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Thank you!  It's nice to be able to do this.  I was thinking about this, a lot, during the first two days of Easter Triduum.  What bothers me is that this schoolboy is learning this ABC's, yes?  They

For a quick, laugh for today:  

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''If men as individuals surrender to the call of their elementary instincts, avoiding pain and seeking satisfaction only for their own selves, the result for them all taken together must be a state of insecurity, of fear, and of promiscuous misery.''

Albert Einstein (1879-1955), German-born U.S. theoretical physicist. Out of My Later Years, ch. 7 (1950). :o 

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The world was not created once and for all time for each of us individually. There are added to it in the course of our life things of which we have never had any suspicion.

Marcel Proust (1871-1922), French novelist. "The Sweet Cheat Gone," ch. 1, Remembrance of Things Past, vol. 11 (1925), trans. by Scott Moncrieff (1930).

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''As regards the celebrated "struggle for life," it seems to me for the present to have been rather asserted than proved. It does occur, but as the exception; the general aspect of life is not hunger and distress, but rather wealth, luxury, even absurd prodigality—where there is a struggle it is a struggle for power.''

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher, classical scholar, critic of culture. Friedrich Nietzsche, Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe, vol. 6, p. 120, eds. Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari, Berlin, de Gruyter (1980); Twilight of the Idols and The Anti-Christ, p. 75, trans. by R.J. Hollingdale, Baltimore, Penguin Books (1968). Twilight of the Idols, "Skirmishes of an Untimely Man," section 14 (prepared for publication 1888, published 1889).

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There is silence in the house. Television is off, the lights are dim. Tinnitus from too many years and too many decibels, rings peacefully. Low breaths from a sleeping Labrador silently combine with the stilled air, nary a wave is mustered. Distant wind chimes trill in the cold winter's night. A purr vibrates my legs, huddled for warmth. All I hear is your quickened, nervous, heart under my touch. Frightened into silence of what should never be, yet always is. A wine goblet sings with a nectars sip, and a gleaming droplet, as dark as the blood of desire, is rescued by my tongue from lips moist with lust. My last tortured treasure, buried deep inside a helpless soul. The map you hold, cherish they way.

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