Quotation

[jriggenbach]

"My world of human beings had perished; I was utterly alone in

the world and for friends I had the streets, and the streets spoke

to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery,

yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort. Passing under the viaduct

along the Rue Broca, one night after I had been informed that Mona

was ill and starving, I suddenly recalled that it was here in the

squalor and gloom of this sunken street, terrorized perhaps by a

premonition of the future, that Mona clung to me and with a

quivering voice begged me to promise that I would never leave her,

never, no matter what happened. And, only a few days later, I stood

on the platform of the Gare St. Lazare and I watched the train pull

out, the train that was bearing her away: she was leaning out of

the window, just as she had leaned out of the window when I left

her in New York, and there was that same, sad, inscrutable smile on

her face, that last-minute look which is intended to convey so

much, but which is only a mask that is twisted by a vacant smile.

Only a few days before, she had clung to me desperately and then

something happened, something which is not even clear to me now,

and of her own volition she boarded the train and she was looking

at me again with that sad, enigmatic smile which baffles me, which

is unjust, unnatural, which I distrust with all my soul. And now it

is I, standing in the shadow of the viaduct, who reach out for her

who cling to her desperately and there is that same inexplicable

smile on my lips, the mask that I have clamped down over my grief.

I can stand here and smile vacantly, and no matter how fervid my

prayers, no matter how desperate my longing, there is an ocean

between us; there she will stay and starve, and here I shall walk

from one street to the next, the hot tears scalding my face."

[Xray]

"My world of human beings had perished; I was utterly alone in

the world and for friends I had the streets, and the streets spoke

to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery,

yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort. Passing under the viaduct

along the Rue Broca, one night after I had been informed that Mona

was ill and starving, I suddenly recalled that it was here in the

squalor and gloom of this sunken street, terrorized perhaps by a

premonition of the future, that Mona clung to me and with a

quivering voice begged me to promise that I would never leave her,

never, no matter what happened. And, only a few days later, I stood

on the platform of the Gare St. Lazare and I watched the train pull

out, the train that was bearing her away: she was leaning out of

the window, just as she had leaned out of the window when I left

her in New York, and there was that same, sad, inscrutable smile on

her face, that last-minute look which is intended to convey so

much, but which is only a mask that is twisted by a vacant smile.

Only a few days before, she had clung to me desperately and then

something happened, something which is not even clear to me now,

and of her own volition she boarded the train and she was looking

at me again with that sad, enigmatic smile which baffles me, which

is unjust, unnatural, which I distrust with all my soul. And now it

is I, standing in the shadow of the viaduct, who reach out for her

who cling to her desperately and there is that same inexplicable

smile on my lips, the mask that I have clamped down over my grief.

I can stand here and smile vacantly, and no matter how fervid my

prayers, no matter how desperate my longing, there is an ocean

between us; there she will stay and starve, and here I shall walk

from one street to the next, the hot tears scalding my face."

Ctd:

"It is that sort of cruelty which is embedded in the streets; it is that which stares out from the walls and terrifies us when suddenly we respond to a nameless fear, when suddenly our souls are invaded by a sickening panic. It is that which gives the lampposts their ghoulish twists, which makes them beckon to us and lure us to their strangling grip; it is that which makes certain houses appear like the guardians of secret crimes and their blind windows like the empty sockets of eyes that have seen too much."

Makes me want to give TOC another try after all those years, but I'll read it in the English original this time.

[Dragonfly]

Makes me want to give TOC another try after all those years, but I'll read it in the English original this time.

It's several decades ago that I read it. I only remember that I found it extremely boring.

[Philip Coates]

A well-chosen passage, an extended quotation is worth a thousand assertions.

Just in the last twenty-four hours, George Smith and now Jeff Riggenbach have posted passages from writers they respect. These passages would be more likely to make one want to read the works they come from than merely abstract claims that Augustine or Henry Miller are great or important or deep or insightful. (Especially to Oist audiences influenced by Rand's tastes and who have sales resistance toward 'naturalist' or dark or religious or trendy writers: when I hear the phrase 'nuance and profundity' I reach for my revolver... )

Show me, don't just tell me. Otherwise I am likely to just shrug and say "sez you".

If someone says Rand is a bad writer or John D. Macdonald is a pedestrian mystery writer or Heinlein is a hack or Shakespeare is malevolent, I'm not likely to convince anyone that those views are oversimplified -- other than, of course, the massive numbers of people robotically programmed to slavishly accept every philcoatesian literary dictum, unless I hunt down some passages that show otherwise.

I'd still have to claim that those passages are representative or at least not isolated, but I would have cracked open the door of skepticism in some minds.

Edited February 7, 2010 by Philip Coates

[Michael Stuart Kelly]

Not everybody who reads that passage will know where it came from.

I know my own crystal ball was on the blink when I read it just now, so I went to Google and looked it up.

The passage is from Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.

If those who do know where the passages came from upon reading it want to feel superior to the uneducated masses, let them feel superior to me, too.

In my Socratic bliss, I cannot lie.

I didn't know.

"I only know that I do not know." --Socrates (quoted in The Republic by Plato)

Michael

[Selene]

Phil:

With all your perceived enemies who just do not understand your brilliance, I would think you would have a semi automatic weapon.

"I reach for my revolver..."

Surely not that musket that Brant correctly identified that ole Ayn mentions in Atlas.

Maybe one of these babies!

Adam

just funnin with ya!

[Philip Coates]

> With all your perceived enemies....

Adam, are you really so dumb that you didn't pick up that my last post was a -compliment- to George and Jeff, not a viewing of them as enemies?

Or are you simply posting while "multi-tasking"?

You're probably the person who irritates me the most on these boards because you seem to be WILLFULLY careless or sloppy in your reading and posting. Each time I see another of your posts, I know I'm going to encounter at least one of the following forms of irresponsibility:

--slipshod misreading of posts

--cutesy cartoons and icons substituting for sustained thought

--spelling and grammar errors

--prevalent one sentence paragraphs, mixed with long rambling posts which are often off topic or unintelligible

--constant belittling sarcasm in lieu of careful thinking

--posts fired off on every thread ever hour or so, as if you didn't have a life or any desire to do anything other than defecate on an Olist

--the most blatantly contradictory of all philosophical package deals, "Christian Objectivism"

Of all the posters who frequent these lists, I don't remember another recently who posts so incessantly and whose quality drops so much with quantity. I often don't agree with Dragonfly or George Smith or Jeff Riggenbach, but their positions are lucid, written in clear English paragraphs -- not cartoons -- and show evidence of careful, intelligent thought.

If you were able to take a few hours in a quiet room, not trying to monitor and have something to say on a half dozen different threads, you might want to see if you could come up with something as lucid as George's recent long essay on Augustine.

I'm probably wasting my breath. You'll probably just greet this with another wave of cartoon humor. Or bitter "how dare you" resentment at my 'condescension'.

[Selene]

> With all your perceived enemies....

Adam, are you really so dumb that you didn't pick up that my last post was a -compliment- to George and Jeff, not a viewing of them as enemies?

Or are you simply posting while "multi-tasking"?

You're probably the person who irritates me the most on these boards because you seem to be WILLFULLY careless or sloppy in your reading and posting. Each time I see another of your posts, I know I'm going to encounter at least one of the following forms of irresponsibility:

--slipshod misreading of posts

--cutesy cartoons and icons substituting for sustained thought

--spelling and grammar errors

--prevalent one sentence paragraphs, mixed with long rambling posts which are often off topic or unintelligible

--constant belittling sarcasm in lieu of careful thinking

--posts fired off on every thread ever hour or so, as if you didn't have a life or any desire to do anything other than defecate on an Olist

--the most blatantly contradictory of all philosophical package deals, "Christian Objectivism"

Of all the posters who frequent these lists, I don't remember another recently who posts so incessantly and whose quality drops so much with quantity. I often don't agree with Dragonfly or George Smith or Jeff Riggenbach, but their positions are lucid, written in clear English paragraphs -- not cartoons -- and show evidence of careful, intelligent thought.

If you were able to take a few hours in a quiet room, not trying to monitor and have something to say on a half dozen different threads, you might want to see if you could come up with something as lucid as George's recent long essay on Augustine.

I'm probably wasting my breath. You'll probably just greet this with another wave of cartoon humor. Or bitter "how dare you" resentment at my 'condescension'.

Phil:

I am glad that you have risen to the level of being above any name calling. I like your ascension into civility.

Adam

[Barbara Branden]

Jeff, that is superb, powerfully evocative writing. I'd forgotten how good he can be. Thanks for posting it.

Barbara