|Proverbs, aphorisms, quotations (English)||by Linux fortune|
|Linus Torvalds wrote:|
> How the h*ll did you happen to actually notice this?
Some combination of blind luck, curiosity, pride, and Obsessive
- John Byrne on linux-kernel
|Brief History Of Linux (#5)|
English Flame War
The idea behind Slashdot-style discussions is not new; it dates back to
London in 1699. A newspaper that regularly printed Letters To The Editor
sparked a heated debate over the question, "When would the 18th Century
actually begin, 1700 or 1701?" The controversy quickly became a matter of
pride; learned aristocrats argued for the correct date, 1701, while others
maintained that it was really 1700. Another sizable third of participants
asked, "Who cares?"
Ordinarily such a trivial matter would have died down, except that one
1700er, fed up with the snobbest 1701 rhetoric of the educated class,
tracked down one letter-writer and hurled a flaming log into his manor
house in spite. The resulting fire was quickly doused, but the practice
known as the "flame war" had been born. More flames were exchanged between
other 1700ers and 1701ers for several days, until the Monarch sent out
royal troops to end the flamage.
|A mighty creature is the germ,|
Though smaller than the pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.
-- Ogden Nash
|Have you seen the old man in the closed down market,|
Kicking up the papers in his worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride, hands hang loosely at his side
Yesterdays papers, telling yesterdays news.
How can you tell me you're lonely,
And say for you the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand
Lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind...
Have you seen the old man outside the sea-man's mission
Memories fading like the metal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city the rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero and a world that doesn't care...
|Say my love is easy had,|
Say I'm bitten raw with pride,
Say I am too often sad --
Still behold me at your side.
Say I'm neither brave nor young,
Say I woo and coddle care,
Say the devil touched my tongue --
Still you have my heart to wear.
But say my verses do not scan,
And I get me another man!
-- Dorothy Parker, "Fighting Words"
|A prominent broadcaster, on a big-game safari in Africa, was taken to a|
watering hole where the life of the jungle could be observed. As he
looked down from his tree platform and described the scene into his
tape recorder, he saw two gnus grazing peacefully. So preoccupied were
they that they failed to observe the approach of a pride of lions led
by two magnificent specimens, obviously the leaders. The lions charged,
killed the gnus, and dragged them into the bushes where their feasting
could not be seen. A little while later the two kings of the jungle
emerged and the radioman recorded on his tape: "Well, that's the end of
the gnus and here, once again, are the head lions."
|Certain old men prefer to rise at dawn, taking a cold bath and a long|
walk with an empty stomach and otherwise mortifying the flesh. They
then point with pride to these practices as the cause of their sturdy
health and ripe years; the truth being that they are hearty and old,
not because of their habits, but in spite of them. The reason we find
only robust persons doing this thing is that it has killed all the
others who have tried it.
-- Ambrose Bierce, "The Devil's Dictionary"
|The strong individual loves the earth so much he lusts for recurrence. He|
can smile in the face of the most terrible thought: meaningless, aimless
existence recurring eternally. The second characteristic of such a man is
that he has the strength to recognise -- and to live with the recognition --
that the world is valueless in itself and that all values are human ones.
He creates himself by fashoning his own values; he has the pride to live
by the values he wills.
| A young married couple had their first child. Their original pride|
and joy slowly turned to concern however, for after a couple of years the
child had never uttered any form of speech. They hired the best speech
therapists, doctors, psychiatrists, all to no avail. The child simply refused
to speak. One morning when the child was five, while the husband was reading
the paper, and the wife was feeding the dog, the little kid looks up from
his bowl and said, "My cereal's cold."
The couple is stunned. The man, in tears, confronts his son. "Son,
after all these years, why have you waited so long to say something?".
Shrugs the kid, "Everything's been okay 'til now".
|We're mortal -- which is to say, we're ignorant, stupid, and sinful --|
but those are only handicaps. Our pride is that nevertheless, now and
then, we do our best. A few times we succeed. What more dare we ask for?
-- Ensign Flandry
|I am, in point of fact, a particularly haughty and exclusive person, of|
pre-Adamite ancestral descent. You will understand this when I tell you
that I can trace my ancestry back to a protoplasmal primordial atomic
globule. Consequently, my family pride is something inconceivable. I
can't help it. I was born sneering.
-- Pooh-Bah, "The Mikado"
|Only the fittest survive. The vanquished acknowledge their unworthiness by |
placing a classified ad with the ritual phrase "must sell -- best offer,"
and thereafter dwell in infamy, relegated to discussing gas mileage and lawn
food. But if successful, you join the elite sodality that spends hours
unpurifying the dialect of the tribe with arcane talk of bits and bytes, RAMS
and ROMS, hard disks and baud rates. Are you obnoxious, obsessed? It's a
modest price to pay. For you have tapped into the same awesome primal power
that produces credit-card billing errors and lost plane reservations. Hail,
postindustrial warrior, subduer of Bounceoids, pride of the cosmos, keeper of
the silicone creed: Computo, ergo sum. The force is with you -- at 110 volts.
May your RAMS be fruitful and multiply.
-- Curt Suplee, "Smithsonian", 4/83
|The 11 is for people with the pride of a 10 and the pocketbook of an 8.|
-- R.B. Greenberg [referring to PDPs?]