I deny not, but that it is of greatest concernment in the church and commonwealth, to have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves, as well as men; and thereafter to confine, imprison, and do sharpest justice on them as malefactors; for books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragon’s teeth: and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book: who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age can restore a life, whereof, perhaps, there is no great loss; and revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations fare the worse. We should be wary, therefore, what persecution we raise against the living labours of public men, how we spill that seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books; since we see a kind of homicide may be thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom; and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at that ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself; slays an immortality rather than a life. But lest I should be condemned of introducing licence, while I oppose licensing, I refuse not the pains to be so much historical, as will serve to shew what hath been done by ancient and famous commonwealths, against this disorder, till the very time that this project of licensing crept out of the Inquisition, was catched up by our prelates, and hath caught some of our presbyters.
She read tirelessly. She lost herself in novels. She loved men who didn’t exist from the vantage point of women who didn’t either.
We are liars of such a magnitude that our pants are not merely on fire, but rather, they immolate in a bright hot flash, sacrificing themselves to some dark and ancient word goddess.
Always obey your parents, when they are present. This is the best policy in the long run, because if you don’t they will make you. Most parents think they know better than you do, and you can generally make more by humoring that superstition than you can by acting on your own better judgement.
The relationship of a girl and her favorite novel can be complex indeed.
No means no if you’re drunk or if you’re sober. No means no if you’re in bed or in a dorm or on the street. No means no even if you said yes at first and you changed your mind.
Joe Biden speaking today about sexual violence against women. (via squintyoureyes)
I’ll be honest I kind of scrolled past this at first and was like “ok that’s nice, but it’s just the feminist blogosphere and I’ll just get sad because no one is ever really going to listen.” BUT NO, THAT IS THE VICE PRESIDENT OF THE GODDAMN UNITED STATES. Maybe things aren’t 100% hopeless after all.
OH GOD, JOE THE BIDEN *__*
I think it can also be added, to quote Joe Biden again, “this is a big fuckin’ deal”.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown
My cousin Helen, who is in her 90s now, was in the Warsaw ghetto during World War II. She and a bunch of the girls in the ghetto had to do sewing each day. And if you were found with a book, it was an automatic death penalty. She had gotten hold of a copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’, and she would take three or four hours out of her sleeping time each night to read. And then, during the hour or so when they were sewing the next day, she would tell them all the story. These girls were risking certain death for a story. And when she told me that story herself, it actually made what I do feel more important. Because giving people stories is not a luxury. It’s actually one of the things that you live and die for.
It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest and most desperate desires of our heart…this mirror gives us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away in front of it, even gone mad…it does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live