(no subject)
Death as ironist: the locus classicus is the 1000-year-old story I first came across when reading Somerset Maugham. A merchant in Baghdad sends his servant out to buy provisions. In the market the man is jostled by a woman; turning, he recognises her as Death. He runs home pale and trembling, and pleads for the loan of his master's horse: he must go at once to Samarra and hide where Death will never find him.The master agrees; the servant rides off.The master himself then goes down to the market, accosts Death and rebukes her for threatening his servant. Oh, replies Death, butI made no threatening gesture - that was just surprise. I was startled to see the fellow in Baghdad this morning, given that I have an appointment with him in Samarra tonight.
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The genetist J.B.S. Haldane used to joke that if there were a God, He must have 'an inordinate fondness for beetles', given that He had created 350,000 species of them.
Julian Barnes "Nothing to be frightened of"
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The genetist J.B.S. Haldane used to joke that if there were a God, He must have 'an inordinate fondness for beetles', given that He had created 350,000 species of them.
Julian Barnes "Nothing to be frightened of"