Common sense isn't.
1st try here:
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2nd try here:
| Quote of the moment |
| A little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion. |
| ~ Francis Bacon, Of Atheism. ~ |
3rd try here:
| Quote of the moment |
| Think on this doctrine,-that reasoning beings were created for one another's sake; that to be patient is a branch of justice, and that men sin without intending it. |
| ~ Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Meditations. iv. 3. ~ |
4th try here:
| Quote of the moment |
| You have to understand that the affection I am speaking of has no purpose, it is not given with the intention of getting anything back. It is not a matter of feeling. In the same way we say that real compassion is without attachment. Pay attention to this point, which goes against our habitual ways of thinking. It is not this or that particular case that stirs our pity. We don't give our compassion to such and such a person by choice. We give it spontaneously, entirely, without hoping for anything in exchange. And we give it universally. |
| ~ The Path to Tranquility, December 19, 14th Dalai Lama ~ |
5th try here:
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6th try here:
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7th try here:
| Quote of the moment |
| Now I lay me down to bed; Darkness won't engulf my head. I can see by infra-red. How I hate the night. Now I lay me down to sleep, Try to count electric sheep. Sweet dream wishes you can keep. How I hate the night. |
| ~ Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy ~ |
8th try here:
| Quote of the moment |
| Art is long, life short; judgment difficult, opportunity transient. |
| ~ von Goethe, Wilhelm Meister. Book vii. Chap. ix. ~ |
9th try here:
| Quote of the moment |
| No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe. |
| ~ Lord Byron, The Corsair. Canto iii. Stanza 22. ~ |
10th try here:
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| Quote of the moment |
| The calm, the coolness, the silent grass-growing mood in which a man ought always to compose,—that, I fear, can seldom be mine. Dollars damn me; and the malicious Devil is forever grinning in upon me, holding the door ajar. My dear Sir, a presentiment is on me,—I shall at last be worn out and perish, like an old nutmeg-grater, grated to pieces by the constant attrition of the wood, that is, the nutmeg. What I feel most moved to write, that is banned,—it will not pay. Yet, altogether, write the other way I cannot. So the product is a final hash, and all my books are botches. |
| ~ Herman Melville (1819–1891), U.S. author. letter, June 1?, 1851, to Nathaniel Hawthorne. Correspondence, vol. 14, The Writings of Herman Melville, ed. Lynn Horth (1993). ~ |
Common sense isn't.
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