Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
John DrydenRead
When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
Interpretation
Life can often feel deceptive, yet people remain hopeful despite these deceptions.
In this quote, John Dryden reflects on the inherent deceitfulness of life, suggesting that the experiences and expectations one has can lead to feelings of betrayal. Despite recognizing that life may not always be truthful or fair, individuals continue to embrace hope, which acts as a comforting illusion that encourages them to pursue their dreams and desires.
In practice
During a motivational speech about resilience in the face of life's challenges.
Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
Of no distemper, of no blast he died, _x000D_ But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long: _x000D_ Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. _x000D_ Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years; _x000D_ Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; _x000D_ Till like a clock worn out with eating time, _x000D_ The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
And write whatever Time shall bring to pass_x000D_ _x000D_ With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
The becoming of man is the history of the exhaustion of his possibilities.
Fare forward, travellers! not escaping from the past_x000D_ _x000D_ Into different lives, or into any future;_x000D_ _x000D_ You are not the same people who left that station_x000D_ _x000D_ Or who will arrive at any terminus,_x000D_ _x000D_ While the narrowing rails slide together behind you.
There are roles I am never considered for. Meryl Streep roles, let's say. Why not? I really wanted to do 'Ironweed,' for example, because the depression era in this country was one of the best for multiracial people, because everybody was poor. Everybody lived in the tents, and under buildings, and under gratings, together.
Memoir is trustworthy and its truth assured when it seeks the relation of self to time, the piecing of the shards of personal experience into the starscape of history's night. The materials of memoir are humble, fugitive, a cottage knitting industry seeking narrative truth across the crevasse of time as autobiography folds itself into the vast, fluid essay that is history. A single voice singing its aria in a corner of the crowded world.
To be obsessed by God is to have an effective barricade against all the assaults of the enemy.
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
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