Philosophical Quotes/Sayings/Questions

[Will-Kill]

I don't go to this thread much but I always wanted to, I wanted to start a thread where someone would post a Philosophical Quote, Saying or Question and someone else responds to what it means to them, then the person comes up with one so the next person and can respond and so forth.

So.....here goes

What happens when a Unstoppable Force hits a Unmovable Object.....
You might of heard it from the Joker in "The Dark Knight" but I've heard that question/saying before.

[Phil Theehor]

Five minutes and it's still open? Arch must be taking a dump.

[freegood]

No pain? No gain!


You ask for it? You got it! Toyota!


Got my mind on my money and money on my mind.

[Insomniac]

I actually think this is a really good idea for a topic, despite what's been posted in here so far.

[Archangel]

http://www.terminally-incoherent.com/img/facepalm.jpeg

[Insomniac]

I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it's a bit like fucking -- which is fun only for amateurs. Old whores don't do much giggling. Nothing is fun when you have to do it -- over and over, again and again -- or else you'll be evicted, and that gets old.

[Bill Paxton]

I don't go to this thread much but I always wanted to, I wanted to start a thread where someone would post a Philosophical Quote, Saying or Question and someone else responds to what it means to them, then the person comes up with one so the next person and can respond and so forth.

So.....here goes

What happens when a Unstoppable Force hits a Unmovable Object.....
You might of heard it from the Joker in "The Dark Knight" but I've heard that question/saying before.
Thats not a philosophical question. An unstoppable force and an unmovable object can not coexist. Either the force can be stopped or the object can be moved, you'll find out which is which when they collide. There really isn't much more too it than that.

[redsox39]

"How much wood could a woodchuck..." j/k

[Pax Britannia]

"If you're havin' girl problems I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one" - Jay Z

[vasili denisov]

A king is history's slave. History, that is the unconscious general swarming life of mankind, uses every moment of the life of kings, as a tool for its own purpose.

[Archangel]

"If you're havin' girl problems I feel bad for you, son
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one" - Jay Z

I'm fairly certain that Jay jacked that one from Ice-T.

[redsox39]

"And although it seems heaven sent
We ain't ready, to see a black President" - 2Pac

[Archetype]

If you believe that your thoughts originate inside your brain,
do you also believe that television shows are made inside your television set?

Y'see, they say journalism is the art of controlling your environment, but that's all wrong. I can't control anything with this typewriter. All this is, is a gun.

You want to know about voting. I'm here to tell you about voting. Imagine you're locked in a huge underground night-club filled with sinners, whores, freaks and unnameable things that rape pitbulls for fun. And you ain't allowed out until you all vote on what you're going to do tonight. You like to put your feet up and watch "Republican Party Reservation". They like to have sex with normal people using knives, guns, and brand new sexual organs you did not even know existed. So you vote for television, and everyone else, as far as your eye can see, votes to fuck you with switchblades. That's voting. You're welcome.

How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!

If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.

[Will-Kill]

I think it means black people need to let go of all their bullshit so others can start taking them more seriously.

Better to live on your feet then to die on your Knees

Fixed.

[Insomniac]

Live on your knees, Will.

[hatepoppy]

Thats not a philosophical question. An unstoppable force and an unmovable object can not coexist. Either the force can be stopped or the object can be moved, you'll find out which is which when they collide. There really isn't much more too it than that.
good luck finding either.

[Will-Kill]

I Live therefore I am.

[Archangel]

...

[Deadhead Derek]

I think, therefore I am

[Mustard]

I wank, therefore I wank.

[Will-Kill]

Took long enough to Correct.

"Knowledge is often mistaken for intelligence. This is like mistaking a cup of milk for a cow."

[Mustard]

"Common sense is not so common." -- Voltaire

[Archangel]

Dubium sapientiae initium - Descartes

[Archangel]

Because it's really fucking good.

Not merely in the realm of commerce but in the world of ideas as well our age is organizing a regular clearance sale. Everything is to be had at such a bargain that it is questionable whether in the end there is anybody who will want to bid. Every speculative price-fixer who conscientiously directs attention to the significant march of modern philosophy, every Privatdocent, tutor, and student, every crofter and cottar in philosophy, is not content with doubting everything but goes further. Perhaps it would be untimely and ill-timed to ask them where they are going, but surely it is courteous and unobtrusive to regard it as certain that they have doubted everything, since otherwise it would be a queer thing for them to be going further. This preliminary movement they have therefore all of them made, and presumably with such ease that they do not find it necessary to let drop a word about the how; for not even he who anxiously and with deep concern sought a little enlightenment was able to find any such thing, any guiding sign, any little dietetic prescription, as to how one was to comport oneself in supporting this prodigious task. "But Descartes did it." Descartes, a venerable, humble and honest thinker, whose writings surely no one can read without the deepest emotion, did what he said and said what he did. Alas, alack, that is a great rarity in our times! Descartes, as he repeatedly affirmed, did not doubt in matters of faith.

‘‘Memores tamen, ut iam dictum est, huic lumini naturali tamdiu tantum esse credendum, quamdiu nihil contrarium a Deo ipso revelatur. . . . Praeter caeter autem, memoriae nostrae pro summa regula est infigendum, ea quae nobis a Deo revelata sunt, ut omnium certissima esse credenda; et quamvis forte lumen rationis, quam maxime clarum et evidens. aliud quid nobis suggerere videretur, soli tamen auctoritati divinae potius quam proprio nostro judicio fidem esse adhibendam." EDIT: ('Bearing in mind, however, what has been already said, that we must only confide in this natural light so long as nothing contrary to its dictates is revealed by God himself. . . . Above all we should impress on our memory as an infallible rule that what God has revealed to us is incomparably more certain than anything else and that we ought to submit to the Divine authority rather than to our own judgement even though the light of reason may seem to us to suggest, with the utmost clearness and evidence, something opposite.')

He did not cry, "Fire!" nor did he make it a duty for everyone to doubt; for Descartes was a quiet and solitary thinker, not a bellowing night-watchman; he modestly admitted that his method had importance for him alone and was justified in part by the bungled knowledge of his earlier years. "Ne quis igitur putet me hic traditurum aliquam methodum quam unusquisque sequi debeat ad recte regendum rationem; illam enim tantum quam ipsemet secutus sum exponere decrevi. . . . Sed simul ac illum studiorum curriculum absolvi (sc. juventutis), quo decurso mos est in eruditorum cooptare, plane aliud coepi cogitare. Tot enim me dubiis totque erroribus imblicatum esse animadverti, ut omnes discendi conatus nihil aliud mihi profuisse judicarem, quam quad ignorantiam meam magis magisque detexissem." EDIT: ('Thus my design here is not to teach the Method which everyone should follow in order to promote the good conduct of Reason, but only to show in what manner I have endeavoured to conduct my own... But so soon as I had achieved the entire course of study (that is, of his youth) at the loss of which one is usually received into the ranks of the learned, I entirely changed my opinion. For I found myself embarrassed with so many doubts and errors that it seemed to me that the effort to instruct myself had no effect other than the increasing discovery of my own ignorance.')


What those ancient Greeks (who also had some understanding of philosophy) regarded as a task for a whole lifetime, seeing that dexterity in doubting is not acquired in a few days or weeks, what the veteran combatant attained when he had preserved the equilibrium of doubt through all the pitfalls he encountered, who intrepidly denied the certainty of sense-perception and the certainty of the processes of thought, incorruptibly defied the apprehensions of self-love and the insinuations of sympathy -- that is where everybody begins in our time.

In our time nobody is content to stop with faith but wants to go further. It would perhaps be rash to ask where these people are going, but it is surely a sign of breeding and culture for me to assume that everybody has faith, for otherwise it would be queer for them to be . . . going further. In those old days it was different, then faith was a task for a whole lifetime, because it was assumed that dexterity in faith is not acquired in a few days or weeks. When the tried oldster drew near to his last hour, having fought the good fight and kept the faith, his heart was still young enough not to have forgotten that fear and trembling which chastened the youth, which the man indeed held in check, but which no man quite outgrows. . . except as he might succeed at the earliest opportunity in going further. Where these revered figures arrived, that is the point where everybody in our day begins to go further.

The present writer is nothing of a philosopher, he has not understood the System, does not know whether it actually exists, whether it is completed; already he has enough for his weak head in the thought of what a prodigious head everybody in our day must have, since everybody has such a prodigious thought. Even though one were capable of converting the whole content of faith into the form of a concept, it does not follow that one has adequately conceived faith and understands how one got Into it, or how it got into one. The present writer is nothing of a philosopher; he is,poetice et eleganter, an amateur writer who neither writes the System nor promises of the System, who neither subscribes to the System nor ascribes anything to it. He writes because for him it is a luxury which becomes the more agreeable and more evident, the fewer there are who buy and read what he writes. He can easily foresee his fate in an age when passion has been obliterated in favor of learning, in an age when an author who wants to have readers must take care to write in such a way that the book can easily be perused during the afternoon nap, and take care to fashion his outward deportment in likeness to the picture of that polite young gardener in the advertisement sheet, who with hat in hand, and with a good certificate from the place where he last served, recommends himself to the esteemed public. He foresees his fate -- that he will be entirely ignored. He has a presentiment of the dreadful event, that a jealous criticism will many a time let him feel the birch; he trembles at the still more dreadful thought that one or another enterprising scribe, a gulper of paragraphs, who to rescue learning is always willing to do with other peoples’ writings what Trop "to save appearances" magnanimously resolved to do, though it were "the destruction of the human race" -- that is, he will slice the author into paragraphs, and will do it with the same inflexibility as the man who in the interest of the science of punctuation divided his discourse by counting the words, so that there were fifty words for a period and thirty-five for a semicolon.

I prostrate myself with the profoundest deference before every systematic "bag-peerer" at the custom house, protesting, "This is not the System, it has nothing whatever to do with the System." I call down every blessing upon the System and upon the Danish shareholders in this omnibus -- for a tower it is hardly likely to become. I wish them all and sundry good luck and all prosperity.

Respectfully,

Johannes De Silentio

[Pax Britannia]

Just to get this thread back on track;

"Shit happens" - Anonymous

[Archangel]

There is no a priori.

[Pax Britannia]

"If it bleeds we can kill it" - Dutch, Predator

[Archangel]

Certum est, quia impossibile/credo quia absurdum.

- Quintus Septimius Florens Tertullianus

[Pax Britannia]

"Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis" - Darth Vader

[Archangel]

"Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis" - Darth Vader

My Latin's rusty, but it should be "potestatem obscuri lateris nescis", since he is talking to only Luke in that scene...

[Pax Britannia]

My Latin's rusty, but it should be "potestatem obscuri lateris nescis", since he is talking to only Luke in that scene...

I couldnt say, I just copy and pasted it from a latin website.

[medlar]

"An open mouth often collects a closed fist" ~ my grandad

[Angry Ass Messican Dude]

I'm sorry I came on your mom. - Alex

[CTricksterGirl]

If he dies, he dies- Drako from Rocky IV

[Archetype]

A couple of Keats poems, partly to do with his theory of negative capability, "that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason."

Ode on Melancholy

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty -Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine:
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.


Ode to a Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:


Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.


Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.


I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.


Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.


Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

[mongo]

claydon is a faggot
-99.9% of gmf

[BSM]

"You're the man now dog!"

Connery

[canto iv]

“The idea of death, the fear of it, haunts the human animal like nothing else; it is a mainspring of human activity - designed largely to avoid the fatality of death, to overcome it by denying in some way that it is the final destiny of man.”
- Ernest Becker

I highly recommend Becker's Denial of Death, or the documentary Flight From Death which is based on his work.

[Archangel]

Oh, I get it. Vespa...

[BSM]

"I'm too drunk to taste this chicken."
Colonel Sanders