posted November 27, 2007 08:27 AM              

Amos Bronson Alcott

"Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away."

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

posted November 27, 2007 08:35 AM              

"In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins--not through strength but by perseverance." H. Jackson Brown

"If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees." Hal Borland

posted November 28, 2007 01:21 PM            

~Me, in a letter to a friend, describing 26T. ^

posted November 28, 2007 01:41 PM              

It was time. What do you think?

(btw. i'm having trouble seeing my posts again. all new posts i've (and others) have made today (after mine) arent showing up on my screen. this happens like, every other day. they will show up later. )

posted November 28, 2007 02:33 PM            

Hesperus
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For other uses, see Hesperus (disambiguation).

In Greek mythology, Hesperos (Greek Ἓσπερος (The Evening Star), sometimes Latinized as Hesperus) and (H)eosphoros (Morning Star) Latinized as Eosphorus (see Lucifer) are sons of the dawn goddess Eos (Roman Aurora). Hesperus' father was Cephalus, a mortal, while Eosphoros' was the star god Astraios. Hesperos Roman equivalent was Vesper. (cf. "west", direction of sunset/dusk/evening star and "east", direction of morning star/dawn/sunrise). Venus shines very bright because its dense atmosphere of carbon dioxide reflects the sunlight extremely well.

[edit] Variant names

Hesperus (Greek Hesperos) is the personification of the "evening star", the planet Venus in the evening. His name is sometimes conflated with the names for his brother the personification of the planet as the "morning star" Eosphorus (Greek Ἐωσφόρος, "bearer of dawn") or Phosphorus (Greek Φωσφόρος, "bearer of light", often translated as "Lucifer" in Latin), since they are all personifications of the same planet Venus. "Heosphoros" in the Greek LXX Septuagint and "Lucifer" in Jerome's Latin Vulgate were used to translate the Hebrew "Helel" (Venus as the brilliant, bright or shining one), "son of Shahar (Dawn)" in the Hebrew version of Isaiah 14:12.

When named thus by the early Greeks, it was thought that Phosphoros (Venus in the morning) and Hesperos (Venus in the evening) were two different celestial objects. The Greeks later accepted the Babylonian view that the two were the same, and the Babylonian identification of the planets with the Great Gods, and dedicated the "wandering star" (planet) to Aphrodite (Roman Venus), as the equivalent of Ishtar.

Eosphorus was the father of Ceyx, Daedalion and Leukone. He is also said to be the father of the Hesperides.[citation needed]

[edit] "Hesperus is Phosphorus"

"Hesperus is Phosphorus" is a famous sentence in the philosophy of language (see, e.g., proper name). Gottlob Frege used the terms "Hesperus" and "Phosphorus" to illustrate his distinction between sense and reference. Saul Kripke used the sentence to demonstrate that the knowledge of something necessary (in this case the identity of Hesperus and Phosphorus) could be discoverable rather than known a priori.

*

Vespa the motorcycle (since you mentioned it...) is the one that the chick in The Stand rode. She of the black hair with stark white stripes that grew as she became closer to her "chosen one".

When I saw it, I thought of Vestal instead of Vesper. I'm personally partial to I'ris because I loved your explanation on it and I love this song:

Iris ~ Goo Goo Dolls

And I'd give up forever to touch you,
Cause I know that you feel me somehow.
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,
And I don't want to go home right now.

And all I can taste is this moment,
And all I can breathe is your life,
And sooner or later it's over,
I just don't want to miss you tonight.

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

And you cant fight the tears that ain't coming,
Or the moment of the truth in your lies.
When everything feels like the movies,
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.

And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.

And I don't want the world to see me,
Cause I dont think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.
I just want you to know who I am.

posted November 28, 2007 06:30 PM              

"I think that a change to a more fitting and beautiful username is an excellent idea."

Thanks. Yes, i'd really like to find one that fits better. 26t has become a little too tight and old. The right one will come eventually..

posted December 02, 2007 10:32 PM              

~ Thales

posted December 11, 2007 02:25 AM            

Follow your heart. Be free.

Experience what life has for you.

Most importantly, be honest.

If your relationship is real,
it will bear the strain, and deepen."

posted December 12, 2007 05:06 PM              

-- Elbert Hubbard

posted December 12, 2007 11:01 PM              

-- Wilma Askinas

posted December 12, 2007 11:03 PM              

— Henry David Thoreau

posted December 13, 2007 10:54 AM              

"Light it, light it, dear, I was a wretch to have prevented you doing it. You are praying when you light the lamp, and I am praying when I rejoice seeing you. So we are praying to the same God."

Those words seemed strange to us, and mother would go to her room and weep, but when she went in to him she wiped her eyes and looked cheerful. "Mother, don't weep, darling," he would say, "I've long to live yet, long to rejoice with you, and life is glad and joyful."

"Ah, dear boy, how can you talk of joy when you lie feverish at night, coughing as though you would tear yourself to pieces."

"Don't cry, mother," he would answer, "life is paradise, and we are all in paradise, but we won't see it, if we would, we should have heaven on earth the next day."

Every one wondered at his words, he spoke so strangely and positively; we were all touched and wept. Friends came to see us. "Dear ones," he would say to them, "what have I done that you should love me so, how can you love any one like me, and how was it I did not know, I did not appreciate it before?"

When the servants came in to him he would say continually, "Dear, kind people, why are you doing so much for me, do I deserve to be waited on? If it were God's will for me to live, I would wait on you, for all men should wait on one another."

Mother shook her head as she listened. "My darling, it's your illness makes you talk like that."

"Mother darling," he would say, "there must be servants and masters, but if so I will be the servant of my servants, the same as they are to me. And another thing, mother, every one of
us has sinned against all men, and I more than any."

Mother positively smiled at that, smiled through her tears, "Why, how could you have sinned against all men, more than all? Robbers and murderers have done that, but what sin have you committed yet, that you hold yourself more guilty than all?"

"Mother, little heart of mine," he said (he had begun using such strange carressing words at that time), "little heart of mine, my joy, believe me, every one is really responsible to all men for all men and for everything, I don't know how to explain it to you, but I feel it is so, painfully even. And how is it we went on then living, getting angry and not knowing?"

So he would get up every day, more and more sweet and joyous and full of love. When the doctor, an old German called Eisenschmidt, came: "Well, doctor, have I another day in this world?" he would ask, joking.

"You'll live many days yet," the doctor would answer, "and months and years too."

"Months and years!" he would exclaim. "Why, reckon the days? One day is enough for a man to know all happiness. My dear ones, why do we quarrel, try to outshine each other and keep grudges against each other? Let's go straight into the garden, walk and play there, love, appreciate, and kiss each other, and glorify life."

"Your son cannot last long," the doctor told my mother, as she accompanied him to the door, "The disease is affecting his brain."

The windows of his room looked out into the garden, and our garden was a shady one, with old trees in it which were coming into bud. The first birds of spring were flitting in the branches, chirruping and singing at the windows, and looking at them and admiring them, he began suddenly begging their forgiveness too, "Birds of heaven, happy birds, forgive me, for I have sinned against you too." None of us could understand that at the time, but he shed tears of joy. "Yes," he said, "there was such a glory of God all about me; birds, trees, meadows, sky only I lived in shame and dishonoured it all and did not notice the beauty and glory."

"You take too many sins on yourself," mother used to say, weeping.

"Mother, darling, it's for joy, not for grief I am crying. Though I can't explain it to you, I like to humble myself before them, for I don't know how to love them enough. If I have sinned against every one, yet all forgive me, too, and that's heaven. Am I not in heaven now?"

And there was a great deal more I don't remember. I remember I went once into his room when there was no one else there. It was a bright evening, the sun was setting, and the whole room was lighted up. He beckoned me, and I went up to him. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face tenderly, lovingly; he said nothing for a minute, only looked at me like that.

"Well," he said, "run and play now, enjoy life for me too."

I went out then and ran to play. And many times in my life afterwards I remembered even with tears how he told me to enjoy life for him too. There were many other marvellous and beautiful sayings of his, though we did not understand them at the time. He died the third week after Easter. He was fully conscious though he could not talk; up to his last hour he did not change. He looked happy, his eyes beamed and sought us, he smiled at us, beckoned us. There was a great deal of talk even in the town about his death. I was impressed by all this at the time, but not too much so, though I cried a great deal at his funeral. I was young then, a child, but a lasting impression, a hidden feeling of it all, remained in my heart, ready to rise up and respond when the time came. So indeed it happened.