"If the doors of perception were cleansed would appear to man as it is, infinite."

"O nobly born, let not thy mind be distracted"

"So very simple is the road that we may stray from it."

"Have you heard the Taoist tale of the Taming of the Harp?

Once in the hoary ages in the Ravine of Lungmen stood a Kiri tree, a veritable king of the forest. It reared its head to talk to the stars; its roots struck deep into the earth, mingling their bronzed coils with those of the silver dragon that slept beneath. And it came to pass that a mighty wizard made of this tree a wondrous harp, whose stubborn spirit should be tamed but by the greatest of musicians. For long the instrument was treasured by the Emperor of China, but all in vain were the efforts of those who in turn tried to draw melody from its strings. In response to their utmost strivings there came from the harp but harsh notes of disdain, ill-according with the songs they fain would sing. The harp refused to recognise a master.

At last came Peiwoh, the prince of harpists. With tender hand he caressed the harp as one might seek to soothe an unruly horse, and softly touched the chords. He sang of nature and the seasons, of high mountains and flowing waters, and all the memories of the tree awoke! Once more the sweet breath of spring played amidst its branches. The young cataracts, as they danced down the ravine, laughed to the budding flowers. Anon were heard the dreamy voices of summer with its myriad insects, the gentle pattering of rain, the wail of the cuckoo. Hark! a tiger roars,--the valley answers again. It is autumn; in the desert night, sharp like a sword gleams the moon upon the frosted grass. Now winter reigns, and through the snow-filled air swirl flocks of swans and rattling hailstones beat upon the boughs with fierce delight.

Then Peiwoh changed the key and sang of love. The forest swayed like an ardent swain deep lost in thought. On high, like a haughty maiden, swept a cloud bright and fair; but passing, trailed long shadows on the ground, black like despair. Again the mode was changed; Peiwoh sang of war, of clashing steel and trampling steeds. And in the harp arose the tempest of Lungmen, the dragon rode the lightning, the thundering avalanche crashed through the hills. In ecstasy the Celestial monarch asked Peiwoh wherein lay the secret of his victory. "Sire," he replied, "others have failed because they sang but of themselves. I left the harp to choose its theme, and knew not truly whether the harp had been Peiwoh or Peiwoh were the harp."

This story well illustrates the mystery of art appreciation. The masterpiece is a symphony played upon our finest feelings. True art is Peiwoh, and we the harp of Lungmen. At the magic touch of the beautiful the secret chords of our being are awakened, we vibrate and thrill in response to its call. Mind speaks to mind. We listen to the unspoken, we gaze upon the unseen. The master calls forth notes we know not of. Memories long forgotten all come back to us with a new significance. Hopes stifled by fear, yearnings that we dare not recognise, stand forth in new glory. Our mind is the canvas on which the artists lay their colour; their pigments are our emotions; their chiaroscuro the light of joy, the shadow of sadness. The masterpiece is of ourselves, as we are of the masterpiece."

Roses:
The flowers are easy to paint
The leaves difficult.

These eyes still pure
They're like a shooting star
Which goes through the darkness
The prove of friendship
Is to look for the same dream, a Soldier Dream

I sent my Soul through the Invisible
Some letter of that Afterlife to spell
And by and by my Soul returned to me
And answered 'I Myself am Heaven and Hell'

"We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows."

St Fortunata Girl: You lied to me!
Fraser: *draws blank*
St Fortunata Girl: ... About being a woman??????
Fraser: Oh yes, yes I did.

Life will never lose its power to surprise you until you are dead.

"When you scratch the surface, everyone's life is a little closer to Melrose Place than we want to admit."

Urban living is spiritualy suicidal.

"It was fun for awhile....but there was no way of knowing."

Everyone can say just what comes into their heads. That is conversation.

If it moves, salute it; if it doesn't move, pick it up; and if you can't pick it up, paint it.

Kono hito wa watashi o shiawase o ubatta hito.
Soshite mou hitotsu no shiawase o kureta hito.

This person is the one who took away my happiness.
And then, he is the one who gave another happiness.

Japanese: Zankoku na kamiga sihaisuru
English: The cruel god rules.

Source: Seb Tauchmann

The following is the transcript of an ACTUAL radio conversation released by the Chief of Naval Operations, of a US naval ship with Canadian authorities off the coast of Newfoundland in Oct. 1995. Reprinted in the Memorial University campus newspaper.

Americans: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision...
Canadians: Recommend you divert YOUR course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.
Americans: This is the captain of a US Navy ship, I say again, divert YOUR course.
Canadians: No. I say again, you divert YOUR course.
Americans: THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER US MISSOURI. WE ARE A LARGE WARSHIP OF THE US NAVY. DIVERT YOUR COURSE NOW !
Canadians: THIS IS A LIGHTHOUSE. Your call.

Jesus and Satan have an argument as to who is the better programmer. This goes on for a few hours until they come to an agreement to hold a contest, with God as the Judge.

They set themselves before their computers and begin. They type furiously, lines of code streaming up the screen, for several hours straight. Seconds before the end of the competition, a bolt of lightning strikes, taking out the electricity.

Moments later, the power is restored, and God announces that the contest is over. He asks Satan to show what he has come up with.

Satan is visibly upset and cries, "I have nothing, I lost it all when the power went out."

"Very well, then, " says God, "let us see if Jesus fared any better."

Jesus enters a command, and the screen comes to life in vivid display, the voices of an angelic choir pours forth from the speakers.

Satan is astonished. He stutters, "B-b-but how?!

I lost everything yet Jesus' program is Intact! How did he do it?"

God Chuckles, "Everybody knows... Jesus Saves."