Perspicacity

Credit: Thinking Witch by UntoldMage

First Sight and Second Thoughts, that’s what a witch had to rely on: First Sight to see what’s really
there, and Second Thoughts to watch the First Thoughts to check that they were thinking right. Then
there were the Third Thoughts, which Tiffany had never heard discussed and therefore kept quiet about;
they were odd, seemed to think for themselves, and didn’t turn up very often....

That’s interesting, said her Third Thoughts that busied themselves with the world in their own way. You
can’t see what’s hidden inside an invisible fist. How does that work? And why are those little purplegray blurs in the air where you’d expect to find eyes? Why aren’t they invisible?

That’s Third Thoughts for you. When a huge rock is going to land on your head, they’re the thoughts
that think: Is that an igneous rock, such as granite, or is it sandstone?

That part of Tiffany’s brain that was a little less precise at the moment watched the silver horse dangle
on its chain.

Her First Thought was: Take it.
Her Second Thought was: Don’t take it. It’s a trap.
Her Third Thought was: Really don’t take it. It will be colder than you can imagine.

~ Terry Pratchett

Perspicacity

Credit: Thinking Witch by UntoldMage

First Sight and Second Thoughts, that’s what a witch had to rely on: First Sight to see what’s really
there, and Second Thoughts to watch the First Thoughts to check that they were thinking right. Then
there were the Third Thoughts, which Tiffany had never heard discussed and therefore kept quiet about;
they were odd, seemed to think for themselves, and didn’t turn up very often....

That’s interesting, said her Third Thoughts that busied themselves with the world in their own way. You
can’t see what’s hidden inside an invisible fist. How does that work? And why are those little purplegray blurs in the air where you’d expect to find eyes? Why aren’t they invisible?

That’s Third Thoughts for you. When a huge rock is going to land on your head, they’re the thoughts
that think: Is that an igneous rock, such as granite, or is it sandstone?

That part of Tiffany’s brain that was a little less precise at the moment watched the silver horse dangle
on its chain.

Her First Thought was: Take it.
Her Second Thought was: Don’t take it. It’s a trap.
Her Third Thought was: Really don’t take it. It will be colder than you can imagine.

~ Terry Pratchett

Quote on thoughts

Photo credit: mpaigekelly from morguefile.com

If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it.
A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.

~ Roald Dahl

Quote on thoughts

Photo credit: mpaigekelly from morguefile.com

If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it.
A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.

~ Roald Dahl

And Then There Is That Incredible Moment,

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

when you realize what you're reading,
what's being revealed to you, how it is not
what you expected, what you thought
you were reading, where you thought you were heading.
Then there is that incredible knowing
that surges up in you, speeding
your heart; and you swear you will keep on reading,
keep on writing until you find another not going
where you thought—and until you have taken
someone on that ride, so that they take in
their breath, so that they let out their
sigh, so that they will swear
they will not rest until they too
have taken someone the way they were taken by you.

                                  for Agha Shahid Ali

~ Kate Light

And Then There Is That Incredible Moment,

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

when you realize what you're reading,
what's being revealed to you, how it is not
what you expected, what you thought
you were reading, where you thought you were heading.
Then there is that incredible knowing
that surges up in you, speeding
your heart; and you swear you will keep on reading,
keep on writing until you find another not going
where you thought—and until you have taken
someone on that ride, so that they take in
their breath, so that they let out their
sigh, so that they will swear
they will not rest until they too
have taken someone the way they were taken by you.

                                  for Agha Shahid Ali

~ Kate Light

Just Walking Around

Photo credit: auttiedot from morguefile.com

What name do I have for you?

Certainly there is not name for you

In the sense that the stars have names

That somehow fit them. Just walking around,

An object of curiosity to some,

But you are too preoccupied

By the secret smudge in the back of your soul

To say much and wander around,

Smiling to yourself and others.

It gets to be kind of lonely

But at the same time off-putting.

Counterproductive, as you realize once again

That the longest way is the most efficient way,

The one that looped among islands, and

You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.

And now that the end is near

The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.

There is light in there and mystery and food.

Come see it.

Come not for me but it.

But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.

~ John Ashbery

Just Walking Around

Photo credit: auttiedot from morguefile.com

What name do I have for you?

Certainly there is not name for you

In the sense that the stars have names

That somehow fit them. Just walking around,

An object of curiosity to some,

But you are too preoccupied

By the secret smudge in the back of your soul

To say much and wander around,

Smiling to yourself and others.

It gets to be kind of lonely

But at the same time off-putting.

Counterproductive, as you realize once again

That the longest way is the most efficient way,

The one that looped among islands, and

You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.

And now that the end is near

The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.

There is light in there and mystery and food.

Come see it.

Come not for me but it.

But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.

~ John Ashbery

My Philosophy of Life

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

Just when I thought there wasn't room enough

for another thought in my head, I had this great idea--

call it a philosophy of life, if you will. Briefly,

it involved living the way philosophers live,

according to a set of principles. OK, but which ones?

That was the hardest part, I admit, but I had a

kind of dark foreknowledge of what it would be like.

Everything, from eating watermelon or going to the bathroom

or just standing on a subway platform, lost in thought

for a few minutes, or worrying about rain forests,

would be affected, or more precisely, inflected

by my new attitude. I wouldn't be preachy,

or worry about children and old people, except

in the general way prescribed by our clockwork universe.

Instead I'd sort of let things be what they are

while injecting them with the serum of the new moral climate

I thought I'd stumbled into, as a stranger

accidentally presses against a panel and a bookcase slides back,

revealing a winding staircase with greenish light

somewhere down below, and he automatically steps inside

and the bookcase slides shut, as is customary on such occasions.

At once a fragrance overwhelms him--not saffron, not lavender,

but something in between. He thinks of cushions, like the one

his uncle's Boston bull terrier used to lie on watching him

quizzically, pointed ear-tips folded over. And then the great rush

is on. Not a single idea emerges from it. It's enough

to disgust you with thought. But then you remember something William James

wrote in some book of his you never read--it was fine, it had the fineness,

the powder of life dusted over it, by chance, of course, yet still looking

for evidence of fingerprints. Someone had handled it

even before he formulated it, though the thought was his and his alone.

It's fine, in summer, to visit the seashore.

There are lots of little trips to be made.

A grove of fledgling aspens welcomes the traveler. Nearby

are the public toilets where weary pilgrims have carved

their names and addresses, and perhaps messages as well,

messages to the world, as they sat

and thought about what they'd do after using the toilet

and washing their hands at the sink, prior to stepping out

into the open again. Had they been coaxed in by principles,

and were their words philosophy, of however crude a sort?

I confess I can move no farther along this train of thought--

something's blocking it. Something I'm

not big enough to see over. Or maybe I'm frankly scared.

What was the matter with how I acted before?

But maybe I can come up with a compromise--I'll let

things be what they are, sort of. In the autumn I'll put up jellies

and preserves, against the winter cold and futility,

and that will be a human thing, and intelligent as well.

I won't be embarrassed by my friends' dumb remarks,

or even my own, though admittedly that's the hardest part,

as when you are in a crowded theater and something you say

riles the spectator in front of you, who doesn't even like the idea

of two people near him talking together. Well he's

got to be flushed out so the hunters can have a crack at him--

this thing works both ways, you know. You can't always

be worrying about others and keeping track of yourself

at the same time. That would be abusive, and about as much fun

as attending the wedding of two people you don't know.

Still, there's a lot of fun to be had in the gaps between ideas.

That's what they're made for! Now I want you to go out there

and enjoy yourself, and yes, enjoy your philosophy of life, too.

They don't come along every day. Look out! There's a big one...

-- John Ashbery

My Philosophy of Life

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

Just when I thought there wasn't room enough

for another thought in my head, I had this great idea--

call it a philosophy of life, if you will. Briefly,

it involved living the way philosophers live,

according to a set of principles. OK, but which ones?

That was the hardest part, I admit, but I had a

kind of dark foreknowledge of what it would be like.

Everything, from eating watermelon or going to the bathroom

or just standing on a subway platform, lost in thought

for a few minutes, or worrying about rain forests,

would be affected, or more precisely, inflected

by my new attitude. I wouldn't be preachy,

or worry about children and old people, except

in the general way prescribed by our clockwork universe.

Instead I'd sort of let things be what they are

while injecting them with the serum of the new moral climate

I thought I'd stumbled into, as a stranger

accidentally presses against a panel and a bookcase slides back,

revealing a winding staircase with greenish light

somewhere down below, and he automatically steps inside

and the bookcase slides shut, as is customary on such occasions.

At once a fragrance overwhelms him--not saffron, not lavender,

but something in between. He thinks of cushions, like the one

his uncle's Boston bull terrier used to lie on watching him

quizzically, pointed ear-tips folded over. And then the great rush

is on. Not a single idea emerges from it. It's enough

to disgust you with thought. But then you remember something William James

wrote in some book of his you never read--it was fine, it had the fineness,

the powder of life dusted over it, by chance, of course, yet still looking

for evidence of fingerprints. Someone had handled it

even before he formulated it, though the thought was his and his alone.

It's fine, in summer, to visit the seashore.

There are lots of little trips to be made.

A grove of fledgling aspens welcomes the traveler. Nearby

are the public toilets where weary pilgrims have carved

their names and addresses, and perhaps messages as well,

messages to the world, as they sat

and thought about what they'd do after using the toilet

and washing their hands at the sink, prior to stepping out

into the open again. Had they been coaxed in by principles,

and were their words philosophy, of however crude a sort?

I confess I can move no farther along this train of thought--

something's blocking it. Something I'm

not big enough to see over. Or maybe I'm frankly scared.

What was the matter with how I acted before?

But maybe I can come up with a compromise--I'll let

things be what they are, sort of. In the autumn I'll put up jellies

and preserves, against the winter cold and futility,

and that will be a human thing, and intelligent as well.

I won't be embarrassed by my friends' dumb remarks,

or even my own, though admittedly that's the hardest part,

as when you are in a crowded theater and something you say

riles the spectator in front of you, who doesn't even like the idea

of two people near him talking together. Well he's

got to be flushed out so the hunters can have a crack at him--

this thing works both ways, you know. You can't always

be worrying about others and keeping track of yourself

at the same time. That would be abusive, and about as much fun

as attending the wedding of two people you don't know.

Still, there's a lot of fun to be had in the gaps between ideas.

That's what they're made for! Now I want you to go out there

and enjoy yourself, and yes, enjoy your philosophy of life, too.

They don't come along every day. Look out! There's a big one...

-- John Ashbery