One day Nasreddin borrowed a pot from his neighbour Ali. The next day he returned it with another little pot inside. "That's not mine", said Ali. "Yes it is", said Nasreddin. "While your pot was staying with me, it had a baby." One week later Nasreddin asked Ali to lend him the pot again. Ali agreed and waited to see if Nasreddin would again give him back two pots for one. However, a week passed and still Nasreddin had not brought the pot back. Eventually Ali lost patience and went to demand his property. "I am afraid your pot died", said Nasreddin. "Died!" said Ali, "How can a pot die?" "Well you believed me when I told you that your pot had had a baby", said Nasreddin. George Bernard Shaw and Winston Churchill apparently disliked each other. The story is told that the playwright once sent Churchill two tickets for the opening night of one of his plays, together with a card which said, "Bring a friend (if you have one)." Churchill, however, managed to get the better of this exchange. He returned the tickets, enclosing a note which said, "I shall be busy that evening. Please send me two tickets for the second night (if there is one)." There is no record of whether Shaw ever sent the second set of tickets. Travellers in big cities can be mugged and robbed, even within the walls of their hotels. Knowing this, an elderly woman visitor to Miami was worried when she saw two armed men leading a large dog getting into the elevator in which she was going to her room. Her worst fears were confirmed when she heard one of them say, "Down, Lady! On the floor!" She lay down and waited, expecting the worst. "Excuse me, madam", said a voice. "Why are you lying down like that?" "But you just told me to", she answered. "I'm sorry, madam", said the man. "I didn't mean you to do that. I was talking to the dog. Her name's Lady." Bertrand Russell's famous paradox asks us to imagine the city of Seville in the days when it was just a small village. In those days the village had just one barber, who was a man, and that barber shaved all the men of the village except the men who shaved themselves. Now, if you believe the last sentence is true, you are left with a problem: who shaved the barber? If he shaved himself, then it cannot be true that he shaved all the men EXCEPT those who shaved themselves. If somebody else shaved him or if he wore a beard, then it cannot be true that the barber shaved ALL the men except those who shaved themselves. Zeno's paradox tells of a race between Achilles and the tortoise. Since Achilles could run much faster, he gave the tortoise a start. He waited until the tortoise was half way along the track before he started. When he reached the halfway point, the tortoise had moved on some distance. When he reached the point where the tortoise had been, again the tortoise had moved a little way forward. Since this would happen an infinite number of times, Zeno says, Achilles would never overtake the tortoise. In real life, as we know, Achilles will overtake the tortoise and win the race. There is, however, an interesting modern parallel, and it concerns toothpaste. When a tube of toothpaste is nearly finished, you say to yourself "I must buy some more tomorrow." But you forget and say the same thing the next evening. The next day you forget again and curse yourself, but you can still squeeze a little more toothpaste from the tube. Sooner or later you will remember to buy a new tube, but a tube of toothpaste is never totally finished; it always seems possible with a little extra effort to squeeze out some more paste. The violinist Enesco once had a pupil whose father was very rich. The father hired a concert hall so that his son could give a violin recital, and insisted that Enesco should accompany the boy on the piano. Enesco agreed reluctantly, since he knew the boy could not play very well. The father advertised the concert in the papers, and there was a large audience, among whom Enesco saw his friend Alfred Cortot, the famous pianist. Enesco asked him to come and turn the pages. The reviews in the next day's newspapers described the concert as one in which the man who should have played the violin played the piano, the man who should have played the piano turned the pages, and the man who should have turned the pages played the violin. If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I say remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY. To be or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er dales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle in the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay. Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. ... For oft when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. Un jeune homme de la banlieue de Londres a ‚t‚ condamn‚ jeudi … trois mois de prison pour avoir tu‚ son chien en le faisant r“tir dans le four de sa cuisiniŠre. M. Denzil Richards, 19 ans, qui habite Killingham (Kent), a ‚galement ‚t‚ condamn‚ par le tribunal … dix ans de suspension de sa "vignette … chien" qui est delivr‚e aprŠs le versement de l' imp“t sur les chiens, qui s' ‚lŠve … 37,5 pence par an (environ 4 FF). La police avait ‚t‚ alert‚e au d‚but du mois de janvier par un voisin et le jeune homme a admis avoir plac‚ son chien dans le four parce qu' il avait sali la moquette de l' appartement. Un jour elle se dit en regardant la montagne: -- Comme on doit ˆtre bien l…-haut! Quel plaisir de gambader dans la bruyŠre, sans cette maudite longe qui vous ‚corche le cou!... C' est bon pour l' ƒne ou pour le boeuf de brouter dans un clos!... Les chŠvres, il leur faut du large. A partir de ce moment, l' herbe du clos lui parut fade. L' ennui lui vint. Elle maigrit, son lait se fit rare. C' ‚tait piti‚ de la voir tirer tout le jour sur sa longe, la tˆte tourn‚e du c“t‚ de la montagne, la narine ouverte, en faisant Mˆ!... tristement. M. Seguin s' appercevait bien que sa chŠvre avait quelque chose, mais il ne savait pas ce que c' ‚tait. If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating; And yet don't look too good or talk too wise: If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds worth of distance run, Yours is the earth and everything that's in it, And what is more, you'll be a man, my son. My chief duty as an office boy was to copy letters. Only very few communications were then typewritten. There were no female typists and only the most senior of the staff had male shorthand writers attached to them. All inter-office and ordinary letters to clients were written in copying ink by the clerks concerned, and all these letters had to be copied by damping the tissue-paper leaves of a huge book, inserting the letters, separating them with waterproof paper, and putting the book into a heavy iron press. The letters were removed and put into envelopes, most of which I think I had to write the address on. The first patient at morning surgery was a small boy, brought in by his mother. He had been coughing all night and had a slight temperature. The doctor prescribed some pills and told the boy's mother to keep him out of school for a few days. Next came a woman who had scalded herself the week before. The doctor was glad to see when he changed the dressing that the injury was healing well. He told the woman to come back in a week and to take things easy meanwhile. The last patient was a farmer who had strained his back digging. The doctor gave him some ointment and told him to spend a few days in bed. In fact he told everybody to rest except himself.