In our good works nothing is our own.
A world where a majority had imbibed the lessons implicit within tragic art would be one in which the consequences of our failures would necessarily cease to weigh upon us so heavily.
A notorious inability to express emotions makes human beings the only animals capable of suicide.
Dreams reveal we never quite get 'over' anything: it's all still in there somewhere.
The fear of saying something stupid (which stupid people never have) has censored far more good ideas than bad ones.
Only by declaring a book completely finished can one start to see how much remains to be done on it.
What am I supposed to do here? What am I supposed to think?
The goal, I submit, is obvious: subjugating the world (which is barbarian, dangerous, envious and ungrateful) to US power for the sake of America's interests.
I don't think it's particularly useful to be going to another country and staying in a classroom and just studying in the classroom. What's important, I think, is to get immersed into the local economy.
I'm always cast in these strange men. . . that's not me, really.
"Acoustic ecologist" is basically a fancy name for someone who tries to become a better listener. Not just listening to those thoughts, ideas, and productions of human intention, but listening to places - whether it's an urban environment, residential, industrial, or even the farthest corner of the world, in one of our last great quiet places where we can listen to the pure sounds of nature without any human-caused noise intrusions.