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A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that his faithful dog had been dead for many years. He wondered where the road was leading them. After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. As he reached the wall, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch, and the street that led to the gate made from pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?" "This is heaven, sir," the man answered. "Wow! Would you happen to have some water? We have traveled far," the man said. "Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The man gestured, and the gate began to open. "Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets." The man thought a moment, remembering all the years this dog remained loyal to him and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going. After another long walk he came to a plain dirt road, which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book. "Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water? We have traveled far." "Yes, sure, there's a faucet over there." The man pointed to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in and help yourself." "How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to his dog. "There should be a bowl by the faucet; he is welcome to share." They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned faucet with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them. "What do you call this place?" the traveler asked. "This is heaven," was the answer. "Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was heaven, too." "Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell." "Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?" "No. We're just happy that they screen out the folks who'd leave their best friends behind in exchange for material things.

Cool Hand Luke

Dyin'? Boy, he can have this little life any time he wants to. Do ya hear that? Are ya hearin' it? Come on. You're welcome to it, ol' timer. Let me know you're up there. Come on. Love me, hate me, kill me, anything. Just let me know it.
"Some goddamn time, a man's due to stop arguing with hisself. Feeling he's twice the goddamn fool he knows he is. Because he can't be something he tries to be every goddamn day without once getting to dinnertime and not once fucking it up. I don't want to fight it no more. You understand me, Charlie? And I don't want you pissing in my ear about it. Can you let me go to hell the way I want to?"

from Cigar Aficionado

Dear Marvin, We live in the world of the nanny. And as you rightly cry, we should all, indeed, be shouting ENOUGH! I am an Englishman currently working and residing in the Cayman Islands. In England, buying tobacco requires (a) a mortgage and (b) a strong sense of resilience to be greeted by packaging bearing a skull and crossbones and informing one of imminent death upon consuming the purchase. Cayman is moving that way. You in the U.S. are way, way, way down the path to an Orwellian society. This nanny factor needs to be treated on a par with it being its own weapon of mass destruction. So this morning, I went to my Cuban cigar dealer here in Grand Cayman -- Havana House and its owner Jamie Pineda -- and over a Montecristo "A" and Cuban coffee, chatted and came up with the following thoughts on the issue of state nannying, which I will bundle into the generic heading of "safety." It was that exceedingly wise hector, Schiller, who said: "Our safety lies not in blindness, but in facing our dangers." According to the Panchatantra -- and ancient collection of Sanskrit tales written to teach good conduct to princes -- "safety is the greatest gift in the world, better than the gift of a cow, of land, or of food." Most would agree, thinking how dangerous a place the world seems, beset as it is by acts of terrorism, by natural and man- made disasters, by the fatalities of war and, it now seems, by smoking cigars. For people in quarters of the globe usually as peaceful as they are right, like the Cayman Islands, it is something new to have perils like Ivan and threats like cigar smoking pressing so closer, distorting the contours of a psychological landscape that once seemed pleasantly familiar and comfortably safe. The dominant school of thought among educated people in classic antiquity was Stoicism, which taught how to achieve atraxia - peace of mind - in an uncertain and graught world. You have little control over what happens in the world around you, the Stoics said, so you must accept with grace and resignation what it does to you. But you can govern your emotions, and if you master them you will free yourself from anxiety. One aspect of the Stoic outlook is given succint modern expression by Joseph Krutch: "Security depends not upon how much you have, as upon how much you can do without." It is rational to take thought for one's safety. In England, we say, "Tis folly to bolt the door with a boiled carrot." But too much concern with safety - too little pre- paredness to accept that the very act of living is risky - is counterproductive in too many ways. To make everything yield to considerations of safety is to invite a different risk; that of living without opportunity, progress, or growth or experience. "The most beaten paths are certainly the surest," said Andre Gide, "but do not hope to scare up much game on them." This applies to personal life, not so much matters as airline safety, where no risks are acceptable. In personal life, risks are the motors of advance, especially in emo- tional and intellectual respect, both of which are aided and abetted by fine cigars. To love is to risk, to try new ideas and methods is to risk, to be open to new friend- ships, new experiences, new challenges and change all involve risk. The costs are occasional failure and the likelihood of suffering. Ask George Burns. Ask JFK. Ask Schwarzenegger. Ask Babe Ruth. Ask Einstein. Ask Edison, Freud, Twain. And others. Governments which, in response to threats against the liberties and securities of the state, diminish the state's liberties in the hope of increasing its securities, thereby give a partial victory to the threateners. Benjamin Franklin acidly remarked that, "they that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." It is better to live a trifle more dangerously to live freely, than to live safely in a locked room made of fears and restrictions -- not least when the liberties in question have been hard won over long stretches of history, and are so precious. If small countries and quiet nations -- places and peo- ples on the sidelines, like the islands -- are safe from terrorism, it is because they owe their immunity to mar- ginality. The same applies to individuals. In his fable of the great and little fishes, Aesop has the latter say, "Our insignificance is often the cause of our safety." Some therefore embrace insignificance. But safety is almost its only merit. Although being out in front assuredly invites peril as well as rewards, there is the added consolation identified by Victor Hugo, "Great perils have this beauty, that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers." As does the medium of a fine cigar. I am indebted to Montecristo for their "A," my atraxia. Gary Hagland Grand Cayman, Grand Cayman Islands

Arthur O'Shaughnessy

"We are the music-makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; - World-losers and world-forsakers, on whom the pale moon gleams; Yet we are the movers and shakers, Of the world for ever, it seems."

more Kingdom of Heaven

"How find you Jerusalem?" "God does not speak to me. Not even on the hill where Christ died. I am outside God's grace." "I have not heard that." "At any rate, it seems I have lost my religion." "I put no stock in religion. By the word religion I've seen the lunacy of fanatics of every denomination be called the will of God. Holiness is in right action and courage on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves. And goodness, what God desires, is here (point head) and here (point heart). By what you decide to do every day, you will be a good man. Or not."

Chris Ledoux

(spoken) Well there's always been groups of people who couldn't see eye to eye...an' I always thought if they'd get the chance to sit down and talk face to face they'd see we all have a lot in common.... Well I was sittin' at a coffee shop, just havin' a cup to pass the time. Swappin' rodeo stories with this ole cowboy friend of mine. When some motor-cycler riders started snickerin' in the back. Started pokin' fun at my friend hat. One ole boy said hey "Tex, where'd you park your horse?" Now my friend just pulled his hat down low, but they couldn't be ignored. One husky fella said, "I think I'll rip that hat right off your head." That's when my friend turned around, and this is what he said... "You'll ride a black tornado, 'cross the western sky. Rope an ole blue northern, and milk it til it's dry. Bulldog the Mississippi, and pin her ears down flat... Long before you take this cowboys hat..." "Now partner, this ole hat is better left alone, See it used to be my daddy's, but last year he passed on. My nephew skinned the Rattler, that makes up this ole hatband. But back in '69 he died in Viet-Nam. Now the eagle feather was given to me by an ole Indian friend of mine, But someone ran him down, somewheres 'round that Arizona line. And a real special lady gave me this hat pin. And I don't know if I'll ever see her again. "You'll ride a black tornado, 'cross the western sky. Rope an ole blue northern, and milk it til it's dry. Bulldog the Mississippi, and pin her ears down flat... Long before you take this cowboys hat..." "Now if your leather jacket means to you what this hat means to me. Then I guess we understand each other, and we'll just let it be. But if you still think it's funny, well man, you've got my back up against the wall. But if you touch my hat, you'll have to fight us all..." Well, right then I caught a little sadness in the gang leaders eyes. And he turned back t'wards the others and they all just sorta shuffled on outside. But when my friend turned back t'wards me, well I noticed his old hat brim. Well it was turned up, in a big ole Texas Grin! You'll ride a black tornado 'cross the western skies, Rope an ole blue northern, and milk it 'til it's dry. Bulldog the Mississippi and pin her ears down flat, Long before you touch this cowboy's hat...

Crash

"It's the sense of touch." "What?" "Any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people. People bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something."
" If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to lokk into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot do that then perhas the man does not deserve to die." "There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man."

George Carlin

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about your eyebrows: do you have two of them? Okay, we're done. New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water. New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the asshole. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a "decaf grande half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one NutraSweet," ooh, you're a huge asshole. ***I'm so going to try this...sorry Kali*** New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to "beef with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.
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