5-4-10 Tuesday 8:00 A.M. Made a large batch of chili and spaghetti to freeze yesterday. And some walnut fudge! Relieved the electricity is still on. It’s another beautiful sunny day with fluffy white clouds drifting by. The last cloud bank looked like a dog with nursing pups. I open the window and let in some fresh air filled with the scent of apple and plum blossoms and flowering lilacs. Feels like it’s close to 70 degrees. There’s a boy on a skate board being pulled along by his St. Bernard, who keeps turning around to see if his young friend is still on board. I’m thinking of a scene still vividly displayed in my memory. I was nine years old. I cut through the country club on my way home from school and followed a narrow stream, sucking on a jawbreaker from Ben Franklins, and I had some cherry and strawberry pixie straws, and banana and vanilla taffy inside my coat pocket. The temperature was in the fifties so it almost felt like spring. There were still large patches of snow on the fairways in the shadows and the ground was soggy from the melt off. Enthralled with the multi-layers of ice, thin sheets and tiny ice sickles gleaming under the afternoon sun, dripping, streaming into the pristine water below, running over the ribbons of green grass, forming miniature rapids and gently flowing rippling waves and all the reflections of a crystal cathedral, merging with the hidden world of a child. Seemingly endless natural sculptures. Then the hollow percussion sounds of the ice thudding, crackling under my feet, breaking off little ice flows carried away into a snow-covered cavern and out the other side of the tunnel. And I followed it all the way to bridge under Maple Road as if I didn't have a care in the world.From - "The Mind Game Company - The Players

Only a man can see in the face of a woman the girl she was. It is a secret which can be revealed only to a particular man, and, then, only at his insistence. But men have no secrets, except from women, and never grow up in the way women do. It is very much harder, and it takes much longer, for a man to grow up, and he could never do it at all without women. This is a mystery which can terrify and immobilize a woman, and it is always the key to her deepest distress. She must watch and guide, but he must lead, and he will always appear to be giving far more of his real attention to his comrades than he is giving to her. But that noisy, outward openness of men with each other enables them to deal with the silence and secrecy of women, that silence and secrecy which contains the truth of a man, and releases it. I suppose that the root of the resentment—a resentment which hides a bottomless terror—has to do with the fact that a woman is tremendously controlled by what the man’s imagination makes of her—literally, hour by hour, day by day; so she becomes a woman. But a man exists in his own imagination, and can never be at the mercy of a woman’s.—Anyway, in this fucked up time and place, the whole thing becomes ridiculous when you realize that women are supposed to be more imaginative than men. This is an idea dreamed up by men, and it proves exactly the contrary. The truth is that dealing with the reality of men leaves a woman very little time, or need, for imagination. And you can get very fucked up, here, once you take seriously the notion that a man who is not afraid to trust his imagination (which is all that men have ever trusted) if effeminate. It says a lot about this country, because, of course, if all you want to do is make money, the very last thing you need is imagination. Or women, for that matter: or men.

رأى بعض الناس أن المعجزات تعتبر دليلا على وجود الله ،أما اينشتاين فكان يرى أن عدم وجود المعجزات هو ما يظهر العناية الإلهية ، فحقيقة أن الكون يمكن فهمه ، وأن هذا الكون يسير وفقا لقوانين محددة هي حقيقة تستدعي منا أن نقف أمامها بخشوع ورهبة ، وهذه صفة تدل على " آله يكشف عن ذاته من خلال تناسق كل ما أوجده"...........من كتاب أينشتاين حياته عالمه

मिरीकरनं माझ्या सांगण्याप्रमाणं केलं तेव्हा मी तिला उंट खाऊ दिला. मग एक प्यादंसुद्धा भेट दिलं. ​मला आता सॉलिड मजा वाटत होती. माझं मन समोरच्या डावावर नव्हतं. मी एक जगज्जेता सम्राट होतो. पण उदार आणि दयाळू. शरण आलेल्याला मारून टाकणं हा माझा धर्म नव्हता. "जा, तुझा राज्य तुला परत दिलं." माझ्यासमोर वाकलेल्या त्या राजाला मी हात झटकत बेफिकीरपणे म्हणालो. असल्या राज्याची मला पर्वा नव्हती. माझी ती विश्वविजयी सेना घेऊन मी राजधानीत मोठ्या डौलानं परतणार होतो. तिथं कुणी तरी माझी वाट बघत होतं. डोळ्यांत दिवे लावून, तबकात निरांजनं पेटवून.