Q. Why does "philosophy of consciousness/nature of reality" seem to interest you so much?
A. Take away consciousness and reality and there's not much left.
-- Greg Egan, interview in Eidolon 15
"But I am not an object. I am not a noun, I am an adjective. I am the way matter behaves when it is organized in a John K Clark-ish way. At the present time only one chunk of matter in the universe behaves that way; someday that could change."
-- John K Clark
"Would it be good advice, once copying becomes practical, to make lots of copies when good things happen, and none (or perhaps even killing off your own personal instance) on bad things? Will this change the subjective probability of good events?"
-- Hal Finney
"Waiting for the bus is a bad idea if you turn out to be the bus driver."
-- Michael M. Butler on the Singularity
"You are free. Free of anything I do or say, and of any consequence. You may rest assured that all hurts are forgiven, all loveliness remembered, and treasured. I am busy and content and loved. I hope you are the same. Bless you."
-- Walter Jon Williams, "Knight Moves"
"A man with one watch knows what time it is; a man with two watches is never sure."
-- Lee Segall
I guess I'll use this thread to post a quote from "The tale of Hodja Nasreddin" by Leonid Solovyov, translated by me. I think it fits very well with the recent sequence on diligence.
"He knew well that fate and chance never come to the aid of those who replace action with pleas and laments. He who walks conquers the road. Let his legs grow tired and weak on the way - he must crawl on his hands and knees, and then surely, he will see in the night a distant light of hot campfires, and upon approaching, will see a merchants' caravan; and this caravan will surely happen to be going the right way, and there will be a free camel, upon which the traveler will reach his destination. Meanwhile, he who sits on the road and wallows in despair - no matter how much he cries and complains - will evoke no compassion in the soulless rocks. He will die in the desert, his corpse will become meat for foul hyenas, his bones will be buried in hot sand. How many people died prematurely, and only because they didn't love life strongly enough! Hodja Nasreddin considered such a death humiliating.
"No" - said he to himself and, gritting his teeth, repeated wrathfully: "No! I won't die today! I don't want to die!""
About the book: it uses the name Hodja Nasreddin, but has little to do with him. The Nasreddin that Muslims know was a mullah. This one is a rabble-rousing vagabond who enters harems, makes life hard for corrupt officials, and has been successfully executed in every city in the Arabic world. I think that Solovjov took a Muslim hero and created a Communist hero. But that doesn't take away from the fact that the book is a masterpiece.