leaned on the pinnacles
Of the hard rock; until my guide said, "Why!
And art thou too like all the other fools?
Here pity, or here piety, must die
If the other lives; who's wickeder than one
That's agonized by God's high equity?"
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Certainly,
I wept. I leaned agianst the jagged face
of a rock and wept so that my Guide said: "Still?
Still like the other fools? There is no place
for pity here. Who is more arrogant
within his soul, who is more impious
than one who dares to sorrow at God's judgment?
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Truly I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard crag, so that my guide said to me, “Are you even yet among the other fools? Here pity lives when it is altogether dead. Who is more impious than he who sorrows at God’s judgment?"
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Indeed I did weep, as I leaned my body
against a jut of rugged rock. My guide:
"So you are still like all the other fools?
In this place piety lives when pity is dead,
for who could be more wicked than that man
who tries to bend divine will to his own!
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Of course I wept, leaning against a rock
along that rugged ridge, so that my guide
told me: “Are you as foolish as the rest?
Here pity only lives when it is dead:
for who can be more impious than he
who links God's judgment to passivity?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
I certainly wept, supported on one of the rocks
Of the projecting stone, so that my escort
Said to me: "Are you too like the other fools?
Here pity is alive when it is dead:
Who is more criminal than he who suffers
Because he does not like the divine judgement?
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Truly I wept,
Leaning on an outcrop of that rocky site,
And my master spoke to me: "Do you suppose
You are above with the other fools even yet?
Here, pity lives when it is dead to these.
Who could be more impious than one who'd dare
To sorrow at the judgment God decrees?"
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
Surely I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard ridge, so that my guide said to me: “Are you still one of the other fools?
Here pity lives when it is quite dead: who is more wicked than one who brings passion to God’s judgment?"
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Truly, I wept, leaning against one of the rocks of the solid cliff, so that my guide said to me: "Are you like other fools, as well? Pity is alive here, where it is best forgotten. Who is more impious than one who bears compassion for God’s judgement?"
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Of this, be sure: that, leaning on a spur
of that unyielding cliff, I wept. "Are you,"
my escort said, "like them, an idiot still?
Here pity lives where pity's truth is dead.
Who is more impious, more scarred with sin
than one who pleads compassion at God's throne?"
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Yes, I wept, leaning against a spur
of the rough crag, so that my escort said:
"Are you still witless as the rest?
Here piety lives when pity is quite dead.
Who is more impious than one who thinks
that God shows passion in His judgment?"
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O yes, I wept, leaning for support on one
Of the solid rocks in the reef, making my guide
Say this: "You're still one of the stupid ones?
Down here, the only living pity is dead.
Is anyone more wicked than the man
Regretting the righteous judgment decreed by God?"
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
I wept indeed, held up in my surprise
By one rock of the ridge. My Escort said:
"You're witless as the rest? Here pity dwells,
But only when it's absolutely dead.
Who is more guilty than he who by spells
And mysteries makes it seem as if divine
Judgment were subject to his will?"
[tr. James (2013)]
French food, by the way, isn’t fancy unless, like other cooking, it wants to be fancy; perhaps it sounds so because it is in a foreign language, but a Coq au Vin is a chicken stew, a Pot-au-feu is a boiled dinner, a Mayonnaise de Volaille is a chicken salad, Soubise is plain old rice cooked with onions, and there is nothing fancy about any of them.
Julia Child (1912-2004) American chef and writer
Julia Child’s Kitchen, Introduction (1975)
(Source)
The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel must be intolerably stupid.
To understand the actual world as it is, not as we should wish it to be, is the beginning of wisdom.
Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) English mathematician and philosopher
“Censorship by Progressives,” New York American (1934-10-11)
(Source)
Try as we will, we cannot honestly recall our youth, for we have lost the feel of its main ingredient: suspense.
Mignon McLaughlin (1913-1983) American journalist and author
The Neurotic’s Notebook, ch. 3 (1963)
(Source)
But ye — who never felt a single thought
For what our Morals are to be, or ought;
Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap,
Say — would you make those beauties quite so cheap?
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side,
Where were the rapture then to clasp the form
From this lewd grasp and lawless contact warm?George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) English poet
“The Waltz,” l. 230ff (1813)
(Source)
The new dance was considered something of a scandal, given its contact between male and female dancers. Published anonymously by Byron.
I don’t need you to remind me of my age, I have a bladder to do that for me.
Stephen Fry (b. 1957) British actor, writer, comedian
“Trefusis Returns!” Paperweight (1992)
(Source)
Originally printed in The Daily Telegraph (c. 1990).