[Arthur] Evans was a paradoxical man, “flamboyant, and oddly modest; dignified and loveably ridiculous… He could be fantastically kind and fundamentally uninterested in other people… He was always loyal to his friends, and never gave up doing something he had set his heart on for the sake of someone he loved.”

Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman—a rope over an abyss.

A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting.

Plato defined man thus: “Man is a two-legged animal without feathers;” and was much praised for the definition; so Diogenes plucked a cock and brought it into his school, and said, “This is Plato's man.” On which account this addition was made to the definition, “With broad flat nails.”

For by Art is created that great LEVIATHAN called a COMMON-WEALTH, or STATE, (in latine CIVITAS) which is but an Artificiall Man; though of greater stature and strength than the Naturall, for whose protection and defence it was intended; and in which, the Soveraignty is an Artificiall Soul, as giving life and motion to the whole body; The Magistrates, and other Officers of Judicature and Execution, artificiall Joynts; Reward and Punishment (by which fastned to the seat of the Soveraignty, every joynt and member is moved to performe his duty) are the Nerves, that do the same in the Body Naturall; The Wealth and Riches of all the particular members, are the Strength; Salus Populi (the Peoples Safety) its Businesse; Counsellors, by whom all things needfull for it to know, are suggested unto it, are the Memory; Equity and Lawes, an artificiall Reason and Will; Concord, Health; Sedition, Sicknesse; and Civill War, Death. Lastly, the Pacts and Covenants, by which the parts of this Body Politique were at first made, set together, and united, resemble that Fiat, or the Let Us Make Man, pronounced by God in the Creation.

I realize I will never hear from Dena again, and I will never call her. It gives me a chill. It is a strange thing to end a friendship, even if you know it's what you want. It's like death; all of a sudden your experience of a person becomes finite.

Operations of thought are like cavalry charges in a battle — they are strictly limited in number, they require fresh horses, and must only be made at decisive moments.

What is flirtation? One might say that it is behavior leading another to believe that sexual intimacy is possible, while preventing that possibility from becoming a certainty. In other words, flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse without a guarantee.

Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, and devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I just dropped out and devoted my life to being bad.

Hiro used to feel this way, too, but then he ran into Raven. In a way, this was liberating. He no longer has to worry about being the baddest motherfucker in the world. The position is taken.

I am a weblogger.

I am a man. I am an authority. I am hieratic. I am a drinker. I am a Canadian. I am an expatriate. I am somewhat inebriated tonight.

I am a spice without a sauce. I am a singer, I am a writer. I am a lover. I am man who loves. I am happy and I am unsatisfied. I am content and I am angry. I am actively ignoring the present continuous in favour of the possible future. I am alive. I contradict myself.

I am growing old. I'm farting like a Captain of Industry. I'm hurting every goddamn day. I'm present perfect linking my patchwork history with this moment here, where the glass is in my hand. I've abused this strong big body of mine. I've moved people to tears. I've made them laugh. I've been completely wrong. I'm squeezing out the pus.

I am uncertain. I am defiant.

I am buoyed on foamy waves of ancient guitar. I am tired of the bullshit. I hope for the best. I'm averting my eyes.

I'm wasting my life. I'm in the moment. I'm teaching people that English has no future tense. I'm pretty sure there's no point. I am happy about that.

I am thirsty. I am hungry. I am so full of shit my blue eyes are brown.

I love. I rear up in anger. I love.

I need another beer.

When he smiles, his face is wistful and boyish, but once the energy of his forward motion is halted and he stops to ponder, his pale blue eyes seem to express sadness or loneliness. Doug Engelbart's voice, as he greets you, is low and soft, as though muted from having traveled a long distance, as though his words have been attenuated by layers of meditation. There is something diffident yet warm about the man, something gentle yet stubborn in his nature that wins respect.

As for you, Gilgamesh,
fill your belly with good things;
day and night, night and day, dance and be merry,
feast and rejoice.
Let your clothes be fresh,
bathe yourself in water,
cherish the little child that holds your hand,
and make your wife happy in your embrace;
for this too is the lot of man.

EMILIA: 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man.
They are all but stomachs and we all but food;
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full
They devour us.

Why do leaves commit suicide
when they feel yellow?