Gold is no master out of its own will and yet it rules the whole, despised and greedily demanded, an inexorable ruler. It lies and waits. He who sees it longs for it. Gold does not follow one around. It lies silently, with a brightly gleaming countenance, self-sufficient, a king that needs no proof of its power. Everyone seeks after it, few find it, but even the smallest piece is highly esteemed. It neither gives nor squanders itself. Everyone takes it where he finds it, and anxiously ensures that he doesn't lose the smallest part of it. Everyone denies that he depends on it, and yet he secretly stretches out his hand longingly toward it. Must gold prove its necessity? It is proven through the longing of men. Ask it: who takes me? He who takes it, has it. Gold does not stir. It sleeps and shines. Its brilliance confuses the senses. Without a word, it promises everything that men deem desirable. It ruins those to be ruined and helps those on the rise to ascend.
(Altın, kendi iradesiyle efendi değildir; yine de her şeye hükmeder; hor görülür ve açgözlülükle talep edilir; merhametsiz bir hükümdardır. Orada yatıp bekler. Onu gören kişi ona özlem duyar. Altın insanın peşinden koşmaz. Sessizce, parlak bir yüzle, kendine yeten, gücünün kanıtlanmasına gerek duymayan bir kral gibi yatmaktadır. Herkes onu arar, çok azı bulur, ama en küçük parçası bile son derece değerlidir. Ne verir ne de israf eder. Herkes onu bulduğu yerde alır ve en ufak bir parçasını bile kaybetmemek için endişeyle özen gösterir. Herkes ona bağımlı olduğunu inkar eder, ama yine de gizlice elini özlemle ona doğru uzatır. Altının gerekliliğini kanıtlaması mı gerekir? Bu, insanların özlemiyle kanıtlanmıştır. Ona sorun: “Beni kim alır?” Onu alan, ona sahip olur. Altın kıpırdamaz. Uykuya dalar ve parlar. Işığı
Everyone loves something for nothing... Even if it costs everything
Reklam
"Indefinite attitudes to the future explain what’s most dysfunctional in our world today. Process trumps substance: when people lack concrete plans to carry out, they use formal rules to assemble a portfolio of various options. This describes Americans today. In middle school, we’re encouraged to start hoarding “extracurricular activities.” In high school, ambitious students compete even harder to appear omnicompetent. By the time a student
gets to college, he’s spent a decade curating a bewilderingly diverse résumé to prepare for
a completely unknowable future. Come what may, he’s ready—for nothing in particular.
A definite view, by contrast, favors firm convictions. Instead of pursuing many-sided mediocrity and calling it “well-roundedness,” a definite person determines the one best
thing to do and then does it. Instead of working tirelessly to make herself indistinguishable, she strives to be great at something substantive—to be a monopoly of one. This is not what young people do today, because everyone around them has long since lost faith in a definite world. No one gets into Stanford by excelling at just one thing, unless that thing happens to involve throwing or catching a leather ball."
But hold up for a minute: who is this “we” that’s always turning up in
critical writing? We is an escape hatch. We is cheap. We is a way of simultaneously sloughing off personal responsibility and taking on the mantle of easy authority. It’s the voice of the middlebrow male critic, the one who truly believes he knows how everyone else should think. We is corrupt. We is make-believe. The real question is this: can I love the art but hate the artist? Can you?
When I say “we,” I mean I. I mean you.
No one ever fucking listens to me. It’s like I’m mute to everyone, and I’m screaming at a brick wall.
Veela CharmHarry Potter
“He — er — just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron’s arm sympathetically.
“You what?” said Harry.
“I don’t know what made me do it!” Ron gasped again. “What was I playing at? There were people — all around — I’ve gone mad — everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall — she was standing there talking to Diggory — and it sort of came over me — and I asked her!”
Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.
“She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn’t even answer. And then — I dunno — I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it.”
“She’s part veela,” said Harry. “You were right — her grandmother was one. It wasn’t your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it — but she was wasting her time. He’s going with Cho Chang.”
Reklam
Reklam