I think this is the grandest entrance by a conductor I’ve ever seen. And yet far from being pompous, it seems to set the stage for the work that follows.
Perhaps the highest praise one writer can give another is this: “Good sentences!”
I’m finally reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (the Gregory Hays translation). I was struck by this passage:
Not to be sidetracked by my interest in rhetoric. Not to write treatises on abstract questions, or deliver moralizing little sermons, or compose imaginary descriptions of The Simple Life or The Man Who Lives Only for Others. (p. 6)
Some themes were cliches two thousand years ago, and a wise man knew not to indulge in them.
The English language died today after a free-lancer described creating a bookmark in an eBook as “personalizing your navigation experience.” The language, which had been ailing for a long time, was in particularly weakened state, owning to a heavy diet of snarling bloviations from the GOP primary.
Upon succumbing to this attack, English was seen staggering from a midtown address, clutching its heart. It collapsed on the sidewalk minutes later, while concerned passersby texted, “Shoulda skipped the fries LOL” and “Faceplant FTW!”
The language will be replaced by a pastiche of jingoism, platitudes, and slang, which to most readers will be indistinguishable from English in its recent years.
We now return you to Call of Duty: BlackOps.
It is a fine thing, after the rains have stopped, to let the dog run loose in the fields, and to wander along the woods and hear the birds calling back and forth, and to find, despite the downpour, the crab apple trees still towering white with blooms, and to feel the temperate sun, veiled in a gray sky, not harshly bright, just warm.