Take pains to preserve thy health; and thou wilt all the more easily do this if thou avoidest physicians, because their drugs are a kind of alchemy, and there are as many books on this subject as there are on medicine.
I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.
"I may kid around about drugs, but really, I take them seriously."
Shun drugs and drinks which work the wit abuse: clear minds, clean bodies, need no Soma juice.
The spirit world shuts not its gates, Your heart is dead, your senses sleep,’ says the Earth Spirit to Faust. And the senses sleep when there is not enough energy to run them efficiently. On the other hand, when the level of will and determination is high, the senses wake up. (Maslow was not particularly literary, or he might have been amused to think that Faust is suffering from exactly the same problem as the girl in the chewing gum factory (described earlier), and that he had, incidentally, solved a problem that had troubled European culture for nearly two centuries). Peak experiences are a by-product of this higher energy-drive. The alcoholic drinks because he is seeking peak experiences; (the same, of course, goes for all addicts, whether of drugs or tobacco.) In fact, he is moving away from them, like a lost traveller walking away from the inn in which he hopes to spend the night. The moment he sees with clarity what he needs to do to regain the peak experience, he does an about-face and ceases to be an alcoholic.
Medicine was the foster-mother of Chemistry, because it has to do with the preparation of drugs and the detection of poisons; of Botany, because it enabled the physician to recognise medicinal herbs; of Comparative Anatomy and Physiology, because the man who studied Human Anatomy and Physiology for purely medical purposes was led to extend his studies to the rest of the animal world.
I am 100 percent in favor of the intelligent use of drugs, and 1,000 percent against the thoughtless use of them, whether caffeine or LSD. And drugs are not central to my life.
When we hate ourselves we destroy our bodies with alcohol, drugs, casual sex, and a bunch of stuff. Then we look at ourselves and hate ourselves even more.
Not drinking, chasing women, or doing drugs won't make you live longer -- it just seems that way.
The Official MBA Handbook on doing company business on an airplane: Do not work openly on top-secret company cost documents unless you have previously ascertained that the passenger next to you is blind, a rock musician on mood-ameliorating drugs, or the unfortunate possessor of a forty-seventh chromosome.
I mean, well, if it were not for Linux I might be roaming the streets looking for drugs or prostitutes or something. Hannu and Linus have my highest admiration (apple polishing mode off). -- Phil Lewis, plewis@nyx.nyx.net
They are fools that think that wealth or women or strong drink or even
pale pleasures compared to that which is greatest of them all, that task which
demands from him more than his utmost strength, that absorbs him, bone and
sinew and brain and hope and fear and dreams -- and still calls for more.
They are fools that think otherwise. No great effort was ever bought.
No painting, no music, no poem, no cathedral in stone, no church, no state was
ever raised into being for payment of any kind. No parthenon, no Thermopylae
was ever built or fought for pay or glory; no Bukhara sacked, or China ground
beneath Mongol heel, for loot or power alone. The payment for doing these
things was itself the doing of them.
To wield oneself -- to use oneself as a tool in one's own hand -- and
so to make or break that which no one else can build or ruin -- THAT is the
greatest pleasure known to man! To one who has felt the chisel in his hand
and set free the angel prisoned in the marble block, or to one who has felt
sword in hand and set homeless the soul that a moment before lived in the body
of his mortal enemy -- to those both come alike the taste of that rare food
spread only for demons or for gods."
-- Gordon R. Dickson, "Soldier Ask Not"
The last time somebody said, "I find I can write much better with a word processor.", I replied, "They used to say the same thing about drugs." -- Roy Blount, Jr.
Police: Good evening, are you the host? Host: No. Police: We've been getting complaints about this party. Host: About the drugs? Police: No. Host: About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns? Police: No, the noise. Host: Oh, the noise. Well that makes sense because there are no guns or drugs here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background.) Or fireworks. Who's complaining about the noise? The neighbors? Police: No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent complaints have come from Pittsburgh. Do you think you could ask the host to quiet things down? Host: No Problem. (At this point, a Volkswagon bug with primitive religious symbols drawn on the doors emerges from the living room and roars down the hall, past the police and onto the lawn, where it smashes into a tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things are starting to wind down.
"I may kid around about drugs, but really, I take them seriously." -- Doctor Graper
In most countries selling harmful things like drugs is punishable. Then howcome people can sell Microsoft software and go unpunished? (By hasku@rost.abo.fi, Hasse Skrifvars)
Then there's the story of the man who avoided reality for 70 years with drugs, sex, alcohol, fantasy, TV, movies, records, a hobby, lots of sleep... And on his 80th birthday died without ever having faced any of his real problems. The man's younger brother, who had been facing reality and all his problems for 50 years with psychiatrists, nervous breakdowns, tics, tension, headaches, worry, anxiety and ulcers, was so angry at his brother for having gotten away scott free that he had a paralyzing stroke. The moral to this story is that there ain't no justice that we can stand to live with. -- R. Geis
You must include all income you receive in the form of money, property and services if it is not specifically exempt. Report property (goods) and services at their fair market values. Examples include income from bartering or swapping transactions, side commissions, kickbacks, rent paid in services, illegal activities (such as stealing, drugs, etc.), cash skimming by proprietors and tradesmen, "moonlighting" services, gambling, prizes and awards. Not reporting such income can lead to prosecution for perjury and fraud. -- Excerpt from Taxachussetts income tax forms
<Knghtbrd> Internet censorship. Because your children need to be protected from naked women, medical procedures, diverse cultures, and violent video games. <knghtbrd> (but information on building bombs, stealing cable, and manufacturing drugs is okay...)
I'm having a RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE ... and I don't take any DRUGS</p>
I don't need no arms around me... I don't need no drugs to calm me... I have seen the writing on the wall. Don't think I need anything at all. No! Don't think I need anything at all! All in all, it was all just bricks in the wall. All in all, it was all just bricks in the wall. -- Pink Floyd, "Another Brick in the Wall", Part III
The justifications for drug testing are part of the presently fashionable debate concerning restoring America's "competitiveness." Drugs, it has been revealed, are responsible for rampant absenteeism, reduced output, and poor quality work. But is drug testing in fact rationally related to the resurrection of competitiveness? Will charging the atmosphere of the workplace with the fear of excretory betrayal honestly spur productivity? Much noise has been made about rehabilitating the worker using drugs, but to date the vast majority of programs end with the simple firing or the not hiring of the abuser. This practice may exacerbate, not alleviate, the nation's productivity problem. If economic rehabilitation is the ultimate goal of drug testing, then criteria abandoning the rehabilitation of the drug-using worker is the purest of hypocrisy and the worst of rationalization. -- The concluding paragraph of "Constitutional Law: The Fourth Amendment and Drug Testing in the Workplace," Tim Moore, Harvard Journal of Law & Public Policy, vol. 10, No. 3 (Summer 1987), pp. 762-768.
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp. Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give. Gas smells awful-- You might as well live! -- Dorothy Parker, "Resume", 1926
Now KEN and BARBIE are PERMANENTLY ADDICTED to MIND-ALTERING DRUGS ...
Sex, Drugs & Linux Rules -- MaDsen Wikholm, mwikholm@at8.abo.fi
This message was brought to you by Linux, the free unix. Windows without the X is like making love without a partner. Sex, Drugs & Linux Rules win-nt from the people who invented edlin apples have meant trouble since eden Linux, the way to get rid of boot viruses (By mwikholm@at8.abo.fi, MaDsen Wikholm)
In most countries selling harmful things like drugs is punishable. Then howcome people can sell Microsoft software and go unpunished? -- Hasse Skrifvars, hasku@rost.abo.fi,
Earth Tones: A youthful subgroup interested in vegetarianism, tie-dyed outfits, mild recreational drugs, and good stereo equipment. Earnest, frequently lacking in humor. -- Douglas Coupland, "Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture"
Thompson, if he is to be believed, has sampled the entire rainbow of legal and illegal drugs in heroic efforts to feel better than he does. As for the truth about his health: I have asked around about it. I am told that he appears to be strong and rosy, and steadily sane. But we will be doing what he wants us to do, I think, if we consider his exterior a sort of Dorian Gray facade. Inwardly, he is being eaten alive by tinhorn politicians. The disease is fatal. There is no known cure. The most we can do for the poor devil, it seems to me, is to name his disease in his honor. From this moment on, let all those who feel that Americans can be as easily led to beauty as to ugliness, to truth as to public relations, to joy as to bitterness, be said to be suffering from Hunter Thompson's disease. I don't have it this morning. It comes and goes. This morning I don't have Hunter Thompson's disease. -- Kurt Vonnegut Jr., on Dr. Hunter S. Thompson: Excerpt from "A Political Disease", Vonnegut's review of "Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72"
I brought my BOWLING BALL -- and some DRUGS!!
He ceased, and to the care his son consign'd Of Pæon; he with drugs of lenient powers, Soon heal'd whom immortality secured From dissolution. As the juice from figs Express'd what fluid was in milk before Coagulates, stirr'd rapidly around, So soon was Mars by Pæon skill restored. Him Hebe bathed, and with divine attire Graceful adorn'd; when at the side of Jove Again his glorious seat sublime he took.
So I, whom hearing, they all courage lost, And at remembrance of Antiphatas The Læstrygonian, and the Cyclops' deeds, Ferocious feeder on the flesh of man, Mourn'd loud and wept, but tears could nought avail. Then numb'ring man by man, I parted them In equal portions, and assign'd a Chief To either band, myself to these, to those Godlike Eurylochus. This done, we cast The lots into the helmet, and at once Forth sprang the lot of bold Eurylochus. He went, and with him of my people march'd Twenty and two, all weeping; nor ourselves Wept less, at separation from our friends. Low in a vale, but on an open spot, They found the splendid house of Circe, built With hewn and polish'd stones; compass'd she dwelt By lions on all sides and mountain-wolves Tamed by herself with drugs of noxious pow'rs. Nor were they mischievous, but as my friends Approach'd, arising on their hinder feet, Paw'd them in blandishment, and wagg'd the tail. As, when from feast he rises, dogs around Their master fawn, accustom'd to receive The sop conciliatory from his hand, Around my people, so, those talon'd wolves And lions fawn'd. They, terrified, that troop Of savage monsters horrible beheld. And now, before the Goddess' gates arrived, They heard the voice of Circe singing sweet Within, while, busied at the loom, she wove An ample web immortal, such a work Transparent, graceful, and of bright design As hands of Goddesses alone produce. Thus then Polites, Prince of men, the friend Highest in my esteem, the rest bespake.
He ceas'd; they call'd; soon issuing at the sound, The Goddess open'd wide her splendid gates, And bade them in; they, heedless, all complied, All save Eurylochus, who fear'd a snare. She, introducing them, conducted each To a bright throne, then gave them Pramnian wine, With grated cheese, pure meal, and honey new, But medicated with her pois'nous drugs Their food, that in oblivion they might lose The wish of home. She gave them, and they drank,-- When, smiting each with her enchanting wand, She shut them in her sties. In head, in voice, In body, and in bristles they became All swine, yet intellected as before, And at her hand were dieted alone With acorns, chestnuts, and the cornel-fruit, Food grateful ever to the grovelling swine.
Him answer'd Agamemnon, King of men. So be it brother! but the hand of one Skilful to heal shall visit and shall dress The wound with drugs of pain-assuaging power.
No sooner landed, in his den they found The triple porter of the Stygian sound, Grim Cerberus, who soon began to rear His crested snakes, and arm'd his bristling hair. The prudent Sibyl had before prepar'd A sop, in honey steep'd, to charm the guard; Which, mix'd with pow'rful drugs, she cast before His greedy grinning jaws, just op'd to roar. With three enormous mouths he gapes; and straight, With hunger press'd, devours the pleasing bait. Long draughts of sleep his monstrous limbs enslave; He reels, and, falling, fills the spacious cave. The keeper charm'd, the chief without delay Pass'd on, and took th' irremeable way. Before the gates, the cries of babes new born, Whom fate had from their tender mothers torn, Assault his ears: then those, whom form of laws Condemn'd to die, when traitors judg'd their cause. Nor want they lots, nor judges to review The wrongful sentence, and award a new. Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears; And lives and crimes, with his assessors, hears. Round in his urn the blended balls he rolls, Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls. The next, in place and punishment, are they Who prodigally throw their souls away; Fools, who, repining at their wretched state, And loathing anxious life, suborn'd their fate. With late repentance now they would retrieve The bodies they forsook, and wish to live; Their pains and poverty desire to bear, To view the light of heav'n, and breathe the vital air: But fate forbids; the Stygian floods oppose, And with circling streams the captive souls inclose.
So saying, he roused Machaon, who his course Through the wide host began. Arriving soon Where wounded Menelaus stood, while all The bravest of Achaia's host around The godlike hero press'd, he strove at once To draw the arrow from his cincture forth. But, drawing, bent the barbs. He therefore loosed His broider'd belt, his hauberk and his quilt, Work of the armorer, and laying bare His body where the bitter shaft had plow'd His flesh, he suck'd the wound, then spread it o'er With drugs of balmy power, given on a time For friendship's sake by Chiron to his sire.
"I shall not rest satisfied with merely employing my capital in insuring ships. I shall buy up some good Life Assurance shares, and cut into the Direction. I shall also do a little in the mining way. None of these things will interfere with my chartering a few thousand tons on my own account. I think I shall trade," said he, leaning back in his chair, "to the East Indies, for silks, shawls, spices, dyes, drugs, and precious woods. It's an interesting trade."
While yet the battle raged only without The wall, and from the ships apart, so long Patroclus quiet in the tent and calm Sat of Eurypylus, his generous friend Consoling with sweet converse, and his wound Sprinkling with drugs assuasive of his pains. But soon as through the broken rampart borne He saw the Trojans, and the clamor heard And tumult of the flying Greeks, a voice Of loud lament uttering, with open palms His thighs he smote, and, sorrowful, exclaim'd.
The day had begun to dawn. Fantine had passed a sleepless and feverish night, filled with happy visions; at daybreak she fell asleep. Sister Simplice, who had been watching with her, availed herself of this slumber to go and prepare a new potion of chinchona. The worthy sister had been in the laboratory of the infirmary but a few moments, bending over her drugs and phials, and scrutinizing things very closely, on account of the dimness which the half-light of dawn spreads over all objects. Suddenly she raised her head and uttered a faint shriek. M. Madeleine stood before her; he had just entered silently.
One day she received from the Thenardiers a letter couched in the following terms: "Cosette is ill with a malady which is going the rounds of the neighborhood. A miliary fever, they call it. Expensive drugs are required. This is ruining us, and we can no longer pay for them. If you do not send us forty francs before the week is out, the little one will be dead."
"How fine that is!" exclaimed the hair-dresser, in Pindaric accents, "to die on the field of battle! On my word of honor, rather than die in bed, of an illness, slowly, a bit by bit each day, with drugs, cataplasms, syringes, medicines, I should prefer to receive a cannon-ball in my belly!"
He had acquired the habit of reading a few pages in his Diogenes Laertius every night, before he went to bed. He knew enough Greek to enjoy the peculiarities of the text which he owned. He had now no other enjoyment. Several weeks passed. All at once, Mother Plutarque fell ill. There is one thing sadder than having no money with which to buy bread at the baker's and that is having no money to purchase drugs at the apothecary's. One evening, the doctor had ordered a very expensive potion. And the malady was growing worse; a nurse was required. M. Mabeuf opened his bookcase; there was nothing there. The last volume had taken its departure. All that was left to him was Diogenes Laertius. He put this unique copy under his arm, and went out. It was the 4th of June, 1832; he went to the Porte Saint-Jacques, to Royal's successor, and returned with one hundred francs. He laid the pile of five-franc pieces on the old serving-woman's nightstand, and returned to his chamber without saying a word.
"Eh! our little Cosette! Are you not intending to take her away from us? Well, I speak frankly; as true as you are an honest man, I will not consent to it. I shall miss that child. I saw her first when she was a tiny thing. It is true that she costs us money; it is true that she has her faults; it is true that we are not rich; it is true that I have paid out over four hundred francs for drugs for just one of her illnesses! But one must do something for the good God's sake. She has neither father nor mother. I have brought her up. I have bread enough for her and for myself. In truth, I think a great deal of that child. You understand, one conceives an affection for a person; I am a good sort of a beast, I am; I do not reason; I love that little girl; my wife is quick-tempered, but she loves her also. You see, she is just the same as our own child. I want to keep her to babble about the house."
He ended; then, Asphalion, at his word, Servant of glorious Menelaus, poured Pure water on their hands, and they the feast Before them with keen appetite assail'd. But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime, Employ'd, into the wine of which they drank A drug infused, antidote to the pains Of grief and anger, a most potent charm For ills of ev'ry name. Whoe'er his wine So medicated drinks, he shall not pour All day the tears down his wan cheek, although His father and his mother both were dead, Nor even though his brother or his son Had fall'n in battle, and before his eyes. Such drugs Jove's daughter own'd, with skill prepar'd, And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone, Ægyptian Polydamna, giv'n her. For Ægypt teems with drugs, yielding no few Which, mingled with the drink, are good, and many Of baneful juice, and enemies to life. There ev'ry man in skill medicinal Excels, for they are sons of Pæon all. That drug infused, she bade her servant pour The bev'rage forth, and thus her speech resumed.
HOMOEOPATHY (from the Greek [Greek: homoios], like, and [Greek: pathos], feeling). The distinctive system of therapeutics which bears the name of homoeopathy is based upon the law _similia similibus curentur_,[1] the originator of which was S. C. F. Hahnemann, a native of Meissen in Germany, who discovered his new principle while he was experimenting with cinchona bark in 1790, and announced it in 1796.[2] The essential tenets of homoeopathy--with which is contrasted the "allopathy" ([Greek: allos], other) of the "orthodox" therapeutics--are that the cure of disease is effected by drugs that are capable of producing in a healthy individual symptoms similar to those of the disease to be treated, and that to ascertain the curative virtues of any drug it must be "proved" upon healthy persons--that is, taken by individuals of both sexes in a state of health in gradually increasing doses. The manifestations of drug action thus produced are carefully recorded, and this record of "drug-diseases," after being verified by repetition on many "provers," constitutes the distinguishing feature of the homoeopathic materia medica, which, while it embraces the sources, preparation and uses of drugs as known to the orthodox pharmacopoeia, contains, in addition, the various "provings" obtained in the manner above described. Entry: HOMOEOPATHY