Giulia

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James Joyce
“And you’ll miss me more as the narrowing weeks wing by. Someday duly, oneday truly, twosday newly, till whensday.”
James Joyce, Finnegans Wake

Ray Palla
“An elementary school student asked me the NOT “politically correct” question, “Is an idiot smarter than a moron?” I had to Google it because I was afraid to respond in today’s PC society and didn’t want to offend him, his parents, or anyone else. Here’s what I found.

Technically, a moron is smarter than an idiot. An imbecile is also smarter than an idiot.

Although today the words are considered insulting and derogatory, prior to the 1960s they were widely used as actual psychology terms associated with intelligence on an IQ test.

An IQ between:
00-25 = Idiot
26-50 = Imbecile
51-70 = Moron

Explaining all of this to a nine year old with an IQ of 130 made me feel like society has turned all adults into one of the above, myself included.

When I told him that I’m afraid to openly say it, the nine year old said, “Adults are idiots!”
Ray Palla, H: Infidels of Oil

Edward Snowden
“Ultimately, arguing that you don't care about the right to privacy because you have nothing to hide is no different than saying you don't care about free speech because you have nothing to say.”
Edward Snowden

Hilaire Belloc
“Mr. Orage, one of the most active and intelligent reformers for the last generation in England, attempted this very thing. He, in his little intellectual review which was supported by so brilliant a group of writers for so many years, published week after week the ingredients of the English patent medicines and the cost of those ingredients. Not a single one of the newspapers followed suit, or dared publish so much as the fact that Orage was thus acting courageously in his own limited sphere for the public good.”
Hilaire Belloc

Will Advise
“A love poem about the most invisible woman:

The perfect mind, the perfect cover.
I knew her, like… there was no other.
No, I will never, her, forget.
In pure blood - these words are set.
She walks alone now, in my dreams,
where no is never, so it seems.
The night is dark, and near the hour –
to plant a tree, where roses flower.
And then, again, again, once more,
Till hidden is what I adore.
Her heart was pure, and also kind,
And I… should not have acted blind.”
Will Advise, Nothing is here...

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