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I tell fundamentalists that there is no question of them attacking our Republic's foundations.

quote by Jean-Pierre Raffarin
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Foundations

A house is nothing
Without its foundations.
Just as much as
I am without my foundations.
Foundations hold everything together.
Safe, intact and ready for anything,
Ready for renovations,
Or in my case changes,
Ready for tornadoes,
Or in my case challenges,
Ready for earthquakes,
Or in my case very down days,
Foundations make things ready for life.
Without foundations
A house cannot be built,
Without a house.
A couple cannot make a family,
Without a family,
A home cannot be made,
And to me home is everything,
With my foundations,
I wouldn't have grown up in Guelph,
Without my foundations,
I wouldnt have had a perfect childhood,
Without my foundations,
I wouldn't have travelled across the world,
Without my foundations,
I wouldn't be who I am now,
Without my foundations,
My life wouldn't have so much love,
Without my foundations,
I would be nothing,
Just like a house is
Without its foundations.
I am proud and grateful,
To call my foundations,
My mother
And most of all my father.

poem by Music Galore
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13 Question Method

(chuck berry)
Now, the thirteen question method is the one to use
Listen to me!
Thirteen question method is the one to use
Im saying that the thirteen question method is the one you gotta use
If you wanna have some fun
cause the thirteen question method is the one to use
Uhn!
Question number one: you wanna have fun, uh hun
Question number two: what to do ?
Lets see!
Question number three: wanna go out and eat burger with me ?
God almighty!
For the thirteen question method is the one to use
Now the question number five: dont give me no jive this morning
Question number six: dont try no tricks, this evening
Question number seven: Ill pick you up at a quarter to eleven, baby
And question number eight: its a date
Thats question number nine: where to dine, this evening ?
Question number ten: ah, can we get in ?
Question number eleven: gonna be just like heaven ?
God almighty!
Question number twelve: we get by ourselves ?
cause the thirteen question method is the one to use
The thirteen question method is the one to use
Now the thirteen question method is the one gotta use if you wanna...
The thirteen question method is the one to use
And she says ah...
She says...
The thirteen question method is the one to use
The thirteen question method is the one to use
Now the thirteen question method is the one gotta use if you wanna have some fun
cause the...

song performed by Ry Cooder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Smacked

Kept pocketed and it's deep,
Those feelings so hard to reach.
And then with no warning shown...
They're seen unbelievebly,
To rattle as if in battle...
To match!
And...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.

Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.

Kept pocketed and it's deep,
Those feelings so hard to reach.
And then with no warning shown...
They're seen unbelievebly,
To rattle!
And...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.

Finding...
No time to rhyme,
When...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.

Finding...
No time to rhyme,
When...
Smacked like a cat attacking,
With claws at the end of paws.
And scratching right back,
Ouch!
And smacked with the claws out.

Kept pocketed and it's deep,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You have to be realistic about terrorism. Certain groups of people, certain groups, Muslim fundamentalists, Christian fundamentalists, Jewish fundamentalists, and just plain guys from Montanta, are going to continue to make life in this country very interesting for a long, long time.

George Carlin in You Are All Diseased
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nationalistic Catastrophe Inequitable? No!

In New Zealand – (developing)
potential equals people
proven source sowing
shared future prosperity?

In Turkey rapidly
expanding masses
within relatively
limited land mass.

Is financially
exploited force separatist formalization;
shorn sociologically
suppressed resource regional degeneration?

Environmental economic republic ruination
potentially nationalistic splintered annihilation?

Nationalism to ensure
continued engendered capitalistic sodality;
maintains status-quo elite
puppeting manipulated republic reality?

Atatürk was wise enough to know
that political economic and cultural reforms;
an Age of Enlightenment was required
to transform the Ottoman Empire...

into a modern secular nation-state. Kemalism!

Atatürk’s radical reforms inspirationally
guided a fledgling nation with educational;
and scientific progress fusing enlightenment
positivism rationalism realism pragmatism

and secularism into a constitution sacrosanct.

Without pause without transition, the progressive
unfolding, the implementation of Kemalism; the
active modification of Turkish society; adapting
Western institutions with Turkish traits patterns,

to make them, indelibly a part of Turkish culture!

Generations of cultural and social experience, the
collective vibrant memory, of the Turkish nation!

Atatürk’s blessed social and political vision are
sacrosanct; must remain irreversible; indelibly
etched; into the Republic’s nationalistic freedom!

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The King of our Republic

He is coming! He is coming! without heralds, without cheers.
He is coming! He is coming! and he’s been with us for years:
And, if you should pause to wonder who’s the man of whom I sing—
’Tis the King of our Republic, and the man we shall call King.
No, he comes not to amuse us, and he comes not to explain,
With the bathos of the old things over all the land again.
The debatable and tangled, and the vain imagining
Shall be swept out of our pathway by the man that we’ll call King.

He is coming! He is coming! He has heard our spirit call;
He’ll be greatest man since Cromwell in the English nations all,
And he’ll take his place amongst us while the rest are wondering—
Shall the King of our Republic, and the man we will call King.

If you find him stern, unyielding, where his living task is set,
I have told you that a tyrant shall uplift the nation yet;
He will place his country’s welfare over all and everything,
Shall the King of our Republic, and the man that we’ll call King.

Yet his heart shall still be gentle with his brothers gone astray,
For the Great Man of Australia shall be simple in his day—
Modest, kindly, but unyielding, while the watching world shall ring
With the name of our Republic and the man that we call King.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Balkan Nightmares

The ghosts of history haunt the Balkans.
Ancient passions, unbending hatreds
turmoil the region.
Painful tragedies of the past
are recycled by memories.
Permanent hostage of bound
and determined remembrance,
Race, religion and poverty clash
in violent convulsions.

Ethnic warfare and ruthless fright
sweep across nations,
fuelled by explosions of grief, revenge
and fear.
They are immersed in horror,
terror, chaos and bloodshed,
the sufferings of children,
the sorrows of fathers,
and the agonies of widows.

In 1453 the Turks led by Mehmet II
captured Constantinople
and the Eastern Roman Empire
ceased to exist.
The Ottomans became the new masters
of the Balkan provinces,
ushering in long centuries
of rugged struggles for freedom
and independence.

In 1697 Prince Eugene of Savoy
conquered Sarajevo,
A historic city that he left burned down
and plague-infected. Although by 1717
the prince liberated Belgrade
and the Danube region from Ottoman rule,
he failed to retake the Bosnian capital.

In the 19th century Austria-Hungary
annexed Bosnia, but together with Albania,
it remains a Muslim stronghold
in the heart of Europe.

In one summer day in 1914
the driver of Archduke Franz Ferdinand
took a wrong turn to Franz Josef Street,
at the edge of the Latin Bridge in Sarajevo.
On an official visit, the heir presumptive
to the Austro-Hungarian throne was riding

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Hartal
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The fundamentalists are increasing. People, afraid to oppose those fundamentalists, shut their mouths. It is really very difficult to make people move against a sensitive issue like religion, which is the source of fundamentalism.

quote by Taslima Nasrin
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fundamentalists are not friends of democracy. And that includes your fundamentalists in the United States.

quote by Karen Armstrong
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The Joke's On Me

The old days were no fun
Im not sorry that they're gone
I don't miss them and I won't miss them
and it was always wrong
Everything I've ever done
From the beginning and to the ending
and things never got better, it seems like forever
Since we had fun or maybe I never have fun
And this whole time! I've been around
One minute up!
and a hundred down uhhh ohhh
Keep on laughing, Keep attacking
I'll show you what it means
To keep on lying, Keep denying
That there's nothing good in me
I'm not worthless, I know you heard this
My life's a joke and the joke's on me
The joke's on me
You were always lame, a headache and a pain
I don't miss you and I won't miss you
I tried not to get bitter but I was such a quitter
Oh yeah I had dreams but they were only ever bad dreams
And this whole time! I've been around
One minute up!
and a hundred down uhhh ohhh
Keep on laughing, Keep attacking
I'll show you what it means
To keep on lying, Keep denying
That there's nothing good in me
I'm not worthless, I know you heard this
My life's a joke and the joke's on me
The joke's on me, The joke's on me...
Well there never were any good old days
Looking back I'm still amazed
How everything went wrong in every way
There were no good old days
Well there never were any good old days
Looking back I'm still amazed
That everything went wrong in every way
There were no good old days
[2x]
And this whole time! I've been around
One minute up!
and a hundred down uhhh ohhh
Keep on laughing, Keep attacking
I'll show you what it means
To keep on lying, Keep denying
That there's nothing good in me
I'm not worthless, I know you heard this
My life's a joke and the joke's on me...

song performed by Reel Big Fish
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Race

Shout! (shout!)
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong
Now shut the door keep down to south
Shut the door keep down to south
Shut the door keep down to south
Not any track is turning but the race is in my head
Im attacking the illusion but the stopping drives me mad
Time is running out and the illusion fades away
Time is running out another day is on its way
Another sun was shining and he knew he wasnt great
He didnt ever talk about he knew he couldnt wait
Are you ever gonna push me let me run and let me do
I need it and Im ready and I havent got a clue
Not any track is turning but the race is in my head
Im attacking the illusion but the stopping drives me mad
Fire away!
This is the race!
Why?
Burn!
Shout!
Lies!
Give me the race!
Another sun was shining and he knew he wasnt great
He didnt ever talk about he knew he couldnt wait
I need this race!
Are you ever gonna push me let me run and let me do
I need it and Im ready and I havent got a clue
Any track is turning but the race is in my head
Im attacking the illusion but the stopping drives me mad
Fire away!
Time is running out and the illusion fades away
Time is running out another day is on its way
This is the race!
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen
This is billy mckloski from palm springs reporting for nbc sports of
America
Twenty seconds to the start of the thirty-first formula race on a hot
Sunny afternoon here in california
On the fast lane of the street Im driving
Sometimes, somewhere, Im arriving
Every day and every night
Why?
I need this race!
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong

[...] Read more

song performed by Yello
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Race

Shout! (shout!)
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong
Now shut the door keep down to south
Shut the door keep down to south
Shut the door keep down to south
Not any track is turning but the race is in my head
Im attacking the illusion but the stopping drives me mad
Time is running out and the illusion fades away
Time is running out another day is on its way
Another sun was shining and he knew he wasnt great
He didnt ever talk about he knew he couldnt wait
Are you ever gonna push me let me run and let me do
I need it and Im ready and I havent got a clue
Not any track is turning but the race is in my head
Im attacking the illusion but the stopping drives me mad
Fire away!
This is the race!
Why?
Burn!
Shout!
Lies!
Give me the race!
Another sun was shining and he knew he wasnt great
He didnt ever talk about he knew he couldnt wait
I need this race!
Are you ever gonna push me let me run and let me do
I need it and Im ready and I havent got a clue
Any track is turning but the race is in my head
Im attacking the illusion but the stopping drives me mad
Fire away!
Time is running out and the illusion fades away
Time is running out another day is on its way
This is the race!
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen
This is billy mckloski from palm springs reporting for nbc sports of
America
Twenty seconds to the start of the thirty-first formula race on a hot
Sunny afternoon here in california
On the fast lane of the street Im driving
Sometimes, somewhere, Im arriving
Every day and every night
Why?
I need this race!
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Count on me Im gonna win the race
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong
Room-dah-bee-boom the whippering dong

[...] Read more

song performed by Yello
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Matter What the Feedback

You've got to breathe.
No matter what the feedback,
Attacking like an enemy.
Take a deep breath,
And get yourself some relief.
You can't treat everybody
Like somebody with a special need.

You've got to breathe.
No matter what the feedback,
Attacking like an enemy.
Take a deep breath,
And get yourself some relief.
You can't treat everybody
Like somebody with a special need.

You can not please...
This one
That one
Everyone who 'cops' a plea.
Take a quick stand,
And don't dare hint or tease.
Do that while you can
Before you dropp in a faint
To your knees!

You've got to breathe.
No matter what the feedback,
Attacking like an enemy.
Take a quick stand,
And don't dare hint or tease.
Do that while you can
Before you dropp in a faint
To your knees!

You can't treat everybody,
Like somebody with a special need.

You can't treat everybody,
Like somebody with a special need.
And no matter what the feedback,
Get yourself relief!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We Have No Similar Interests

You have spent your time attacking my beliefs.
But it is your beliefs that now attack you.

Not once did I ever say,
You should do things my way.
However...
Your way,
Done...
Lead to your undoing.

You have spent your time attacking my beliefs.
But it is your beliefs that now attack you.

You had fast backing from a society.
Many professed as normal.
The one that sets standards...
With values to achieve.

You also had 'close' friends,
You spent time with.
I lived in my own 'world'.
And your laughter persisted.
Until it recently has drifted,
Away.

You have spent your time attacking my beliefs.
But it is your beliefs that attack now you.

Not once did I ever say,
You should do things my way.
However...
Your way,
Done...
Lead to your undoing.

Why am I now,
Getting your unanswered calls?
We have no similar interests.
None that bestows a wish,
To speak to you.
And all that I have gone through...
I just let my telephone ring.
Often to go unnoticed.
Any hellos I wish to here...
Are personal and exchanged,
When I am near...
From ear to ear.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Tower

SAILING TO BYZANTIUM
I

THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-- Those dying generations -- at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out Of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

WHAT shall I do with this absurdity --
O heart, O troubled heart -- this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?
Never had I more
Excited, passionate, fantastical
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
That more expected the impossible --
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulben's back
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Until imagination, ear and eye,

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Lara. A Tale

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.
The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;--that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!--
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.
And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
'Yet doth he live!' exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome to that Gothic pile.

IV.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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The Corsair

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel - to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and Its spirit soar?
No dread of death if with us die our foes -
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will - we snatch the life of life -
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away:
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours - the fresh turf; and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang - one bound - escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'

II.
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

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poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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