“If the abnormal goes on long enough it becomes the normal.” Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures
‘You come and see me, boys,’ he said;
‘You’ll find a welcome and a bed
And whisky any time you call;
Although our township hasn’t got
The name of quite a lively spot –
You see, I live in Booligal.
‘And people have an awful down
Upon the district and the town –
Which worse than hell itself they call;
In fact, the saying far and wide
Along the Riverina side
Is “Hay and Hell and Booligal”.
‘No doubt it suits ’em very well
To say it’s worse than Hay or Hell,
But don’t you heed their talk at all;
Of course, there’s heat – no one denies –
And sand and dust and stacks of flies,
And rabbits, too, at Booligal.
‘But such a pleasant, quiet place,
You never see a stranger’s face –
They hardly ever care to call;
The drovers mostly pass it by;
They reckon that they’d rather die
Than spend a night in Booligal.
‘The big mosquitoes frighten some –
You’ll lie awake to hear ’em hum –
And snakes about the township crawl;
But shearers, when they get their cheque,
They never come along and wreck
The blessed town of Booligal.
‘But down in Hay the shearers come
And fill themselves with fighting-rum,
And chase blue devils up the wall,
And fight the snaggers every day,
Until there is the deuce to pay –
There’s none of that in Booligal.
‘Of course, there isn’t much to see –
The billiard-table used to be
The great attraction for us all,
Until some careless, drunken curs
Got sleeping on it in their spurs,
And ruined it, in Booligal.
‘Just now there is a howling drought
That pretty near has starved us out –
It never seems to rain at all;
But, if there SHOULD come any rain,
You couldn’t cross the black-soil plain –
You’d have to stop in Booligal.’
‘WE’D HAVE TO STOP!’ With bated breath
We prayed that both in life and death
Our fate in other lines might fall:
‘Oh, send us to our just reward
In Hay or Hell, but, gracious Lord,
Deliver us from Booligal!’
SHAKESPEARE MERCHANT OF VENICE
O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I’ll read the writing.
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll’d:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
“Hell wasn’t a major reservoir of evil, any more than Heaven, in Crowley’s opinion, was a fountain of goodness; they were just sides in the great cosmic chess game. Where you found the real McCoy, the real grace and the real heart-stopping evil, was right inside the human mind.”
― Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch
― Arthur Machen, The Great God Pan
“O dear Pan and all the other gods of this place, grant that I may be beautiful inside. Let all my external possessions be in friendly harmony with what is within. May I consider the wise man rich. As for gold, let me have as much as a moderate man could bear and carry with him.”
― Plato, Phaedrus
― Robert A. Heinlein, Job: A Comedy of Justice
“Booze makes you stupid and like it. It makes you fall around and not care. And eventually, stupid is the only way you know how to be. Cocaine makes you feel important, that life matters, that you matter. That the music is better than it really is. That every conversation
is profound and that all pretenses have been stripped away. Ecstasy makes you dance all night and love your friends so much, in a way that you’ve never been able to tell them about before. Acid makes you see pretty colours and makes things breathe. But Sadness, there is nothing like Sadness.”
“A camel in distress isn’t a shy creature. It doesn’t hang around in bars, nursing a solitary drink. It doesn’t phone up old friends and sob at them. It doesn’t mope, or write long soulful poems about Life and how dreadful it is when seen from a bedsitter. It doesn’t know what angst is.”
― Terry Pratchett, Pyramids
“Have you ever watched the jet cars race on the boulevard?…I sometimes think drivers don’t know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly…If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! He’d say, that’s grass! A pink blur! That’s a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows.”
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
― Sue Monk Kidd
“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”
C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
Each is enslaved by the same error and the only difference is it mocks them in different ways. Horace
foto – altar in raleigh