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Quotes of the Day!

Recently I read Pudd’nhead Wilson by Mark Twain. This is the first time I’ve read a book by Mark Twain that was not for school … Classic, huh? Anywho, I finally read a book by him not by force and I enjoyed it. It was an interesting story, but much more so when you consider when he wrote it. Each chapter started with a little maxim from a work being done by one of the characters in the book (Pudd’nhead himself).

The following quotes are all from those pre-chapter maxims.



Tell the truth or trump – but get the trick.


Adam was but human – this explains it all. He did not want the apple for the apple’s sake, he wanted it only because it was forbidden. The mistake was in not forbidding the serpent; then he would have eaten the serpent.


Adam and Eve had many advantages, but the principal one was, that they escaped teething.


Remark of Dr. Baldwin’s, concerning upstarts: We don’t care to eat toadstools that think they are truffles.


Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time.


Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.

Quotes of the Day!

The following quotes come from the book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami. The author is a a novelist who likes to run, and has run in 25 or more marathons. (I’m saying that because it’ll help make one or two quotes make more sense.)

If you like to run, I would definitely recommend this book. I think he talks about life using running as a way to illustrate things, and I liked a lot of what he had to say and how he said it. If you don’t like to run … This one is probably a pass.


The Quotes

When I’m criticized unjustly (from my viewpoint at least), or when someone I’m sure will understand me doesn’t, I go running for a little longer than usual. By running longer it’s like I can physically exhaust that portion of my discontent.


I sit at a cafe in the village and gulp down cold Amstel beer. It tastes fantastic, but not nearly as great as the beer I’d been imagining as I ran. Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness.


If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life – and for me, for writing as well.


All I have to go on are experience and instinct. Experience has taught me this: You’ve done everything you needed to do, and there’s no sense in rehashing it. All you can do now is wait for the race. And what instinct has taught me is one thing only: Use your imagination. So I close my eyes and see it all.


I look up at the sky, wondering if I’ll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don’t. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn’t be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature. My own individual, stubborn, uncooperative, often self-centered nature that still doubts itself – that, when troubles occur, tries to find something funny, or something nearly funny, about the situation. I’ve carried this character around like an old suitcase, down a long, dusty path. I’m not carrying it because I like it. The contents are too heavy, and it looks crummy, fraying in spots. I’ve carried it with me because there was nothing else I was supposed to carry. Still, I guess I have grown attached to it. As you might expect.

Quotes of the Day!

The following quotes come from W. Somerset Maugham’s The Moon and Sixpence.


I forget who it was that recommended men for their soul’s good to do each day two things they disliked : it was a wise man, and it is a precept that I have followed scrupulously ; for every day I have got up and I have gone to bed.


Mrs. Strickland used her advantage with tact. You felt that you obliged her by accepting her sympathy. When, in the enthusiasm of my youth, I remarked on this to Rose Waterford, she said:

‘Milk is very nice, especially with a drop of brandy in it, but the domestic cow is only too glad to be rid of it. A swollen udder is very uncomfortable.’


It was obvious that he had no social gifts, but these a man can do without ; he had no eccentricity even, to take him out of the common run ; he was just a good, dull, honest, plain man. One would admire his excellent qualities, but avoid his company.


‘Tell him that our home cries out for him. Everything is just the same, and yet everything is different.’


I had not yet learnt how contradictory is human nature ; I did not know how much pose there is in the sincere, how much baseness in the noble, or how much goodness in the reprobate.


Only the poet or the saint can water an asphalt pavement in the confident anticipation that lilies will reward his labour.

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