International Headquarters of the Community of Christ

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Physical Education

Physical education is the fundamental discipline of life, but it is actually despised, neglected, and taught intellectually, because the true intent of our schools is to inculcate the virtues of cunning and calculation which will make money, not so much for the students themselves as for those who employ and govern them, and who, in turn (because they were educated in the same system), do not know how to transform money into physical enjoyment.

They were never taught how to husband plants and animals for food, how to cook, how to make clothes and build houses, how to dance and breathe, how to do yoga for finding one's true centre, or how to make love.

Alan Watts - In My Own Way

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In't it Grand 'ere?

Reading this (http://whatstringersreading.posterous.com/the-future) reminds me of going to visit my grandma Stringer in the old folks home that she stayed in.  She was a very mean woman (the best thing that they could think to say about her at her funeral was that she was short - seriously "Mary Stringer: she was a short person") and as soon as she got into the old folks home she started plotting and warring and complaining and getting the staff into trouble and all sorts.  She used to hang out with an ex-miner called Fred.  When I met Fred he was 91 and he was huge. Tall, with broad shoulders, when he was in his mining days about 60 years earlier he must have looked like Schwarzenegger. My grandma by this point was about 4' 9". We'd visit my grandma Stringer and sit out in the sun and my grandma would keep it up bitching and complaining and setting my dad against his sister and generally upsetting my mum, and then every now and then Fred would just say "In't it grand ere?"

A lot of the time while I've been in Kansas, I've found myself wishing I were somewhere else, some of the amazing places I've lived - Cambridge, Brighton, Highgate (curiously, not Farnborough, I'm not sure even Fred could like that). But there are a lot of good things about being here in Kansas.  The people on the whole have been really friendly, they are actually more polite than English people, I'm the one who's having to watch my tongue for bad language. OK, so I've been told off for walking on the wrong side of a footpath and for reading a book. I'm getting some very good experience which was what my plan was, about this time last year walking through Regent's Park, when I decided that it was about time to leave Wiley.  And I'm sitting in a coffee shop that has free wifi and a red roaster, just like the one in Red Roaster in Brighton.  Life isn't that bad.

I don't know, maybe this should be my mantra - "I'n't it grand 'ere?"

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The Future

Unless one is able to live fully in the present the future is a hoax.  There is no point whatever in making plans for the future which you will never be able to enjoy.  When your plans mature, you will still be living for some other future beyond. You will never, never be able to sit back with full contentment and say "Now I've arrived!" Your entire education has deprived you of this capacity because it was preparing you for the future, instead of showing you how to be alive now!

Alan Watts - The Book: On The Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are

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Success

Nothing fails like success - because the self-imposed task of our society and all its members is a contradiciton: to force things to happen which are acceptable only when they happen without force.

Alan Watts - The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are

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Laughing and Breathing

Much of the secret of life consists in knowing how to laugh, and also how to breath.

Alan Watts - In My Own Way

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Insomnia (sort of)

So insomnia.  I used to have a nightmare boss.  I know you’re going to say I should have had more sympathy, but really, she was a nightmare.  She had really bad insomnia.  And she used to go on about it all the time.  And occasionally she used to break into tears.  What was particularly great about her is that she used to claim that she was laying awake at night worrying about the project – about the work I was doing.  The work I was doing was fine.  It was just that she was stupid.  Or as she put it “a perfectionist.”  That what stupid people call themselves often.  There are many other self-applied names for stupid people, but this is a common one.  I was always tempted.  Always.  I was always tempted.  Oh yeah – the fuckwit chick at the next table has reminded me of a new thing that stupid people call themselves – professionals.  I was always tempted to say to her, when she was telling me that she hadn’t slept all night because she was worrying that the work were doing was shit, when in fact it was fine, “really?” You didn’t sleep? That’s terrible, I had a great night – 8 hours, straight through.” I never did.  Maybe I should have been more sympathetic, she had a clinical condition that stopped her being able to sleep – she was stupid.  Because she lay awake at night worrying about shit that really worth worrying about.  I suppose perfectionism is a kind of disability – if you really, honestly can’t say “fuck it, that’ll do.” That’s a really fucking disability, you sure are going to live a miserable life.

As you can see, insomnia bores me.  I don’t have a lot of fucking sympathy.  That is, of course, until it affected me.  Last week I had the worst sleep of my life.  I had a week at home in England away from where I’m currently working in Kansas.  I had really bad jet lag.  I kept waking up, wide awake in the middle of the fucking night and then not being able to sleep.  There is a limited number of things that you can do in the middle of the night.  I knew for certain that when I woke up at 4:30, 3:30, 2:30, wide awake, I knew that there was no way that I was going to get back to sleep for three hours.  I don’t know, maybe I should just have jumped on a night bus and gone to bar Italia.  Maybe I should have gone for a walk. Sitting at home in the middle of the night isn’t that much fun.

Then towards the end of the week, my insomnia got an extra, weird grace note.  I’m a bit loathe to admit this, but it’s the truth.  It turns out that I have something called “Sleep Apnoea” which means that I stop breathing while I’m sleeping.  Turns out that I stop breathing while I’m sleeping about 60 times an hour.  This means that 60 times an hour while I’m asleep my brain goes “Oh fuck! I’m suffocating” and wakes me up just a little bit, just enough for me to start breathing again.  The result of this is that when I wake up, I’m fucking knackered.  And of course, this is closely related to being fat.   Very fat.  If I wasn’t so fat, I probably wouldn’t snore so much, and if I didn’t snore, I probably wouldn’t have the sleep apnoea.  So is there a cure for this?  Well, nobody’s talked to me about a cure – getting thin would be a cure, but I wouldn’t bet the farm – or even the change in your back pocket on me getting thin anytime soon.  There isn’t a cure, but there is a treatment – which is to provide you with something called a CPAP machine – this is essentially a bouncy castle pump which you attach to the fat person (sorry, sleep apnoea sufferer).  The pump keeps pumping air into the fat person.  So when they get too lazy to breath of their own accord, it re-inflates them.  It is so sexy.

It is so sexy that it might almost make me exercise and eat sensibly.  It might.  So on top of not being able to sleep because of the jet lag, now I was trying to get off sleep whilst being attached to a machine that should more reasonably be attached to Corky the Clown’s Fun House.  Weirdly enough – even though I’m certain I look like a Cyborg, I have managed to sleep up to about 6 hours a night with this thing on.  And I think I have noticed an improvement in how awake I am during the day.  And because of the jet lag thing, I think I’ve got a new found sympathy for people who have insomnia.  Well, at least people who have insomnia for some good honest, decent reason, like they’ve got jet lag.  I still have zero sympathy for perfectionists.

The fuckwit chick at the next table is reading out texts from her fuckwit chick friends to her fuckwit chick friend.  They should record THAT and sell it on tape – there aren’t many people who wouldn’t go to sleep listening to that shit. Actually, what I’ve been using for the last week, when I had to absolutely certain that I could go to sleep because I had to get up in the morning was an audio book “The Way of Zen” by Alan Watts.  There’s about 10 hours of it, so there’s plenty to choose from.  Just pick a section of that and you’ll be off in a few minutes.  This is no disrespect to Alan Watts (who it seems to me was a pretty cool dude, although, in the 50’s he must have seemed like a Martian to most folks) or Zen.

OK folks, I should probably leave you know.  I’m going to have a nice evening walking around a supermarket, albeit, a very fancy health food supermarket.  Really, it’s the most entertaining thing to do around here.  Anybody got any vegan recipes? I am so fat I have become a one-man fairground. I need to eat Tofu until I can breathe again all by myself.

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Fortunes

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Organization of Experience

Understanding how a client organises his experience in terms of these representational systems has great rewards for both the therapist and practitioner of hypnosis.

Bandler and Grinder - Patterns and Hypnotic Techniques of Milton H Erickson
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The Flywheel

I stop every day at the point where I feel I can write more.  Do that and the next day's work goes surprisingly smoothly. I think Ernest Hemmingway did something like that.  To keep on going, you have to keep up the rhythm.  This is the important thing for long-term projects.  Once you set the pace, the rest will follow.  The problem is getting the flywheel to spin at a set speed - and to get to that point takes as much concentration and effort as you can manage.

Haruki Murakami - What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

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Stress

The stress that kills or cripples most of the population comes from being too hard on themselves when they don't live up to their own imaginings about how other people think they should behave. We don't know who we are, and we try to guess who we ought to be in order to do the right thing and be happy.

Radical Honesty - Brad Blanton Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

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Garbage collection

According to Hugh Thomas, author of A History of the World, the greatest medical advance in history has been garbage collection.

Radical Honesty - Brad Blanton Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

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Thinking

We think about things too much and too seriously and we suffer a great deal from trying to make the world match our thinking. We complain about how the world fails to live up to our expectations. We think about how life doesn't live up to its billing, and how it should, and how it is rotten that it doesn't and how we should somehow fix it. Many people think themselves to death.

Radical Honesty - Brad Blanton
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Caffe Nero, Muswell Hill.

And it feels good...

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Lying

We all lie like hell. It wears us out. It is THE major source of all human stress. Lying kills people.

Radical Honesty - Brad Blanton PhD
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Something tells me we are in Kansas...

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Why I Want to Fuck Rupert Murdoch

Somewhere in and amongst all this unnecessary furore about phone hacking – I can’t remember whether it was after the 4^th or 5^th time that Rebekah Brooks was arrested.  Sometime around then anyway, it came out that Rupert Murdoch, as part of the health and fitness regime that keeps him looking so manly and gorgeous at an age just short of the age Noah was when he died.  As part of that fitness regime, when intruding into the grief of ordinary people and interfering with murder investigations allows, Rebekah Wade and Rupert Murdoch go swimming together.

And you know, when I read that, I got really jealous, I mean.  Obviously there must be some of the Mephistophelean aspects of Rebekah’s job that are quite difficult to stomach, but getting the opportunity to go swimming with the manly presence of Rupert, that must be a real perk. I mean that must just be an authentic pleasure for Rebekah. Bathing with a three hundred year old magnate, the opportunity minute to minute of bare flesh brushing up against bare flesh. Nobody said that they go skinny dipping.  But I’d like to think that they do, in fact, in my head right now, they are doing.  I’m pitching a little trouser semi at the very thought.  One of less-touted advantages of reaching a certain age like Rupert is that you reach a point where your balls are less wrinkled than your face.  And bathing in the same water as the naked eminence Oz himself, that must be like bathing in ass’s milk for Rebekah a rejuvenate experience almost as uplifting physically and spiritually as moving in the same social circles as Jeremy Clarkson.

Another great American (like Rupert of course) famously said that every woman loves a fascist. And you have to admit that there’s something pretty fucking arousing about the way Rupert ruthlessly thrusts his right wing policies out of his many organs, both broadsheet and tabloid over nearly fifty years.  Where would England really be without him?    Without him, we would really not know that Freddie Star had eaten someone’s hamster.  Without him, without his ownership of the Sun, which famously “won it.” We might have been in danger of not getting a Major government and instead been forced to live under the utter hell of a sympathetic and moderate Labour regime.  Think of the hell of it.  No Dangerous Dogs act, no back to basics, no black Wednesday.  Without  Rupert the glories of the glory of the Major years would have been just a dream.

Wendy Deng.  That bitch.  I mean I’d like to say that she IS only after him for his money, but it’s so obvious that she finds him nearly as studly and arousing as I do.  The way that she defended him, like some semi-immortal out of Crouching Hooker Hidden Agenda. The way she leapt to his aid to protect him from that potentially lethal attack from a cowardly stand-up comedian armed with a dangerous foamy custard pie.

Don’t you just wish that you moved in those kind of circles.  So that you could maybe flirt with old Rupes occasionally, just up to the point where Wendy starts growling and tearing at your trouser legs.  Can’t you imagine what a beautiful scene it was – the holy Father Rupert, baptising his most recent child in the river Jordan in the presence of Cherie and Tony Blair.  Can things get any purer and more holy and actually hornier than that?  Maybe they all skinny-dipped in the Jordan together. Rupert and his relatively smooth scrotum, Rebekah and her carpet that matches the curtains, Tony of can’t swim in water, he just walks on it.

Actually, they can get sexier than that.  Because Rupert is very fucking sexy but what about James? James is sex on a stick.  He has that kind flawless balloon animal witlessness that David Cameron tries to pull off.  Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if David Cameron did try to pull him off, he is so fucking sexy.  Or was that Rebekah Wades “complimentary” horse. This story has so many “in”s and “out”s, it’s like lovezoo.com, sometimes it’s hard to keep up.  But when the Murdoch’s are around, it’s never hard to keep it hard.

And when James M lies.  OMFG.  Who didn’t get wet between the legs when he started babble on about “not being aware of the quantum?” Even Louise Mensch was getting cressy and, although she doesn’t admit it in the list of work that she’s had done, she in fact does have a full set of balls and a cock (not counting the collection she keeps in the freezer). 

But back to James (or Jimmy Bob, that’s what I’d call him if I was screaming out his name and begging him to fuck me).  Isn’t his attempt at a “George W. Bush” defence so fucking horny.  You can see him crafting it so carefully “I’m just a rich man’s son, randomly bad-tempered and incompetent.  I am way too thick and clueless to have actually masterminded a systematic patter of law breaking for financial gain over decades.”   And who are we to suggest that he’s lying?  And isn’t that kind of warrantless feral sadism so fucking hot?

And this of course is a real worry to the Murdoch’s father and son, because if they do end up jail, and I have to say, it isn’t looking good.  If they do end up jail.  How are they going to keep all the other inmates off, what with them being so fucking gorgeous. I suppose that old Rupes could always go nuclear and threaten to take the page three girls out of the Sun, and he can probably sell videos of him and Wendy “living a full married life” for a few smokes and favours from the screws.  I wonder if the News of the World guys told him they were taking those pictures.  That’s the only language these kind of thugs understand, and Rupert speaks it fluently.  But it’s James I feel for.  He’s not a slugger.  He’s never learned to live out on the street.  His blood gets over-oxygenated whenever he descends from his penthouse offices.  In a low-rise open prison, he could become dangerously inflammable.

For him, it might be a blessing if he’s torn apart by an angry mob before it ever gets to that.

And Rebekah?  Rebekah will be fine.  These kind of women are after all, the kind of low-rent half-wits she’s been herding in whatever direction she and Rupert wanted them to roam for years and years.  Before you know it, she’ll be forcing them to dress as characters from Harry Potter and do her bidding.  If this woman can get an angry mob of “caring” mothers to attack a paediatricians office, and stand on a platform with the parents of murder children, whilst at the same time hacking the phones of the parents of murdered children, she can probably handle a few years of soft time for perversion of the course of justice.  And she probably won’t have to defend herself from the bull dykes.  Sometimes even being the most loathesome human being that has ever existed has an up-side.

In summary.  I just want to say.  Won’t the world really be a worse place if these people go to jail?  If these people are torn apart by angry mobs, won’t we ultimately regret it.  Is tampering with at least one murder investigation, then covering it up and in the process completely corrupting the country’s biggest police force such a crime?  In the big scheme of things? Aren’t people making just a bit too much fuss just because the press officer at number 10 turned out to be the head of a syndicate of organised criminals?  Is that really so bad? Especially when the guys running the show are so fucking hot. I mean that dribbling old fogey performance that Rupes gave to the select committee, you’re not telling me old Tom Watson doesn’t smack off to that at nights. 

When you think of all the good that Rupert has done for this country, when you realise how little James has done with his life. Just because a few little girls and maybe one private detective didn’t get their murders avenged as they should. Is that really so bad?  It is?  OK, right.

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The French - and some other stuff (please if you're American, tell me if you think this is funny)

We don't dislike the French, but not for the reasons you might not like them - because they didn't join in a war.  No, no, no.

No we just hate them because they're all better dressed than us and their women are far more sexy and they have edible food.  Oh and their football, I'm sorry, I should say "soccer" team actual has a chance of not being beaten by the Germans in the world cup.

You American's seem to be getting very worked up about gay marriage - that seems to be a big issue here.  Did one of your presidential candidates compare it to marrying a horse? It's not really a big issue in England - gay marriage I mean. What English people really don't like is anyone enjoying themselves. I mean we're not very good at enjoying ourselves, we tend to just drink to much, get into a fight and then either go to casualty - I'm sorry "The Emergency Room" or go and eat really, really spicy Indian food - that's what we do when we try and enjoy ourselves, and it doesn't work mostly, so we don't like other people doing it, especially if they're any good at it.  

So actually we're pretty cool with gay marriage. We have no problem with that at all. We're like - I'm miserable, I'm married - why should they be cruising around have energetic sex with multiple partners guilt-free.  He wants to marry him? Let him. Let him come home from a day at work and be presented with a detailed list of his faults. Let him listen to a twenty minute tirade about how buying the wrong size mayonnaise from the supermarket just shows that "you just don't listen." On the other hand, another thing English people really don't like is cruelty to animals.  So there probably would be an outcry if anybody tried to marry a horse.

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Space

I've noticed that people here in Kansas leave a lot of space between themselves as the next person - even if they're friends.  I'm from England, England is a crowded country - we can't leave that much space between us and people we really don't like - like the French.

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Gig #12 - Opening for the Showcase in Camden - What a Night

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Buffalo Wild Wings Grill and Bar

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The Roasterie Cafe

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Cheese

I'm sitting in the Roasterie Cafe, somewhere south of Kansas City which turns out to be mostly in Missouri, not Kansas as you might expect. I drove here. Having walked around for about a week, I finally gave in and hired a car. Which isn't an economical thing to do if you take all the insurance, and I'm taking all the insurance. But none of this has got anything to do with cheese.

I've been to Walmart. That's the only supermarket I've been to so far in the US, and I have to say, I wasn't impressed with their selection of cheese. It almost all seems to be some version of the kind of cheese slices that you would get on a cheeseburger. But I'm probably being very unfair on American cheese, which is the direct equivalent of the UK's asda, but it has to be said, again from my very limited sampling, with fewer people covered in tattoos who appear to have come to the supermarket, solely for the purpose of having a full-on domestic argument. Does it still count as a domestic argument if it's happening in the frozen food section of a major supermarket?

Anyway. Cheese. I really like Stilton. Blue cheese in general is fantastic. It's so fantastic, that I'll even eat the bad stuff – even cheapo Danish blue is pretty good. My wife really like crumbly cheese. Wensleydale, Caerphilly, Swaledale Goat's cheese. This is possibly related to her being from Greece where they have a fantastic crumbly cheese – Feta. Feta goes in every Greek salad – and in Greece it goes in in big thick slabs, not in pitiful little pencil-rubber pieces. Big thick slabs covered in yellow-green olive oil and sprinkled with olives and oregano. Like most Greek food, it doesn't really work with the kind of ingredients you get from your average Asda or Walmart. It needs Greek ingredients. Good Greek olives, good Greek tomatoes, good Greek olive oil and maybe that most ineffable of all Greek ingredients – Greece.

Try a Greek salad somewhere like Naxos, where all of the produce in the salad were probably grown with about ten miles of where you're sitting eating it and then you'll realise what all the fuss is about.

The Greeks don't just put cheese in salad. They put it in pies – that's what they eat for breakfast, a cheese-filled flaky pastry. And they deep-fry it with eggs to make something called saganaki. This is the waffer-thin mint at the end of a day of eating on Greek Easter Sunday (coming along the week after English Easter Sunday this year). After a day of eating roast lamb, and Greek salad, and cheese-pie (this time layers of filo filled with egg and cheese) at the very end, maybe two or three hours into Easter Monday, you put a pan on the embers of the barbecue and fry feta and marge and eggs (they don't seem to use butter and it always tastes great so I'm not arguing). And you scour the table to find some bread to eat it with. And you are fucking full. I'm not missing Greece at all am I? Or maybe I'm just missing my favourite Greek.

The Cypriots and the Arab countries have a pretty good cheese – Haloumi. Squeaky cheese, it kind of squeaks when you cut into it, but it's so robust you can barbecue it.

The best cheese is probably French, because famously there are more kinds of French cheese than there are atoms in the universe. So one of them must be the best. But I haven't actually come across a better all-rounder than Cheddar – not the pre-packaged mild stuff, although I actually think some of the pre-packaged extra-strong stuff is OK. But for various reasons I bought a half of a big round of the real extra-mature stuff and it was fucking awesome. Any way you wanted it. On toast. I think the Americans call cheese-on-toast (cheese on taoist, I nearly typed, that's quite a different thing). Where was I? The Americans call cheese on toast “grilled cheese sandwich.” Even though it isn't a sandwich and they call grilling “broiling.” Anyway – decent Cheddar, good on toast. Good in an ordinary non-toasted sandwich (fucking awesome in a sandwich with pickled onions). But the best thing to do with Cheddar of this level of awesomeness is to make it into a cheese sauce. A cheese sauce – that you could make macaroni cheese with (the Americans call that a “Mac Cheese”, but then again, they buy it ready-mixed in packets). A cheese sauce you could make cauliflower cheese with.

Back to blue cheese – you know, I think it'll do as a substitute for chocolate. When I'm pining for chocolate, if I eat blue cheese, especially a really good, honking, Stilton, then the craving for chocolate goes away. This isn't any kind of health tip, seeing as I'm sure that the Stilton has more fat in it than the chocolate. It's just a tip if you haven't got any chocolate.

I think I like most stinky cheese. We bought one in Vienna I think it was a Tyroller cheese, and it stank the whole flat out.

The Italians have some crazy cheese. Parmesan, which smells baaaad but is apparently one of the few things in the western diet that has a “fifth taste” that the Japanese call “umami.” I don't know where I got that particular nugget of information from. Then they have Mozarella – and like blue cheese, this is so goddamn awesome that even the cheap stuff that comes in huge blocks is good and the chichi stuff that comes floating in its own amniotic fluid is just even better.

I haven't been to Italy that often (and last time I was there I was still dealing with a meal I'd eaten in Paris) but my guess is that, just like Greece, there are parts of Italy where you could order a salad that consisted of nothing more than some Mozarella, maybe a bit of tomato and a drizzle of olive oil and it would be the most amazing meal you've ever eaten.

The Americans, I know because I've seen this in a film called “French Kiss” the Americans have this idea that cheese that doesn't come vacuum-packed in plastic, and doesn't taste like a slightly cheesy version of the plastic that it comes vacuum-packed in. The Americans right – God, I'm sounding like a drunk in a bar trying to start a fight. Deep breath. Some Americans, think that all non-pasteurised, natural, fully-matured cheese is nothing but a health-hazard. But the truth is that stinky cheese like this is designed to be eaten with a specially designed anti-biotic one-a-day drink called RED WINE. Eat the stinking cheese and chase it with red wine. If you're in Austria, it might be white wine. Who gives a fuck?

I dunno, I'm thinking now that maybe I'm very unfair to Americans. Maybe there are some really good live stinky cheeses in America. If anybody knows of any, and how I can easily get hold of them without having to drive far outside Kansas City, please let me know about them. Another thing that the Greeks do with cheese is they deep fry it, and, I have to admit, that I actually like deep-fried Camembert. Even though apparently the French have never heard of this and it's a totally English invention. But the Greek version of deep-fried cheese, I've had a bunch of different versions, but they're all awesome. I remember I had some in Pilio, the very first time I was in Greece it was gorgeous.

The Italians have a cheese that has maggots in it that you can see (as opposed to all “live” cheese, which apparently has microscopic mites in it, that you can only see with – well, a microscope). And even for me, that seems like a step too far. But it might be one of those things that you could do for a dare, you know, one of those foods that people claim “makes you strong.”

I tell you what I don't like when it comes to cheese – cheese that has other crap in it. Especially fruit. There was a craze for this for a while. Especially white Stilton (what exactly is the point of white Stilton?) Stilton without the blueness. Something tells me the kind of people who buy white Stilton are the kind of people who regret the passing of Mellow Birds Instant Coffee. White Stilton with dried apricots. White Stilton with cranberries. White Stilton laces with a trifle and a mars bar. Fuck off. This is cheese. If you want a dessert, go get a fucking dessert. Leave the cheese alone do not sully it with fucking cranberries. I fucking hate cranberries. Savoury is savoury and sweet is sweet and ne're the twain – well I suppose you can make an exception for cream cheese. I mean you can put (I think the verb actually is schmear) that on a bagel that is sweet, or has sweet stuff in it. Again, there's a whole spectrum, from mass-produced Philadelphia to Chevres. Again, you can get some really stinky kick-ass goats cheese, the kind that has a rind.

But in the end. Cheddar. A decent bit of Cheddar. And some pickled onions. I wish I had some right now.

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Fashion

Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.

Henry David Thoreau - Walden
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New Clothes

I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how can the new clothes be made to fit? If you have any enterprise before you, try it in your old clothes. All men want, not something to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be. Henry David Thoreau - Walden
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Good Behaviour

The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well? Henry David Thoreau - Walden
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A charcteristic of wisdom

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things. Henry David Thoreau - Walden
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Ignorance

How can he remember well his ignorance- which his growth requires- who has so often to use his knowledge?

Henry David Thoreau - Walden
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