Einstein’s desk, taken the day he died by Life magazine
13All the fathers burying their sons in the cemetaries
Share the same sentiments
Their grey beards and tweed hats dance left and right in the cool, damp breeze
The uniforms of their sons lay folded in the closet
Their academy shoes stand scuffed and polished in the old bins
Hadn’t been long enough to get rid of them yet
For some reason, it had been different
When they were boys themselves
Their fathers had raised them cruelly
But they grew upright and lived hearty lives
Even the ones who had rifles placed in their hands risked lost appendages at most
Or so it had seemed, wandering through the tilted headstones
Does good have meaning without bad? Life without death?
I like you when you dig what I dig.
Someone special
The Maker must always avoid the Sin of Daedalus
But often he will be too eager to notice
Why do kids who can’t master high school end up as some of the most powerful people in the world?
Paul Graham on Hackers
Bruce Lee on limits
So exhausted that I can’t sleep
And yet, he was but a man!
