Thomas Henry Huxley

That my personality is the surest thing I know may be true. But the attempt to conceive what it is leads me into mere verbal subtleties. I have champed up all that chaff about the ego and the non-ego, noumena and phenomena, and all the rest of it, too often not to know that in attempting even to think of these questions, the human intellect flounders at once out of its depth...

Monday, June 09, 2008

Anthem

I used to believe that there was a reason for every thing. I still do.

The birds they sang
at the break of day.
Start again,
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.

The wars they will
be fought again.
The holy dove,
she will be caught again;
bought and sold
and bought again:
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.


We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed,
the marriage spent,
the widowhood
of every government--
signs for all to see.

I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned,
they've summoned up a thundercloud--
they're going to hear from me

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.


You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum.
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum.
Every heart,
every heart to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.

~Leonard Cohen

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