In the small circle of pain within the skull You still shall tramp and tread one endless round Of thought, to justify your action to yourselves, Weaving a fiction which unravels as you weave, Pacing forever in the hell of make-believe Which never is belief: this is your fate on earth And we must think no further of you.
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Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin;...
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Hell is out of fashion -- institutional hells at any rate. The populated infernos of the 20th century are more private affairs, the gaps between the bars are the sutures of one's own skull. A valid hell is one from which there is a possibility of redemption, even if this is never achieved, the dungeons of an architecture of grace whose spires point to some kind of heaven. The institutional hells of the present century are reached with one-way tickets, marked Nagasaki and Buchenwald, worlds of terminal horror even more final than the grave.
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If you don't like my opinions leave. But just remember, the animals can’t leave the cages that hold them. They are captive and suffering. As you cozy into your bed tonight, try to imagine the pain and the suffering that they endure day after day and night after night. Next time you get some soap in your eyes, try to imagine that pain for 3 or 4 days at a time. Next time you have a stomach ache, try to imagine liquid plumber being poured down your throat till you puke so much blood that you bleed to death. Next time you bump your head, try to imagine being a monkey and getting a steel plate smashed into your skull at 50 miles per hour. Then, only then should you feel compelled to tell me that I’m wrong about my opinions. For all these things have happened in the name of science. They continue in abundance till this day.
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It's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. I don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind. I wish I believed, as J. B. Priestley did, that consciousness continues after disembodiment or death, not forever, but for a long while. Three score years and ten is such a stingy ration of time, when there is so much time around. Perhaps that's why some of us are insomniacs; night is so precious that it would be pusillanimous to sleep all through it! A bad night is not always a bad thing.
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The skull lay tilted in such a manner that it stared, sightless, up at me as though I, too, were already caught a few feet above him in the strata and, in my turn, were staring upward at that strip of sky which the ages were carrying farther away from me.
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When I was alive, I believed - as you do - that time was at least as real and solid as myself, and probably more so. I said 'one o'clock' as though I could see it, and 'Monday' as if I could find it on the map. Like everyone else I lived in a house bricked up with seconds and minutes and New Year's Days, and I never went outside because there was no other door. Now I know that I could have walked through the walls.
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No sensitive person would eat flesh if he or she had to do the skull-breaking, slaughtering, strangling, shooting, blood-letting, skinning and disemboweling, and live in the stench and among the agonised cries of the victims.
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And these poor nerves so wired to the skull Ache on the lovelorn paper....
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There are two dilemmas that rattle the human skull How do you hang on to someone who won't stay And how do you get rid of someone who won't go
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Erudition. Dust shaken out of a book into an empty skull.
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There is great treasure there behind our skull and this is true about all of us. This little treasure has great, great powers, and I would say we only have learnt a very, very small part of what it can do.
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Erudition - dust shaken out of a book into an empty skull.
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John 19:17:
Carrying his own cross, he went out to the place of the Skull (which in Aramaic is called Golgotha).
(NIV)
And they took Jesus and led [Him] away; so He went out, bearing His own cross, to the spot called The Place of the Skull--in Hebrew it is called Golgotha.
(AMP)
And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called the place of a skull, which is called in the Hebrew Golgotha:
(KJV)
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Luke 23:33:
When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him there, along with the criminals – one on his right, the other on his left.
(NIV)
And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left.
(KJV)
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You can send a message around the world in 1/7 of a second; yet it may take several years to move a simple idea through a 1/4 inch of human skull.
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