From the Mitchell translation of the Tao Teh Ching, from the handy Wayist.Org website:
35.3 But words that point to the Tao seem monotonous and without flavour. When you look for it, there is nothing to see. When you listen for it, there is nothing to hear. When you use it, it is inexhaustible.
Food for thought.
I have stood at the bar late at night and listened to lesser minds, made rich and confident by business dealings in software ventures with wise-sounding names attached to them (like 'Avatar,' or 'Guru,' bla bla bla, and confident in knowledge of fine Bordeaux) speak confidently about David Foster Wallace, as if they were Douglas, about 'what was wrong with him.' The barman's own fault, for not getting rid of them before the last egotistical wine bottle. (He doesn't notice his peers, specially imported, say 'like,' as part of speech as a teenage would, 'he went, like, xxx, and then I was, like, yyy, and then she says, like, zzz...' On top of being boring, aggressive and unfriendly, not to mention arrogant--where do you find these people?) Mr. Wallace never got rich, never reached a sense of security, but yet he made a lasting contribution to the world, to humanity, to letters, any way you want to slice it, in a way you never will. No, he did not get business school rich. No, he did not do that.
(No, it's not quite the same inspiration as Yeats' Easter 1916.)
I have stood at the bar late at night and listened to lesser minds, made rich and confident by business dealings in software ventures with wise-sounding names attached to them (like 'Avatar,' or 'Guru,' bla bla bla, and confident in knowledge of fine Bordeaux) speak confidently about David Foster Wallace, as if they were Douglas, about 'what was wrong with him.' The barman's own fault, for not getting rid of them before the last egotistical wine bottle. (He doesn't notice his peers, specially imported, say 'like,' as part of speech as a teenage would, 'he went, like, xxx, and then I was, like, yyy, and then she says, like, zzz...' On top of being boring, aggressive and unfriendly, not to mention arrogant--where do you find these people?) Mr. Wallace never got rich, never reached a sense of security, but yet he made a lasting contribution to the world, to humanity, to letters, any way you want to slice it, in a way you never will. No, he did not get business school rich. No, he did not do that.
(No, it's not quite the same inspiration as Yeats' Easter 1916.)
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