To say that "the camera cannot lie" is merely to underline the multiple deceits that are now practised in its name.
Marshall McluhanRead
Publication is a self-invasion of privacy.
Interpretation
The act of publishing one's thoughts or creations exposes one's private self to the public.
Marshall McLuhan's quote highlights the paradox of publication as a means of sharing one's inner thoughts and creativity while simultaneously infringing upon one's own privacy. In essence, when individuals publish their work, they reveal personal insights and vulnerabilities that would otherwise remain private.
In practice
In a discussion about the risks of sharing personal stories on social media.
To say that "the camera cannot lie" is merely to underline the multiple deceits that are now practised in its name.
A point of view can be a dangerous luxury when substituted for insight and understanding.
In big industry new ideas are invited to rear their heads so they can be clobbered at once. The idea department of a big firm is a sort of lab for isolating dangerous viruses.
The news automatically becomes the real world for the TV user and is not a substitute for reality, but is itself an immediate reality.
Faced with information overload, we have no alternative but pattern-recognition.
The poet, the artist, the sleuth, whoever sharpens our perception tends to antisocial; rarely 'well adjusted,' he cannot go along with currents and trends.
The imbalance results from ideologies which uphold the absolute autonomy of markets and financial speculation, and thus deny the right of control to States, which are themselves charged with providing for the common good.
I had been told I was on the road to hell, but I had no idea it was just a mile down the road with a dome on it.
It is an axiom in my mind that our liberty can never be safe but in the hands of the people themselves, and that too of the people with a certain degree of instruction. This it is the business of the state to effect, and on a general plan.
Often a retrospect delights the mind.
He was kindhearted, in a way. You know the sort of kind heart: it made him uncomfortable more often than it made him do anything; and even when he did anything, it did not prevent him from grumbling, losing his temper and swearing (mostly to himself).
Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.
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