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Subversive Acts of Humanity : A Survival Guide for Choosing Evolution over Self-Destruction

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Ken Breniman

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“Royal summoned mourners. They came from the village, from the neighboring hills and, wailing like dogs at midnight, laid siege to the house. Old women beat their heads against the walls, moaning men prostrated themselves: it was the art of sorrow, and those who best mimicked grief were much admired. After the funeral everyone went away, satisfied that they'd done a good job.”

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Book:House of Flowers
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“And afterward, I stopped at Red Cloud's grave to pay my respects to the old chief. Some Oglalas had left him tobacco ties, little sacred bundles in all the colors of the four directions. I asked him to take care of my woman out there, where she was new and maybe lost. I asked him to take her into his lodge and protect her until I could come for her. That's all I remember.”

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Book:Six Kinds of Sky: A Collection of Short Fiction
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“In this my affliction the pleasant discourse of a certain friend of mine and his admirable consolations afforded me such refreshment that I firmly believe of these it came that I died not. But, as it pleased Him who, being Himself infinite, hath for immutable law appointed unto all things mundane that they shall have an end, my love,—beyond every other fervent and which nor stress of reasoning nor counsel, no, nor yet manifest shame nor peril that might ensue thereof, had availed either to break or to bend,—of its own motion, in process of time, on such wise abated that of itself at this present it hath left me only that pleasance which it is used to afford unto whoso adventureth himself not too far in the navigation of its profounder oceans; by reason whereof, all chagrin being done away, I feel it grown delightsome, whereas it used to be grievous.”

GriefAdventureDiscourseAfflictionConsolationPlagueEndMundaneEndingsPleasance
Book:THE DECAMERON:
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“And, carrying this thought just a little further, in some ways, Carol was me and I no less was her. And I still am her, in some sense. Sometimes I describe how I feel these days by saying, "Well, now I'm Doug-&-Carol." Carol's hopes and dreams now reside in my brain; they grew there over the years, just as they grew inside her brain. They still flourish in mine, and in a small, diluted way, far less than before, some of Carol's soul, some of Carol's consciousness just a tiny fraction, to be sure, but still, not nothing at all - survives inside me, because of all the merging and blurring over years of intimacy. And I'm not the only one in whom Carol's way of looking at the world, her way of being, lives on to different degrees, she lives on inside those people who knew her intimately and loved her deeply: her family and her close friends.”

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Author:Douglas Hofstadter
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