Why does advertising work? Ads are persuasive. They capture the imagination, even subconsciously. An idea out there is suddenly an idea in here. We were fine, minding our own business, then suddenly we see something and now we must have it. Why? Our thoughts are not all our own. In
Men-from every rank, Fresh and free and frank; Men of thought and reading, Men of light and leading, Men of loyal breeding, The nation's welfare speeding; Men of faith and not of fiction, Men of lofty aim in action; Give us Men-I say again, Give us
It is not mere envy; it is an envy that has learned to preach. It inflicts a wound that will not heal, a rawness that cannot endure exposure. So it burrows downward, past desire, past shame, until it strikes the harder bone: Revaluation. What cannot be attained must be condemned.
By Ralph Waldo Emerson By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge
“Paul Revere’s Ride” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History www.gilderlehrman.org Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous
In the shadow of steeples, rebranded and bright, Where crosses are cushions and sermons polite, A new god emerges, all hugs and no bite, He loves every sinner, and treasures their spite. Jesus the ally, with rainbow-hued grace, Marches for Hamas, in the riot’s embrace, Cheers on the
Someday my time is gonna come That day shall be my last When e’r the silver cord is loosed And final lot is cast But breath is in my lungs today The sky is bright and wide The morning breaks with gentle light And mercy at my side Someday
Observing the many bizarre protests in Marienplatz Munich today... The secular faith imitates religion and stops there. Faux beliefs. Pretend concerns. Causes without roots. Ritual without truth. Concern without care. Protest is confession: “I stand for something. I am a good person.” Professing selflessness is public penance for private selfishness.
So many things ask for the mind: Vanity, pleasure, fear, envy, loneliness, hate, worry. The world beckons. News taunts. Spinning words, flickering narratives. Capturing eyes and wallets A wasteland of lost attention. Set your thoughts aloft. Like blossoms opening in the quietness of morning. Or like a brook speaking softly
What is the core of our being, the axis on which the self turns? Where do convictions take root? Where does understanding dwell before it is named by thought? Not in the province of reason, which drafts its careful arguments. Not in the scaffolds of logic, which assemble ironclad frameworks
This is the desert. There is nothing here. Nothing. The road dissolves into horizon. No billboards. No wires. No structure but wind. Sand folds upon itself Repeating waves Rippling like silence learning to breathe. Here, beauty is found in the absence of beauty. No spectacle. No ornament. Only contour and
Named for Walter Flanders, formerly a production manager for Ford, these cars were built from 1910-1912. To illustrate how crazy the automobile business was in the early days, in 1908, Flanders was the F in the E-M-F cars which were distributed by the wagon-building Studebaker Brothers.