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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“The Luddites were also excellent trolls. They were, like the movement that was massacred at Peterloo a few years later, a prototypical class insurrection: but they carried it off with tremendous elan. The very name ‘Luddite’ deliberately evoked a fictitious leader, Ned Ludd, a product of legend and fantasy, fear of whom had British authorities and spies searching high and low for sign of him. His supporters decided that Mr Ludd lived in Sherwood Forest, home of the equally legendary Robin Hood, and signed their letters, ‘Ned Ludd’s Office, Sherwood Forest’. They cross-dressed and marched as ‘General Ludd’s wives’.”

“The Ludicrous Pragmatic by Stewart Stafford Love is anaesthesia, Of the human condition, Honeyed, layman's nostrum, healing body and mind. An auction won unbidden, Self-created, human-sustained, Unlike energy, destructible, morphing into vicious hatred. Convalescing in a void, baby steps towards others, a sentient river to the sea, Until love's exhumed again. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The luge is the only Olympic event where you could have people competing in it against their will, and it would look exactly the same. Take people off the street, 'Hey, hey, hey, what is this?! I don't wanna be in the luge!' Once you put that helmet on them, 'You're in the luge, buddy!' 'aaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAA... aaaAAAAA...' World record. Didn't even wanna do it. I'd like to see that next Olympics, the Involuntary Luge.”

“The Luidaeg sighed and put her arms around me, pulling me close. "Come here," she said. "I need to hold someone, and you need to be held. It's a fair trade. Just for a little while, and then we can go on being what we are." I thought about objecting, but dismissed the idea and nestled against her, enjoying the feeling of security given by knowing someone bigger and stronger than I was would stop anything from hurting me. That's all childhood is, after all: strong arms to hold back the dark, a story to keep the shadows dancing, and a candle to mark the long journey into day. A song to keep the flights of angels at bay. How many miles to Babylon? Sorry. I don't care.”

“The lumbermen...regarded forest devastation as normal and second growth as a delusion of fools....And as for sustained yield, no such idea had ever entered their heads. The few friends the forest had were spoken of, when they were spoken of at all, as impractical theorists, fanatics, or "denudatics," more or less touched in the head. What talk there was about forest protection was no more to the average American that the buzzing of a mosquito, and just about as irritating.”

“The lunar flights give you a correct perception of our existence. You look back at Earth from the moon, and you can put your thumb up to the window and hide the Earth behind your thumb. Everything youve ever known is behind your thumb, and that blue-and-white ball is orbiting a rather normal star, tucked away on the outer edge of a galaxy.”

“The lunar light which lures us back toward regressive fusion with mother and the safety of the uroboric container is also the light which teaches us how to relate, to care for ourselves and others, to belong, to feel compassion. (...) The solar light which leads us into anxiety, danger and loneliness is also the light which instructs us in our hidden divinity and—as Pico della Mirandola put it in the 15th century—our right to be proud co-creators of God's universe.”

“The lunatic populism that preceded the Pearl Harbor bombing is astonishing in its permutations, its crisscrossings. Guys like [Catholic priest and controversial radio broadcaster] Father Coughlin and [racist and anti-Semitic agitator and founder of the Christian Nationalist Crusade] Gerald L.K. Smith started out as share-the-wealth socialists.”

“The lure in art collecting and its financial rewards, not counting for a moment its aesthetic, cultural and intellectual rewards, is like the trust in paper money: it makes no sense when you really think about it. New artistic images are so vulnerable to opinion that it wouldn't take much more than a whim for a small group of collectors to decide that a contemporary artist was not so wonderful anymore, was so last year.”

“The lurking tragedy: The chances are that an accident will some day happen to you at a friend's dinner table ... As long as water and coffee and jelly exist, a certain percentage of each will necessarily be overturned upon a like number of snowy white tablecloths. Usually the tragedy is really no one's fault.”