A Quote by Robert Graves
What we now call 'finance' is, I hold, an intellectual perversion of what began as warm human love.
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What we now call "finance" is, I hold, an intellectual perversion of what began as warm human love.
People call me a Modi bhakt now. I used to be a Marx bhakt. I was part of what I now call the intellectual mafia. I used to believe in it, and worked for it. My eyes opened up when I began to travel, and meet different kinds of people.
What we call National-Socialism is the poisonous perversion of ideas which have a long history in German intellectual life.
If you call 'religious' a man who believes in what I call a Supermeaning, a meaning so comprehensive that you can no longer grasp it, get hold of it in rational intellectual terminology, then one should feel free to call me religious, really.
All the average human being asks is something he can call a home; a family that is fed and warm; and now and then a little happiness; once in a long while an extravagance.
Human intellectual progress, such as it has been, results from our long struggle to see things 'as they are,' or in the most universally comprehensible way, and not as projections of our own emotions. Thunder is not a tantrum in the sky, disease is not a divine punishment, and not every death or accident results from witchcraft. What we call the Enlightenment and hold on to only tenuously, by our fingernails, is the slow-dawning understanding that the world is unfolding according to its own inner algorithms of cause and effect, probability and chance, without any regard for human feelings.
The whispers in the morning of lovers sleeping tight are rolling like thunder now as I look in your eyes. I hold on to your body and feel each move you make, your voice is warm and tender, a love that I could not forsake.
The way you give love is the most profoundly human part of you. When people say it's ugly or a perversion or an abomination, they're attacking the center of your being.
And now 'tis man who dares assault the sky ... And as we come to claim our promised place, Aim only to replay the good you gave, And warm with human love the chill of space.
In the finance world, we used to spend all of our time looking backwards, reporting on what happened. Can I book it? What are the numbers? Now it's about looking into the future. It's about planning and integration. The role of finance is now that of a partner in the business.
And so out of the blue the call did come and said, you know, "Would you be - would you consider turning this [The Starter Wife] now into a series?" And so obviously that was a shock. And all the conversations began. And, you know, and now we're here. Now we're finishing up our last episode right now.
The greatest crisis of our lives is neither economic, intellectual, nor even what we usually call religious. It is a crisis of imagination. We get stuck on our paths because we are unable to reimagine our lives differently from what they are right now. We hold on desperately to the status quo, afraid that if we let go, we will be swept away by the torrential undercurrents of our emptiness.
Intellectual sodomy, which comes from the refusal to be simple about plain matters, is as gross and abundant today as sexual perversion and they are nowise different from one another.
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
I cannot project the degree of hatred required to make those women run around in crusades against abortion. Hatred is what they certainly project, not love for the embryos, which is a piece of nonsense no one could experience, but hatred, a virulent hatred for an unnamed object...Their hatred is directed against human beings as such, against the mind, against reason, against ambition, against success, against love, against any value that brings happiness to human life. In compliance with the dishonesty that dominates today's intellectual field, they call themselves "pro-life".
[P]ride has no intrinsic substance, being no more than the name given to the soul devouring itself. When that loathsome perversion of love has borne its fruit, it has another, more meaningful and weightier name. We call it hatred.
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