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Thread: Your favorite quote/passage

  1. #21
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    The primal savage or ape
    merely looks about his native forest to find a mate;

    the exalted Aryan should lift his eyes
    to the worlds of space and consider his relation to infinity!
    *
    Last edited by lei.talk; 07-12-2017 at 10:01 PM.


  2. #22
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    Sometimes I read this over and over and over again..

    Quote Originally Posted by Thomas Carlyle
    Among those shadowy Edda matters, amid all that fantastic congeries of assertions, and traditions, in their musical Mythologies, the main practical belief a man could have was probably not much more than this: of the Valkyrs and the Hall of Odin; of an inflexible Destiny; and that the one thing needful for a man was to be brave. The Valkyrs are Choosers of the Slain: a Destiny inexorable, which it is useless trying to bend or soften, has appointed who is to be slain; this was a fundamental point for the Norse believer;—as indeed it is for all earnest men everywhere, for a Mahomet, a Luther, for a Napoleon too. It lies at the basis this for every such man; it is the woof out of which his whole system of thought is woven. The Valkyrs; and then that these Choosers lead the brave to a heavenly Hall of Odin; only the base and slavish being thrust elsewhither, into the realms of Hela the Death-goddess: I take this to have been the soul of the whole Norse Belief. They understood in their heart that it was indispensable to be brave; that Odin would have no favor for them, but despise and thrust them out, if they were not brave. Consider too whether there is not something in this! It is an everlasting duty, valid in our day as in that, the duty of being brave. Valor is still value. The first duty for a man is still that of subduing Fear. We must get rid of Fear; we cannot act at all till then. A man's acts are slavish, not true but specious; his very thoughts are false, he thinks too as a slave and coward, till he have got Fear under his feet. Odin's creed, if we disentangle the real kernel of it, is true to this hour. A man shall and must be valiant; he must march forward, and quit himself like a man,—trusting imperturbably in the appointment and choice of the upper Powers; and, on the whole, not fear at all. Now and always, the completeness of his victory over Fear will determine how much of a man he is.

    It is doubtless very savage that kind of valor of the old Northmen. Snorro tells us they thought it a shame and misery not to die in battle; and if natural death seemed to be coming on, they would cut wounds in their flesh, that Odin might receive them as warriors slain. Old kings, about to die, had their body laid into a ship; the ship sent forth, with sails set and slow fire burning it; that, once out at sea, it might blaze up in flame, and in such manner bury worthily the old hero, at once in the sky and in the ocean! Wild bloody valor; yet valor of its kind; better, I say, than none. In the old Sea-kings too, what an indomitable rugged energy! Silent, with closed lips, as I fancy them, unconscious that they were specially brave; defying the wild ocean with its monsters, and all men and things;—progenitors of our own Blakes and Nelsons! No Homer sang these Norse Sea-kings; but Agamemnon's was a small audacity, and of small fruit in the world, to some of them;—to Hrolf's of Normandy, for instance! Hrolf, or Rollo Duke of Normandy, the wild Sea-king, has a share in governing England at this hour.

    Nor was it altogether nothing, even that wild sea-roving and battling, through so many generations. It needed to be ascertained which was the strongest kind of men; who were to be ruler over whom. Among the Northland Sovereigns, too, I find some who got the title Wood-cutter; Forest-felling Kings. Much lies in that. I suppose at bottom many of them were forest-fellers as well as fighters, though the Skalds talk mainly of the latter,—misleading certain critics not a little; for no nation of men could ever live by fighting alone; there could not produce enough come out of that! I suppose the right good fighter was oftenest also the right good forest-feller,—the right good improver, discerner, doer and worker in every kind; for true valor, different enough from ferocity, is the basis of all. A more legitimate kind of valor that; showing itself against the untamed Forests and dark brute Powers of Nature, to conquer Nature for us. In the same direction have not we their descendants since carried it far? May such valor last forever with us!

    That the man Odin, speaking with a Hero's voice and heart, as with an impressiveness out of Heaven, told his People the infinite importance of Valor, how man thereby became a god; and that his People, feeling a response to it in their own hearts, believed this message of his, and thought it a message out of Heaven, and him a Divinity for telling it them: this seems to me the primary seed-grain of the Norse Religion, from which all manner of mythologies, symbolic practices, speculations, allegories, songs and sagas would naturally grow. Grow,—how strangely! I called it a small light shining and shaping in the huge vortex of Norse darkness. Yet the darkness itself was alive; consider that. It was the eager inarticulate uninstructed Mind of the whole Norse People, longing only to become articulate, to go on articulating ever farther! The living doctrine grows, grows;—like a Banyan-tree; the first seed is the essential thing: any branch strikes itself down into the earth, becomes a new root; and so, in endless complexity, we have a whole wood, a whole jungle, one seed the parent of it all. Was not the whole Norse Religion, accordingly, in some sense, what we called "the enormous shadow of this man's likeness"? Critics trace some affinity in some Norse mythuses, of the Creation and such like, with those of the Hindoos. The Cow Adumbla, "licking the rime from the rocks," has a kind of Hindoo look. A Hindoo Cow, transported into frosty countries. Probably enough; indeed we may say undoubtedly, these things will have a kindred with the remotest lands, with the earliest times. Thought does not die, but only is changed. The first man that began to think in this Planet of ours, he was the beginner of all. And then the second man, and the third man;—nay, every true Thinker to this hour is a kind of Odin, teaches men his way of thought, spreads a shadow of his own likeness over sections of the History of the World.

    ON HEROES, HERO-WORSHIP, AND THE HEROIC IN HISTORY
    Later,
    -Lyfing

  3. #23
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    Anything by David Lane.

    lol

    No, still really have found no better of a quote than the on in my sig.

    I mean, the voices at night tell me some pretty inspiring shit, but hey....

  4. #24
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    I’m whiter than Hitler.
    I’ve got blonde hair and blue eyes
    and Hitler had brown hair and brown eyes.

    At school I’d be the one beating up Hitler
    for being a wog.
    *
    Last edited by lei.talk; 07-12-2017 at 10:01 PM.


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    Hitler had blue eyes

  6. #26
    An Eye for an Eye Zyklop's Avatar
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    "Ha, wo ist er denn, dieser lebendige Gott?
    Ich habe, den Himmel entlang, den Gang der Gestirne, ich habe die grausame Natur, ich habe die grausamere Geschichte der Menschen durchforscht und keinen Gott gefunden als das Recht des Stärkeren, die Notwendigkeit, die furchtbar erhabene Göttin, deren Anblick versteinert wie der der Meduse.
    Du birgst dich, Knabe, in die Mantelfalten deines geträumten Gottes, du steckst dein Haupt in seinen Vaterschoß, starrt dich des Schicksals Walten mit den Gorgonenblicken an. Wohl, es sei: aber schilt nicht den Mann, der, den Blick erwidernd, spricht: ‹Es ist kein Gott› und würd' er drob zu Stein.
    Ja, das Lächeln und das Weinen sind zwei holde Genüsse. Prometheus aber hat nicht gelächelt, als ihm Pandora die betörende Büchse bot. Aber er hat auch nicht geweint, als ihm Gewalt und Kraft die Glieder an die Felsen schmiedeten. Und an den Geier, der ihm das Herz zerfleischt - nun, an den Geier - hat er sich gewöhnt. Und eher ermüdete das Schicksal, den Titanen zu quälen, als daß sich der Titane gebeugt."


    from "Ein Kampf um Rom" bei Felix Dahn.

    Translation:

    "Ha! Where is this living god?
    I have searched the sky, the way of the stars. I have searched cruel nature, the more cruel history of man, and found no god except for the right of the strongest, the necessary, and the dreadfully sublime goddess whose gaze petrifies like that of Medusa. You are hiding in the mantle-folds of your imagined god. Burying your head in his fatherly lap when fate is staring at you with its gorgon´s gaze. Well, it may be. But don´t berate the man who, returning the gaze, speaks: "There is no god!" Even if he may become a stone henceforth.
    Yes, smiling and crying are two graceful pleasures. But Prometheus didn´t smile when Pandora offered the beguiling box. Neither did he cry when force and strength forged his limbs to the rocks. And to the vulture that is rending his heart? Well, to the vulture he got accustomed. And fate grew tired of torturing the Titan before the Titan was tempted to give in.
    "


  7. #27
    Fighting Communism Since 1968 Ulex's Avatar
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    "You are welcome to your intellectual pastimes and books and art and newspapers; welcome, too, to your bars and your whisky that only makes me ill. Here am I in the forest, quite content."

    Knut Hamsun

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    Ape City Slicker Phlegethon's Avatar
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    German Students’ War Letters

    Edited by Philipp Witkop
    Translated by A.F. Wedd


    HERBERT WEISSER, Student of Architecture, Technical High School, Charlottenburg
    Born May 6th, 1894, at Lissa. Killed May 25th, 1915, before Ypres.
    5th Day of Mobilization.

    Can you believe that now I sometimes cannot get away from the thought that I shall be killed? Then come quite close to me! I lay my hand upon your curly head and speak to you. Then I feel as if God-given strength went out from me and as if all my wishes for you must be realized. Come, let me look deep into your eyes! I can see something burning there, but not for me; that is not necessary, really not. That fire must develop into a constant steady flame, and that flame shall guide your children along the road that we have conquered together. . . .

    Do you know, I have always longed to be to the German people a true German Master-Builder; I have always fought uncompromisingly against every form of sham, both in actual building and also in all that concerns our special German style. I wished to help to restore the art of German architecture such as it was in the time of the Ottos, and the brickmaking-industry of the Mark.

    I had hoped too to give to the German Fatherland a few boys and girls who would not be forced to waste their gifts in struggling vainly against their own instincts, as you and I have done, or in fighting against the overwhelming false prejudices of their time.

    I stroke your hair gently, gently as one strokes the hair of the girl one loves, and I beg you not to forget all this; to remember all your life what we have been through together and to see that our efforts bear fruit. … I wish, I most heartily wish, that your future may be as full of sunshine as you yourself can picture it; that you may some day have a son, with blue far-seeing eyes, firmly fixed on a distant goal, who will grow tall and slim, with a noble brow and finely-cut nostrils—can you guess where he will get all that from? And then, you know, it is not impossible that he may become an architect. Then you will tell him all about our German cathedrals and show him what real German master-builders have created; how German architecture demonstrates an appreciation of what is grand and at the time simple; of all that is honest, logical and strong; how it sends rays of light all over the world and how these rays are reflected back into the heavens in aspirations after the ideal. And then show him that man's whole interior life can also be full of beauty and sunshine if, instead of suppressing his own gifts, he perfects and ennobles them.

    See, those are the things that I am thinking about before I go to the Front. And I am convinced that I could accomplish far more for the Fatherland along the lines in which I have already begun and later on could produce much as the result of what I have absorbed during my youth. But we must not think of that now. Our present task is to defend all that German culture has built up through a thousand year of work, in toil and sweat and blood. But one would be glad to leave some trace behind when one disappears from this world. You are the one who, during all our professional studies and otherwise in life, has stood closest to me and on my personality has had most influence, even if you were not perhaps the one whom I loved best - that you know— and if I am killed you must carry on my life with your own. We can no longer believe in a life beyond the grave, but we can survive in our works, which are chiefly preserved in our friends … perhaps you will find a life's companion who will help you in this.


    6th Day of Mobilization.

    My thoughts give me no peace, they carry me again and again to you. But you must not imagine because I say that, that I am sitting here with my knees quaking at the thought of French or Russian bullets. On the contrary, I am not in the least afraid of bullets, but I am filled with bitterness and sorrow because so much youth and latent talent must be sacrificed by people simply because they cannot rise above their own contemptible envy and ill-will. It is a just retribution for not having conquered these weaknesses in themselves. But there are also people who have no such petty feelings, who have conquered them, and who could and so gladly would help others to do the same — they also are sacrificed. . . .

    And then I am thinking about having to leave a widowed mother here. I have talked much with her lately about all these things, and I wish so much that you could make friends with her for my sake. My mother brought me up herself and has watched over me for twenty years. Besides, on account of her greater age and experience, she would be able to advise you in many ways, and you would be a joy to her as you are to me. Perhaps you could be a little comfort to her too if anything bad happens to me. All that could not be accomplished by letters — you would have to come and spend some time here, and you may be sure that that would be a great pleasure to my mother. She already guesses that we have been a great deal to one another, so she would give you a cordial welcome. And if you are fond of me, you would be fond of her, for although I have accomplished much by myself, still everything, or at any rate all my ideals, had their origin in her.


    September 27th, 1914.

    This longing for productivity after having been for twenty years merely receptive, makes it hard for me to think that my life is no longer my own. Whatever I may do in the war cannot be called production. . . . But, on the other hand, one cannot stand by and see the German people and all that they have created during hundreds of years destroyed by other nations. The only lightning-conductor is burning hatred and contempt for those few men — if they can still possibly be described by that name - who have brought the war about. Those people are lucky who can hold the enemy's whole nation responsible and believe that they are aiming their rifles at the actual culprits. I personally cannot feel any hatred against individual Frenchmen -- on the contrary, I regret every young life which will be cut off through my instrumentality. Also I cannot rejoice unreservedly in our victories; but do you know what I do thoroughly and boundlessly rejoice in? In the German character, which now has an opportunity of exhibiting itself in shining splendour; in the faultless functioning of the gigantic machine to which each individual can and does contribute; in the discipline shown by our troops in their treatment of the inhabitants of enemy country; in the eagerness with which each one works for the general good; and in the firm, unshakable sense of justice which is displayed on the German side on every occasion. The great strength of our noble people does not lie in wielding the sword, but in its sense of the high responsibility making the best use of its gifts, and in its inner worth as the people of culture. Other nations can tear down and destroy in war, but we understand, better than any other, how to build up, and of this I have been certain only since the beginning of the war. Therefore I do not trouble much as to whether the war has a positive or negative end for us.


    March 7th, 1915.

    . . . Soon after our meeting at M. station, you wrote me a postcard in which you said that you tried to remove my ' pessimistic view ' of the war. At the end you added that you had perhaps misunderstood the reason of my low spirits. And really —I will make an attempt to explain at least one thing: in 1870 the soldiers went into battle saying to themselves : 'If we don't get home we get heaven' (I have to express myself briefly). Very few take that view now; a great many don't consider the question at all; others do, and then it depends on what sort of a religion they have worked out for themselves whether it is easier or harder for them to give up their young lives. Many abandon all claim on a future life after death — I am too young for that, and I did hope to survive in what I had created, and above all in the influence which I had exercised on the younger generation, in whom I should see realized all the results of my experience. Some men say : ' I am married and the father of five children, therefore I make a particularly great sacrifice for the Fatherland.' In their place I should say : ' Thank God that I have a wife who has loved me and whom I have loved, and still more that I have five children who will continue to develop in accordance with my ideas and will justify my existence. Otherwise my position would have been merely receptive and would only have influenced my own and perhaps the previous generation — even the former very imperfectly.' That was what depressed me, personally.

    Then came the objective view: our nation was, as I believe, on the right road towards self-regeneration from within, though the powers which were to bring about this regeneration were very limited. Now comes the war, tears everything out of the process of being and developing, and deprives us of just what we most needed — the youth of the present generation, who were growing up with progressive ideas.

    I also imagined beforehand, what I now find abundantly confirmed: that the notions which our parents, our books and our history lessons had given us of war are either entirely false, or at least incomplete and therefore misleading. We were given to understand that heroic deeds were of the essence and the most frequent result of war. But is that so? How many such actions are in any case simply brought about by the impulse of the moment, perhaps by the bloodthirstiness and unjust hatred which a nation's political views spread among all its members and for which they have to suffer? Of course there are many quiet, unobserved acts of heroism, but are these really so much rarer in time of peace? And what of the drunkenness, the brutality both in the aesthetic and ethical sense; the spiritual and physical slothfulness, when does one ever hear of them in accounts of war? And the slack ideas with regard to morality and marriage, what about them? All this was going through my mind at that time. It was no slack disinclination that I felt, but a profound sadness which nevertheless was just as productive of determined action as the enthusiasm of other (better?) men.

    April 6th, 1915.

    Yesterday I was in the trenches. There I have at last been able to see what war is really like. The whole business is enacted on one narrow, though certainly endless, strip of ground, which seems much, much too narrow for its gigantic significance. And this strip of ground bears grass, many coloured flowers, trees, and pretty little houses. The ground rises and falls gently, the green fields are intersected by hedges and streams. But do you know what else is in these meadows ? The Marburg Jägers students and professors, the hope and impetus towards progress of the German people. One beside the other they lie, stretched out upon the grass.

    Yes - among them I saw one quite young fellow right in front, perhaps the foremost in the attack. Forgetting everything around him he dashed forward, charging amid a hail of bullets : ' One more spring and I shall be in the enemy trench !' But he was not able to complete the thought, for three yards from the trench he fell, and perhaps had time to see that it was all in vain, that the attack had failed; perhaps he lived for another day and slowly died of hunger, because there, in ' no-man's-land ', nobody could come to his assistance.

    You ask if I am happy? I can't honestly answer that I am. But I believe that in three to five years I shall be able to realize the grandeur of this time and then I shall be glad about it. My imagination is overpowered at present, almost like that of a child to whom its nurse is telling gruesome fairy-tales.

    That does not of course prevent me in any way from doing my duty, and even doing it with a kind of enjoyment - as, for instance, yesterday when, during an attack from our side, I was close behind the trench mending the telephone-wire, under gun- and rifle-fire, with two others. We were without any means of communicating with our troops, and did not know how the battle was going and whether we might not at any moment be cut off by the French, unarmed! And when, in a hail of bullets, one has to climb up into a tree instead of hiding under-ground, then one feels that one is young, laughs a little in one's sleeve, and almost fancies oneself invulnerable!

    Those are fine moments and I have often experienced them just lately. You have of course read in the newspapers about our advance here. We are just in the most frantic corner and are the first who have broken through, away from that tedious sticking in one position. But then one sees the long, long processions of wounded; the dead bodies on the battle-fields; one sees the spiritual and moral effects of war; the burning villages and everything; so it is easier for you at home to go on feeling happy than for us.

    Flanders, May, 1915. [On Hearing of the death of a comrade.]

    Dear mother,—
    Everybody who goes to the front is prepared for a lonely death. There is nothing so very horrible in that. Death is no longer horrible when it comes close to one. The only thing that makes it hard to die is the knowledge that one's relations are tormenting themselves by imagining the most ghastly situations, of which the one that seems to them the worst is in reality the most splendid, even though it may be the last hour of our life. What is there so very dreadful in lying alone on the field of battle and knowing that the end is near? It is not dreadful at all. One can feel calm and peaceful as one has never been since childhood. In thinking of the death of a son, you should regard it as calmly and without horrible details as the son himself will. By not doing so, you pour a drop of bitterness into the last hour of his life.
    Brother, these Americans are shopkeeper souls stinking to heaven. Dead for all spiritual life, totally dead. The nightingale is right that it does not come to these wretched existences. To me it is of serious, deeper meaning that America has no nightingale at all. To me it seems to be poetic justice. A Niagara voice is necessary to preach to these crooks that there are higher Gods than those coined in the mints."

    (Nikolaus Lenau, 1833)

  9. #29
    Veteran Member Lulletje Rozewater's Avatar
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    Watch your thoughts,they become words.
    Watch your words,they become actions.
    Watch your actions,they become habits.
    Watch your habits,they become your character.
    Watch your character,it becomes your destiny.
    Watch your destiny,it becomes hell on earth.

    Never forget
    Never forgive
    Never apologize

  10. #30
    Finally, I'm back. HawkR's Avatar
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    Behind the clouds, the heaven is allways blue, behind there again, eternal darkness...
    :Visi neinn, sithan mathr fylgja neinn:
    :Fylgja neinn, sithan mathr visi neinn:
    :Hvarfa vith til mathr, etha fagna mathr:

    Gifts does not need to be great, one does often get compliments to few


    This one is machine and nerve, and got a mind concluded.
    This one is but flesh and faith, and are the more deluded.

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