Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Quotes about reason



Reason: Quotes and famous phrases



Nobody gives death in an excess of reason.
Voltaire (1694-1778) French philosopher and writer


It can support brute force, but brute reason is unbearable.
 Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) Irish playwright and novelist


The   reason or judgment is the only thing that makes us men and distinguishes us from animals.
 Ren√© Descartes (1596-1650) French philosopher and mathematician


Thought is the steed, the reason the rider.
 George Sand (1804-1876) French writer


All our knowledge begins from sense goes into understanding and ends with reason.
 Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) German philosopher


The  man is a  animal rational , but not a rational animal.
 Hubbleton Alexander (1899-1980) British Film Director)


The man who listens to reason is lost . The reason enslaves all those who are not strong enough to dominate.
 George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) Irish Writer


Strong reasons make strong actions.
 William Shakespeare (1564-1616) British writer


Two excesses: to exclude reason, to admit no more than reason.
Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) Scientist, French writer and philosopher


Between two men equal in strength, the strongest is the one that  have reason.
 Pythagoras (582 BC-497 BC) Greek philosopher and mathematician


Very weak is the reason but comes to realize that there are many things that surpass.
 Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) Scientist, French writer and philosopher

As the view is to the body, the reason is the spirit.
 Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek Philosopher




Rare and heavenly gift, who can feel and t reason at the same time. Vittorio Alfieri
 


The loud noise  of  burst of laughing pass s.  The strength of the reasoning stay.
 Concepci√≥n Arenal (1600 - 1681) Spanish writer and sociologist



An understanding all logic is like a single blade knife, which strike the hand of its owner.
 Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Indian philosopher and writer

The reason not submit ever, if not judged to be times when you must submit.
St. Augustine (354-439) Bishop and philosopher

The reason has not taught me anything. Everything I know has been given me by the heart.
 Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) Russian writer


If the reason made the man, the sense leads him.
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) French Philosopher

Quotes from Albert Einstein



Quotes from Albert Einstein
German born American scientist (1879-1955)

Religion without science would be blind, and science without religion would-be limped.

I do not know how will be the third world war, just know that the fourth be with sticks and stones.


If your intention is to describe the truth, do it with simplicity and elegance let to the tailor

Chance does not exist, God does not play dice.
Do not try to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of principle.

The ideals which have lighted my way, and time and again I have infused new courage to face life. They have been kindness, beauty and truth.

My political ideal is democracy. Everyone should be respected as a person and no one should be deified.

To punish me for my contempt for authority, fate made
​​me the same authority.

If we hit no reason ever get anywhere.
Those who say it is impossible they should not disturb those who are doing it.

Man's problem is not in the atomic bomb, but in his heart.

Life is very dangerous. Not by the people who do evil, but by those who sit and see what happens.

Narration: The Nightingale and the Rose



Oscar Wilde: The Nightingale and the Rose


-He said she would dance with me if I wore a red rose, the young student complained, 'but there is not a single red rose in my entire garden.
From him nest in the holm he heard the nightingale. He looked through the leaves amazed.
- There is not a red rose in all my garden! Cried the student.
And his beautiful eyes filled with tears.
- Ah, what most insignificant thing happiness depends! I read scholars have written as I possess all the secrets of philosophy and find my life destroyed for lack of a red rose.

'Here, at last, the true lover,' said the Nightingale. I've sung every night, even without knowing it, every night I tell his story to the stars, and now I see. His hair is dark as the hyacinth flower and lips red as the rose you want, but the passion has gone pale as ivory and pain has sealed his front.
The Prince gives a dance tomorrow night murmured the young student, and my beloved will attend the party. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall in my arms, will rest her head on my shoulder and her hand will narrow mine. But there is no red rose in my garden. Therefore, I have to be alone and she  do not do any case.
No notice me at all and my heart shatter.

-Here is the true lover, 'said the Nightingale. Suffer all that I sing all that is joy to me is worth it to him. Really love is a wonderful thing is more beautiful than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and rubies because he cannot afford is not exposed in the market. One cannot buy the seller or put it on a scale to acquire their weight in gold.

-The musicians will sit in their gallery, 'said the young student. They will play their stringed instruments, and my beloved dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. Vaporously dance as your feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will surround solicitous, but not dance with me because I have no red rose to give her.
And sinking into the grass covered his face with his hands and wept.

- Why are you crying? Asked the green lizard, running close to him, with its tail raised.
-Yes, why? -Said a butterfly fluttering chasing a sunbeam.
'That I say, why? -Whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, with a faint little voice.
-Weeping for a red rose.
- For a red rose? What nonsense!
And the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed with all his might.
But the nightingale, who understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, sat silent in the oak, reflecting on the mystery of love.

Suddenly spread its dark wings and took flight.
He went through the woods like a shadow, and like a shadow across the lawn.
In the center of the field stood a beautiful rose, and seeing him, flew to him and perched on a twig.

-Give me a red rose shouted - and I will sing you my sweetest song.
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are white, he replied, white as sea foam, whiter than Snow Mountain.
But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree that was growing up around the old sundial.
-Give me a red rose shouted - and I will sing you my sweetest song.

But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are yellow,' he said, as yellow as the hair of mermaids sitting on a tree trunk, yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with the sickle. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.
-Give me a red rose, I cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song.
But the bush shook his head.

-My roses are red, 'he said, as red as the feet of pigeons, redder than the great fans of coral that the ocean rocks in its depths, but the winter has chilled my veins, frost has withered my buttons, the hurricane has broken my branches, and I will have no roses this year.

-All I need is a red rose cried the Nightingale, a single red rose. Is there no way for me to get?
'There's half the Rosebush said, but it is so terrible that I dare not tell you.
'Tell me,' said the Nightingale. I'm not afraid.

-If you need a red rose said - you have to make it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with blood of your own heart. Sing to me with his chest resting on my thorns. Sing to me all night and the thorns will pass through the heart of your life blood must flow into my veins and  your blood will become mine.

'Death is a great price for a red rose,' said the Nightingale, and everybody loves life. It is pleasant to sit in the verdant forest and look at the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Tender is the aroma of the noble thorns. Sweet are the bluebells that hides in the valley and heather covering the h ill. However, love is better than life. And what is the heart of a bird compared to a man?

So he spread her wings and flew dark. He went through the garden like a shadow and like a shadow crossed the forest.
The young student was still lying on the grass where the nightingale left him and tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

-Be happy-cried not the Nightingale said, be happy, because you will have your red rose.
 The notes will create music with moonlight and reddish   with the blood of my own heart.
All I ask in return is that you have to be e a true lover, for Love is wiser than philosophy, though it is wise, more powerful than any  the power, however strong it is. Their wings are the color of fire and flame colored body, her lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.

The student looked up from the grass, and listened, but could not understand what the Nightingale was saying, because he  only knew the things that are written in the books.

But the oak got it and was sad, for he loved much to Nightingale who had built her nest in its branches.

-Sing to me the last song he murmured. I'll be so sad when you leave!
So the Nightingale sang to the oak, and his voice was like water in a fountain laughing Argentina.

After the song the Student got up, while drawing his notebook and pencil.

"The nightingale was said pacing the mall-the nightingale has an undeniable beauty, but do you feel?  'Afraid not. After all, is like many artists: style, devoid of sincerity. No sacrifices for others. He thinks only in music and art, as everyone knows, is selfish. Certainly no denying that his throat has beautiful notes. What a pity that none of this makes any sense, it does not pursue any purpose practical! "

And back to his room, lay down on his armchair and began to think of her beloved.
After a while he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the rose and placed her breast against the thorn.
And all night long he sang with his chest resting on thorns, and the cold crystal moon stopped and listened all night.
He hang all night, and thorns increasingly penetrated his chest, and the blood of his life flowed from his chest.
At first sang the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl, and on the highest branch of the rose blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, song after song.
First was pale as the mist that hangs over the river, pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.
The rose that blossomed on the topmost branch of the rose seemed shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, the shade of pink in a lake.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
-Press closer, little Nightingale, he e would say, or the day before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder flowed his song, she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a virgin.

And a delicate flush appeared on the petals of the rose, like reddened face of a lover's lips kissing his bride.
But the thorn had not yet reached the heart of the nightingale, so the rose's heart remained white: because only the blood of a nightingale can color the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
-Press closer, little Nightingale, she would say, or the day before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and he felt inside a cruel torment of pain.
Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by death, the love that does not end in the grave.

And the marvelous rose blushed like roses of Bengal. Purple was the color of the petals and purple as a ruby ​​was the heart.
But the Nightingale's voice faltered. Their short wings began to beat and a cloud spread over his eyes.
Her singing was growing weaker. He felt something choking her in her throat.
Then his singing had a last flash. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn is still in the sky.

The red rose heard him, trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold air of dawn.
Echo led him to her purple cavern in the hills, awakening from their dreams asleep herds.
The song floated through the reeds of the river, which took their message to the sea.

-Look, look he cried the rose-the rose is finished.
But the Nightingale made no reply, lay dead in the long grass, his heart pierced with thorns.

At noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
- What a strange good luck! He exclaimed. Here is a red rose! I have not seen any rose like it in life. It is so beautiful that I am sure you must be very convoluted Latin name.
Stooped, picked it up.

Immediately put on his hat and ran to the teacher's home, carrying in his hand the rose.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway. Racked blue silk on a reel, with a dog lying at her feet.

You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose, the student said. Here is the reddest rose in the world. Tonight attach close to your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how much I love you.

But the girl frowned.
I'm afraid that this rose does not harmonize well with my dress replied. In addition, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me several jewels of truth, and everyone knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.

- Oh, how ungrateful you are! The student said in anger.
And he threw the rose into the stream. A heavy cart was crushed.

- Ungrateful! Said the girl. I'll tell you that you act like a rude, and after all, what are you?
A simple student. Bah! Do not think you can ever have silver buckles on the shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew.

And rising from his chair, went into his house.

"What nonsense is love, 'said the student is returning. Not even half as useful as logic, because you cannot prove anything; talks of things that will not happen and makes people believe things that not true. Really is not practical, and as today everything is to be practical, I will return to the philosophy and the study of metaphysics. "
And with that, the student, once in her room, opened a large dusty book and began to read.

Narration: The snail and the rosebush



The snail and the rosebush: Hans Christian Anderson (1805 - 1875)

There was once a vast plain where grazing sheep and cows. And the other side of the vast meadow was the beautiful garden surrounded by hazel.
 The center of the garden was completely dominated by a rose bush covered with flowers all year round. And there, in that aromatic world of color, living a snail, with all that represented their world, in tow, carrying on their backs as their home and belongings.
 And he talked to himself about the time to be useful in life: - Patience! -Said the snail. My time will come. I will do much more than give roses or hazelnuts, much more than give milk like cows and sheep.
-We expect a lot of you said the Rosebush. Could you teach me knowing when what you're capable of doing?
I need time to think, said the Snail, you are always in a hurry. No, well not prepared surprises.
A year later the snail was basking in almost the same place as before, while the rose buds cast was busy and keep the freshness of your roses, always fresh, always new. The snail crept halfway out, stretched his horns and drew back.
-Nothing has changed, she said. Not the least progress notes. The rose continues its roses, and that's all it does.
He spent the summer and autumn came, and rose buds and roses continued to until the snow came. The weather became wet and sullen. The rose bent towards the earth, the snail crept into the ground.
Then began a new season, and aired roses and snail did the same.
-Now you're an old Rosebush said the Snail. You must hurry up and die. You've given the world all had it in you. Whether or not of much value, is something that I have not had time to think calmly. But clearly you have not done anything for your internal development, because in that case you would have produced something different to offer. What do you say to this? Soon there will be an dry steak ...
Do you realize what I mean?
-You scare me said the Rosebush. I've never thought about it.
'Of course, you have never bothered to think about anything. Do you ever wonder why bloomed, and how, why they did it that way and not another?
'No,' the rose. Just happy to blossom, because I could not help it. The sun was warm, the air so refreshing! ... I drank the clear dew and rain generous, breathing, and alive. From the land down there, I climbed the force, which also fell on me from above. I felt a happiness that was always new, always, and so had to blossom over. That was my life, I could not do otherwise.
-Your life was too easy, said the Snail (Without stopping to observe himself).
'True,' said the Rosebush. I gave it everything. But you had better luck yet. You are one of those deep, thoughtful, one of those beings of great intelligence that will astonish the world someday ... someday.... But ... what good is the thinking over the years without doing anything useful for the world?
-No, no, no way, 'said the snail. The world does not exist for me. What do I have to do with the world? Enough is me to take care of myself and in myself.
- But should not we all give to others the best of us, we should not offer anything we could? It is true that I have not given but roses, but you, however, that you have so many gifts, what have you given to the world? What can you give?
- Give? Give him I to the world? I spit. What is the world? It means nothing to me.  Go and continues to cultivate your roses, it is for all you serve. Let the hazel produce fruit, let the cows and sheep give milk, each has its audience, and I also I have mine within myself. I pick up inside me, and he'll stay! The world does not interest me.
And with these words, the snail withdrew into his house and sealed it.
- What a shame! Said the Rosebush. I have no way of hiding, however hard they try. I always come back again; I always show my roses again. Their petals fall and wind-blown, although he once saw how a mother kept one of my flowers in her prayer book, and how a nice girl lit another chest, kissed by a child and another on the first joy of their life. It did me good, was a true blessing. Such are my memories, my life.
And the Tree continued to flourish in all innocence, while the snail loafed in his house. The world meant nothing to him.
And over the years the snail was back down on land, and the land on earth rose, and pink memorable prayer book was gone ... But in the garden sprouting new rosebushes, and new snails followed the same philosophy that one, crawling indoors and spat the world that meant nothing to them.
And over time, the same story was continued repeating...