Excerpts from texts I find meaningful — longer passages that inspire reflection.
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The further away one is from one's country, the more one thinks of it and loves it. When I am in Greece I see the pettiness, the intrigues, the idiocies, the inadequacies of the leaders and the misery of the people. But from afar one cannot distinguish the ugliness so clearly, and one has more freedom to create an image of the country worthy of true love. That's why I work better and love Greece more when I am abroad. Far away from her I am better able to grasp her essence and her mission in the world, and thus my own humble mission.
Something special happens to Greeks who live abroad. They become better. They take pride in their race, they feel that being Greeks they have the responsibility to be worthy of their ancestors. Their conviction that they are descended from Plato and Pericles may perhaps be utopian, it may be an act of autosuggestion going back thousands of years. But once this autosuggestion becomes faith it exercises a fertile influence on the Modern Greek soul. It was thanks to this utopia that the Greeks survived. After so many centuries of invasion, slaughter and famine they should have disappeared. But the utopia, which has become faith, does not let them die. Greece still survives, I think it still survives through a succession of miracles.
From Pierre Sipriot's interview, French Radio (Paris), 6th May 1955
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I am a philosopher.
I am not going to argue very much because if you don't argue with me I don't know what I think.
If we argue I say thank you!
Because going to the courtesy of your taking a different point of view I understand what I mean.
So can't get rid of you.
The physical world is wiggly.
Clouds, mountains, trees, people, are all wiggly. And only when human beings get to working on things--they build buildings in straight lines, and try to make out that the world isn't really wiggly.
But here we are, sitting in this room all built out of straight lines, but each one of us is as wiggly as all get-out.
Now then, when you want to get control of something that wiggles, it's pretty difficult, isn't it?
You try and pick up a fish in your hands, and the fish is wiggly and it slips out. What do you do to get hold of the fish?
You use a net.
And so the net is the basic thing we have for getting hold of the wiggly world.
So if you want to get hold of this wiggle, you've got to put a net over it.
A net is something regular.
And I can number the holes in a net. So many holes up, so many holes across. And if I can number these holes, I can count exactly where each wiggle is, in terms of a hole in that net. And that's the beginning of calculus, the art of measuring the world.
But in order to do that, I've got to break up the wiggle into bits. I've got to call this a specific bit, and this the next bit of the wiggle, and this the next bit, and this the next bit of the wiggle.
And so these bits are things or events. Bit of wiggles. Which I mark out in order to talk about the wiggle. In order to measure and therefore in order to control it.
If You Could Go Back For One More Day
I'm 80 years old. And somehow...
I woke up in my 32-year-old body.
Just for one day.
Little hands tug at the blankets.
"Mommy, wake up!" they laugh.
I blink, I sit up-
My babies. Small again.
I gasp. I cry.
They climb into bed, giggling, wiggling.
I used to rush through mornings— but not today.
I pull them close. I hug them tight.
I kiss their messy hair, their tiny hands in mine.
This time, I soak in every second.
In the mirror- no deep lines, no grey hair.
My younger face.
I used to think I looked old at 41.
What a silly thought.
In the kitchen, my husband makes coffee.
Strong. Young.
I wrap my arms around him, and hold on.
He looks surprised.
Maybe we didn't hug enough back then.
We talk about nothing.
But today, it feels like everything.
I memorize the sound of his voice.
The car ride- kids bickering over seatbelts, crumbs everywhere.
I used to be so frustrated.
Today, I soak it in.
One day my car will be quiet, spotless, but not today.
Dinner- loud, unorganized,
full of shouting, giggling, life spilling over.
I don't clean up right away.
I just sit and watch.
Trying to burn it into memory.
Before bed, I call my mom.
Her voice- I haven't heard it in years.
"Mom..."
I close my eyes, let her words wash over me.
I tell her I love her, again and again.
This time, I leave nothing unsaid.
At bedtime, I don't skip pages.
Not tonight.
I read every word.
Then I ask, "One more book?" With excitement they say yes.
I don't want this day to end.
Because this time, I knew.
This was joy. This was love.
The little hands, the messy dinners,
our strong young bodies, our parents still alive.
It all mattered.
So much more than we ever realized.
I talk about these things because I'm interested in them and because I enjoy talking about them. And every sensible person makes his living by doing what he enjoys doing. And that explains me. Now in saying, therefore, that I am not a guru, that means also that I am not trying to help you or improve you. I accept you as you are.
The sea was angry that day, my friends - like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli. I got about fifty feet out and suddenly, the great beast appeared before me. I tell you, he was ten stories high if he was a foot.
As if sensing my presence, he let out a great bellow. I said, "Easy, big fella!" And then, as I watched him struggling, I realized that something was obstructing its breathing. From where I was standing, I could see directly into the eye of the great fish.