Theseus Does Amazon, Then Kills The Rest

Something to keep our minds spinning:

http://www.themorningnews.org/archives/reviews/lone_star_statements.php

There is much truth contained in some of these posts, most especially, seriously good stuff about modern authors.

Confessions of a Teacher

True enough, I found that there was no rioting by young hooligans, but I was told that at any moment a number of students would plot together to avoid paying their master his fees and would transfer in a body to another. They were quite unscrupulous, and justice meant nothing to them compared with the love of money. There was hatred for them in my heart, and it was not unselfish hatred, for I suppose that I hated them more for what I should have to suffer from them than for the wrong they might do to any teacher...For their warped and crooked minds I still hate students like these, but I love them too, hoping to teach them to mend their ways, so that they may learn to love their studies more than money and love you, their God, still more, for you are the Truth, the Source of good that does not fail, and the Peace of purest innocence.

Fighting the neverending battle since St. Augustine's Confessions of a Sinner.

Sick

Sick today. Slept from 4 AM to 1 PM today. Near insomnia allowed me to finish entry on Astrophil and Stella for Writer/Critic course. Will post Tuesday. Alone for a few more hours.

A Midsummer Night's Dream

John Donne's "Song"

Go, and catch a fallen star,
   Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me, where all past years are,
   Or who cleft the Devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
   Or to keep off envy's stinging,
      And find
      What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'est born to strange sights,
   Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
   Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me
   All strange wonders that befell thee,
      And swear
      Nowhere
Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
   Such a pilgrimage were sweet,
Yet do not, I would not go,
   Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true when you met her
   And last, till you write your letter,
      Yet she
      Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.