Happiness starts within you!

Høst 2013 ifm. nytt OS; skriv lenkebeskrivelse her

Det var et interessant tips, den skal jeg lese etter hvert.

Television

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Roald Dahl

Beautiful Old Age

It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.

The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.

Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.

And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -

And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it's been a life!

D.H. Lawrence

Eller kanskje du har bommet litt på valg av forum for å diskutere blondiner, deres hjerner og frontparti? ;D

Hemingway Never Did This

I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immortal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.

Charles Bukowski

«Å RISIKERE»

Å le er å risikere å bli tatt for å være dum.
Å gråte er å risikere å bli oppfattet som sentimental.
Å komme en annen i møte er å risikere å bli involvert.
Å vise følelser er å risikere å blottlegge sitt egentlige jeg.
Å gi uttrykk for sine ideer, sine drømmer, er å risikere å tape ansikt.
Å gi kjærlighet er å risikere å ikke få noe igjen.
Å leve er å risikere å dø.
Å håpe er å risikere fortvilelse.

Men du må risikere noe, for den største faren er å ikke risikere.
Den person som ikke risikerer, gjør ingenting, har ingenting, er ingenting.
Han kan kanskje unngå lidelse og sorg, men han kan slett ikke forandre seg, føle, vokse, elske – leve.
Lenket til sine holdninger er han en slave, han har forspilt friheten.
Bare en person som risikerer er fri.

HUGH PRATHER , Til norsk ved Eirik J. Irgens

Every person has the power to make others happy.
Some do it simply by entering a room
others by leaving the room.
Some individuals leave trails of gloom;
others, trails of joy.
Some leave trails of hate and bitterness;
others, trails of love and harmony.
Some leave trails of cynicism and pessimism;
others trails of faith and optimism.
Some leave trails of criticism and resignation;
others trails of gratitude and hope.
What kind of trails do you leave?”
― William Arthur Ward

Har akkurat sittet og lest i Agnar Mykles "Lasso rundt fru Luna" dette avsnittet hvor Ask Burlefot leser "Vidunderlige nye verden" av Huxley. Skolebestyreren ser boka og sier:
"Setter du merker i boken," sa bestyreren.
Han hadde tatt boken fra Ask, og satt og kikket i den. Atter ble Ask irritert. Dette var da vel ingen skolebok? Kanskje var det ikke pent å skrive i margen på en bok, kanskje var det stygt med eselører i en bok. Men likevel hadde han en uklar følelse av, at hvis Huxley personlig hadde sett hvordan boken nu så ut, forsynt med utropstegn, understrekninger, spørsmålstegn, ja-er og nei-er, så ville forfatteren foretrukket å se boken slik, fremfor en bok som var blitt lest i overensstemmelse med bestyrerens skolemester-idealer."

Han har kanskje rett i det? :D

Ved Nyingen

Jeg gaar og pusler i Skogen
og tænder et Baal ved Kvæld.
Der slukner en Dag i Vesten
og Maanen staar halvt paa hæld.

Alverden er gaat til Hvile,
det tier fra Busk og Sti,
kun Flagermusvinger puster
i Nyingens Skin forbi.

Mit Hjærte dovner og drømmer
og stilner som i en Rus.
Omkring mig vælder fra Skogen
et sagte evindeligt Sus.

Knut Hamsun

Jeg ser at hun har skrevet mange av den sjangeren, men jeg har ikke lest noen av dem.

"Nessersk" visdom og humor har jeg så absolutt sansen for, sparer på bøkene hans i bokhylla :) Piccadilly Circus..skal jeg være på utkikk etter.

Jeg forsøkte meg på den i fjor sommer, men likte den ikke spesielt godt, og den ble levert tilbake til biblioteket uten at jeg hadde lest den ut. Kanskje det var meg, og at jeg prøver meg igjen en annen gang.