Every “point” that’s ever been proposed falls apart under examination (including the theory that the search for a “point” IS the “point”), yet our sense that there must be a “point” in no way proves that a “point” actually exists.
The only thing that is inarguable is that YOU ARE HERE. Make your peace with that, or don’t. The answer lies within you.
If there is a point, a meaning, whoever devised it has done a piss-poor job of conveying the message. Whatever is the Truth, 90% of the world is wrong about it to greater or lesser degree, and it has ever been thus. I blame the teachers.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrowCreeps in this petty pace from day to dayTo the last syllable of recorded time,And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor playerThat struts and frets his hour upon the stageAnd then is heard no more. It is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.
Edcole1961 about 13 years ago
From the “Dire Straights” song, “Industrial Disease:” “Philosophy is useless, Theology is worse.”
McGehee about 13 years ago
Some come out in sympathy. Some come out in spots.
fritzoid Premium Member about 13 years ago
Two men say they’re Jesus. One of them must be wrong…
fritzoid Premium Member about 13 years ago
Every “point” that’s ever been proposed falls apart under examination (including the theory that the search for a “point” IS the “point”), yet our sense that there must be a “point” in no way proves that a “point” actually exists.
The only thing that is inarguable is that YOU ARE HERE. Make your peace with that, or don’t. The answer lies within you.
fritzoid Premium Member about 13 years ago
If there is a point, a meaning, whoever devised it has done a piss-poor job of conveying the message. Whatever is the Truth, 90% of the world is wrong about it to greater or lesser degree, and it has ever been thus. I blame the teachers.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrowCreeps in this petty pace from day to dayTo the last syllable of recorded time,And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor playerThat struts and frets his hour upon the stageAnd then is heard no more. It is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.