Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.
Robertson DaviesRead
The egotist is all surface; underneath is a pulpy mess and a lot of self-doubt. But the egoist may be yielding and even deferential in things he doesn't consider important; in anything that touches his core he is remorseless.
Interpretation
Egotism hides insecurity, while true egoism can balance humility with strength.
Robertson Davies highlights the difference between an egotist and an egoist, suggesting that while the egotist presents a confident facade that conceals deep self-doubt and vulnerability, the egoist displays a more balanced character. The egoist can show humility in trivial matters but emerges unwavering and relentless when faced with issues that resonate with their true identity and values, pointing to an inner strength lurking beneath the surface.
In practice
In a discussion about self-awareness and confidence, this quote could highlight the importance of recognizing one's inner struggles.
Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.
Pessimism is a very easy way out because it is a short view of life. If you look at what is happening around us today, you can't help but feel that life is a terrible complexity of problems. But if you look back a few thousand years, you realize that we have advanced fantastically. If you take a long view, I do not see how you can be pessimistic about the future of mankind.
This is one of the cruelties of the theatre of life; we all think of ourselves as stars and rarely recognize it when we are indeed mere supporting characters or even supernumeraries.
Everything matters. The Universe is approximately fifteen billion years old, and I swear that in all that time, nothing has ever happened that has not mattered, has not contributed in some way to the totality.
The world is full of people whose notion of a satisfactory future is, in fact, a return to the idealized past.
The best among our writers are doing their accustomed work of mirroring what is deep in the spirit of our time; if chaos appears in those mirrors, we must have faith that in the future, as always in the past, that chaos will slowly reveal itself as a new aspect of order.
Rivers and mountains are beautiful and made heroes bow and compete to catch the girl- lovely earth. Yet the emperors Shih Huang and Wu Ti were barely able to write. The first emperors of the Tang and Sung dynasties were crude. Genghis Khan, man of his epoch and favored by heaven, knew only how to hunt the great eagle. They are all gone. Only today are we men of feeling.
Everything's got space between it, the planets, trees, your eyes. Your eyes get too close together, it's a whole different world. You can lose perspective.
You want to be paid as well, you virtuous! You want reward for virtue, and heaven for earth, and eternity for your today?
If in your heart you make a manger for his birth then God will once again become a child on earth.
Grief, of course, is not something that operates according to a specific time frame, and it seems cold to suggest otherwise. Yet when we do not grasp that God is present in pain, we eventually insist on victory or, worse, blame the sufferer for not "getting over it" fast enough. This is more than a failure to extend compassion; it's an exercise in cruelty.
We cannot suppose therefore that God has made an order of beings, with such mental qualities and powers, for the sole purpose of being used as beasts, or instruments of labour.
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