In four U.S. states a severely disabled child can sue a doctor for “wrongful life” for bringing him into the world. In 1980 the California Court of Appeal wrote:
The reality of the ‘wrongful-life’ concept is that such a plaintiff both exists and suffers, due to the negligence of others. It is neither necessary nor just to retreat into meditation on the mysteries of life. We need not be concerned with the fact that had defendants not been negligent, the plaintiff might not have come into existence at all. The certainty of genetic impairment is no longer a mystery. In addition, a reverent appreciation of life compels recognition that plaintiff, however impaired she may be, has come into existence as a living person with certain rights.
"I reflect now that the earth is only a pebble flicked off accidentally from the face of the sun and that there is no life anywhere in the abysses of space."
"In this silence," said Susan, "it seems as if no leaf would ever fall, or bird fly."
"As if the miracle had happened," said Jinny, "and life were stayed here and now."
"And," said Rhoda, "we had no more to live."
"But listen," said Louis, "to the world moving through the abysses of infinite space. It roars; the lighted strip of history is past and our Kings and Queens; we are gone; our civilisation; the Nile; and all life. Our separate drops are dissolved; we are extinct, lost in the abysses of time, in the darkness."
"Silence falls; silence falls," said Bernard. "But now listen, tick, tick; hoot, hoot; the world has hailed us back to it. I heard for one moment the howling winds of darkness as we passed beyond life. Then tick, tick (the clock); then hoot, hoot (the cars). We are landed; we are on shore; we are sitting, six of us, at a table. It is the memory of my nose that recalls me. I rise; ‘Fight,’ I cry, ‘fight!’ remembering the shape of my own nose and strike with this spoon upon this table pugnaciously."
"Oppose ourselves to this illimitable chaos," said Neville, "this formless imbecility. Making love to a nursemaid behind a tree, that soldier is more admirable than all the stars. Yet sometimes one trembling star comes in the clear sky and makes me think the world beautiful and we maggots deforming even the trees with out lust."
(“Yet, Louis,” said Rhoda, “how short a time silence lasts. Already they are beginning to smooth their napkins by the side of their plates. ‘Who comes?’ says Jinny; and Neville sighs, remembering that Percival comes no more. Jinny has taken out her looking-glass. Surveying her face like an artist, she draws a powderpuff down her nose, and after one moment of deliberation, has given precisely that red to the lips that the lips need. Susan, who feels scorn and fear at the sight of these preparations, fastens the top button of her coat, and unfastens it. What is she making ready for? For something, but something different.”
"They are saying to themselves," said Louis, “‘it is time. I am still vigorous,’ they are saying, ‘My face shall be cut against the black of infinite space.’ They do not finish their sentences. ‘It is time,’ they keep saying. ‘The gardens will be shut.’ And going with them, Rhoda, swept into their current, we shall perhaps drop a little behind."
"Like conspirators who have something to whisper," said Rhoda.)" — Virginia Woolf — from The Waves
Guil: You lost. Well then—one of the Greeks, perhaps? You’re familiar with the tragedies of antiquity, are you? The great homicidal classics? Matri, patri, fratri, sorrori, uxori, and it goes without saying—
Guil: —Suicidal—hm? Maidens aspiring to godheads—
Ros: And vice versa—
Guil: Your kind of thing, is it?
Player: Well, no, I can’t say it is, really. We’re more of the blood, love and rhetoric school.
Guil: Well, I’ll leave the choice to you, if there is anything to choose between them.
Player: They’re hardly divisible, sir—well, I can do you blood and love without the rhetoric, and I can do you blood and rhetoric without the love, and I can do you all three concurrent or consecutive, but I can’t do you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory—they’re all blood, you see." — Tom Stoppard — from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
one of my favorite feelings is buying sheet music after listening to a particular piece for weeks and stumbling through the melodies that you know by heart and slowly you piece it together and here you glimpse it and because you’re reading the music for the first time all of the intricacies of genius are visible apart from the amassed whole of sound that you will later perfect, but just that complete contemplation of each note i love it
here’s my program for first semester:
rachmaninoff - piano concerto no 2 in C minor, op 18 movement 2
chopin - scherzo no 2 in b-flat minor op 31
chopin - ballade no 1 in g minor op 23
schubert - 4 impromptus, d 899