My Virtual Reading Room

A free press can, of course, be good or bad, but, most certainly without freedom, the press will never be anything but bad.
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A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world.
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All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning. Great works are often born on a street corner or in a restaurant's revolving door.
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An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself.
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At 30 a man should know himself like the palm of his hand, know the exact number of his defects and qualities, know how far he can go, foretell his failures - be what he is. And, above all, accept these things.
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How hard, how bitter it is to become a man!
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I shall tell you a great secret, my friend. Do not wait for the last judgment, it takes place every day.
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I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn't, than live my life as if there isn't and die to find out there is.
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In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.
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Some people talk in their sleep. Lecturers talk while other people sleep.
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The need to be right is the sign of a vulgar mind.

(Albert Camus)

Source: www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/albert_camus.html

Музыкальные приколы от Техномада. Получить код флешки для вставки к себе в журнал можно тут

A Seaside Incident

"Why, Bob, you dear old fellow,
Where have you been these years?
In Egypt, India, Khiva,
With the Khan's own volunteers?
Have you scaled the Alps or Andes,
Sailed to Isles of Amazon?
What climate, Bob, has wrought the change
Your face from brown to bronze?"

She placed a dimpled hand in mine,
In the same frank, friendly way;
We stood once more on the dear old beach,
And it seemed but yesterday
Since, standing on this same white shore,
She said, with eyelids wet,
"Good-by. You may remember, Bob,
But I shall not forget."

I held her hand and whispered low,
"Madge, darling, what of the years--
The ten long years that have intervened
Since, through the mist of tears,
We looked good-by on this same white beach
Here by the murmuring sea?
You, Madge, were then just twenty,
And I was twenty-three."

A crimson blush came to her cheek,
"Hush, Bob," she quickly said;
"Let's look at the bathers in the surf--
There's Nellie and Cousin Ned."
"And who's that portly gentleman
On the shady side of life?"
"Oh, he belongs in our party, too--
In fact, Bob, I'm his wife!

"And I tell you, Bob, it's an awful thing,
The way he does behave;
Flirts with that girl in the steel-gray silk--
Bob, why do you look so grave?"
"The fact is, Madge--I--well, ahem!
Oh, nothing at all, my dear--
Except that she of the steel-gray silk
Is the one I married last year."

(From "The Humbler Poets"; originally published in The New York Clipper)