Quotes4study

If now the question be asked what purpose or aim a man can have, seeing that there is nothing of permanent value in human work, an answer is given which recurs, like a refrain, from the beginning to the end of the book, and appears to be from the hand of the original author: after every description of the vanity of things comes the injunction to enjoy such pleasures as may fall to one's lot (ii. 24, 25, iii. 12, 13, 22, v. 18, 19, viii. 15, ix. 7-10, xi. 7-xii. 7). Elsewhere (ii.), it is true, it is said that there is no lasting satisfaction in pleasure; but the sage may mean to point out that, though there is no permanent outcome to life, it is the part of common-sense to enjoy what one has. The opportunity and the power to enjoy are represented as being the gift of God; but this statement is not out of accord with the author's general position, which is distinctly theistic. All the passages just cited, except the last (xi. 7-xii. 7), are simple and plain, but the bearing of the last is obscured by interpolations. Obviously the purpose of the paragraph is to point out the wisdom of enjoying life in the time of youth while the physical powers are fresh and strong, and the impotency of old age has not yet crept in. Omitting xi. 8c, 9b, 10b, xii. 1a, the passage will read: "Life is pleasant in the bright sunshine--however long a man may live, he must be cheerful always, only remembering that dark days will come. Let the young man enjoy all the pleasures of youth, putting away everything painful, before the time comes when his bodily powers decay and he can enjoy nothing." To relieve the apparent Epicureanism of this passage, an editor has inserted reminders of the vanity of youthful pleasures, and admonitions to remember God and His judgment. The author, however, does not recommend dissipation, and does not mean to introduce a religious motive--he offers simply a counsel of prudence. The exhortation to remember the Creator in the days of youth, though it is to be retained in the margin as a pious editorial addition, here interrupts the line of thought. In xii. 1a some critics propose to substitute for "remember thy Creator" the expression of xi. 9, "let thy heart cheer thee"; but the repetition is improbable. Others would read: "remember thy cistern" (Bickell), or "thy well" (Haupt), that is, thy wife. The wife is so called in Prov. v. 15-19 in an elaborate poetical figure (the wife as a source of bodily pleasure), in which the reference is clear from the context; but there is no authority, in the Old Testament or in other literature of this period, for taking the term as a simple prose designation of a wife. Nor would this reference to the wife be appropriate in the connexion, since the writer's purpose is simply to urge men to enjoy life while they can. The paragraph (and the original book) concludes with a sustained and impressive figure, in which the failing body of the old man is compared to a house falling into decay: first, the bodily organs (xii. 3, 4a): the keepers of the house (the arms and hands) tremble, the strong men (the legs and perhaps the backbone) are bent, the grinding women (the teeth) cease to work, those that look out of the windows (the eyes) are darkened, the street-doors are shut, the sound of the mill being low (apparently a summary statement of the preceding details: communication with the outer world through the senses is cut off, the performance of bodily functions being feeble); the rest of v. 4 may refer to the old man's inability to make or hear music: in the house there is no sound of birds[5] or of singers, there are none of the artistic delights of a well-to-do household; further (v. 5a) the inmates of the house fear dangers from all powerful things and persons (the old man is afraid of everything), the almond tree blossoms (perhaps the hair turns white). The two next clauses are obscure.[6] Then comes the end: man goes to his everlasting home; the dust (the body) returns to the earth whence it came (Gen. ii. 7), and the breath of life, breathed by God into the body, returns to him who gave it. This last clause does not affirm the immortality of the soul; it is simply an explanation of what becomes of the vital principle (the "breath of life" of Gen. ii. 7); its positive assertion is not in accord with the doubt expressed in iii. 21 ("who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward?"), and it seems to be from another hand than that of the author of the original book. Entry: 7

Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, Volume 8, Slice 9 "Dyer" to "Echidna"     1910-1911

His principal work is the _Diwan_, that is, a collection of short odes or sonnets called _ghazals_, and consisting of from five to sixteen _baits_ or couplets each, all the couplets in each ode having the same rhyme in the last hemistich, and the last couplet always introducing the poet's own _nom de plume_. The whole of these are arranged in alphabetical order, an arrangement which certainly facilitates reference but makes it absolutely impossible to ascertain their chronological order, and therefore detracts from their value as a means of throwing light upon the growth and development of his genius or the incidents of his career. They are often held together by a very slender thread of continuous thought, and few editions agree exactly in the order of the couplets. Still, a careful study of them, especially from the point of view indicated by the Sufiistic system of philosophy, will always show that a single idea does run throughout the whole. The nature of these poems has been the subject of much discussion in the West, some scholars seeing in their anacreontic utterances nothing but sensuality and materialism, while others, following the Oriental school, maintain that they are wholly and entirely mystic and philosophic. Something between the two would probably be nearer the truth. It must be remembered that Hafiz was a professed dervish and Sufi, and that his _ghazals_ were in all probability published from a _takia_, and arranged with at least a view to Sufiistic interpretation. At the same time it is ridiculous to suppose that the glowing imagery, the gorgeous and often tender descriptions of natural beauties, the fervent love passages, and the roystering drinking songs were composed in cool blood or with deliberate ascetic purpose. The beauty of Hafiz's poetry is that it is natural. It is the outcome of a fervent soul and a lofty genius delighting in nature and enjoying life; and it is the poet's misfortune that he lived in an age and amongst a people where rigid conventionality demanded that his free and spontaneous thoughts should be recast in an artificial mould. Entry: HAFIZ

Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, Volume 12, Slice 7 "Gyantse" to "Hallel"     1910-1911

My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! Often, when most miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours, of happiness that I might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of this respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During the day I was sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the benevolent countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my Elizabeth's voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth. Often, when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I was dreaming until night should come and that I should then enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest friends. What agonizing fondness did I feel for them! How did I cling to their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and persuade myself that they still lived! At such moments vengeance, that burned within me, died in my heart, and I pursued my path towards the destruction of the daemon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the mechanical impulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as the ardent desire of my soul. What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed, he left marks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in stone that guided me and instigated my fury. "My reign is not yet over"--these words were legible in one of these inscriptions--"you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of cold and frost, to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if you follow not too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives, but many hard and miserable hours must you endure until that period shall arrive."

Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley     Frankenstein

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