Candide

roman catholic by birth; scientific atheist by choice; sinner by merit. blogging on brains, evolution and language. gaidhlig-speaking neuroscience student at oxford. likes to Question Everything!

“False facts are highly injurious to the progress of science, for they often endure long; but false views, if supported by some evidence, do little harm, for every one takes a salutary pleasure in proving their falseness.”
—   Charles Darwin

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”
—   Carl Sagan

“As Mary said that, Lyra felt something strange happen to her body. She found a stirring at the roots of her hair: she found herself breathing faster. She had never been on a roller-coaster, or anything like one, but if she had, she would have recognized the sensations in her breast: they were exciting and frightening at the same time, and she had not the slightest idea why. The sensation continued, and deepened, and changed, as more parts of her body found themselves affected too. She felt as if she had been handed the key to a great house she hadn’t known was there, a house that was somehow inside her, and as she turned the key, deep in the darkness of the building she felt other doors opening too, and lights coming on. She sat trembling, hugging her knees, hardly daring to breathe, as Mary went on.”
—   Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass, Lyra Silvertongue comes of age

“

Between them they helped the ancient of days out of his crystal cell; it wasn’t hard, for he was as light as paper, and he would have followed them anywhere, having no will of his own, and responding to simple kindness like a flower to the sun. But in the open air there was nothing to stop the wind from damaging him, and to their dismay his form began to loosen and dissolve. Only a few moments later he had vanished completely, and their last impression was of those eyes, blinking in wonder, and a sigh of the most profound and exhausted relief.


Then he was gone: a mystery dissolving in mystery.

”
—   Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass, on the Death of God

“I brought you here because you make my brain cum, my heart jump, and my prick hard.”
—   

Luke to Franky, Skins

What a charmer, eh! =L

As a prospective neuroscientist, the notion of an ejaculating brain fills me with glee…

“Until Friday arrived, Robinson Crusoe had no need of morality.”
—   Candide

“Relativism is correct in that cultures differ as to how wide their circle of moral concern; it is wrong, however, to claim that all radii are equal.”
—   Candide

“

Do they only stand

By ignorance, is that their happy state,

The proof of their obedience and their faith?

”
—   John Milton, Paradise Lost

“There is a war coming, boy. The greatest war there ever was. Something like it happened before, and this time the right side must win. We’ve had nothing but lies and propaganda and cruelty and deceit for all the thousands of years of human history. It’s time we started again, but properly this time….”
—   John Parry to Will, The Subtle Knife, Philip Pullman

Camhanaich - Sorley MacLean (with translation!)


CAMHANAICH


“Bu tu camhanaich air a’ Chuilthionn,

’s latha suilbhir air a’ Chlàraich,

grian air a h-uilinn anns an òr-shruth,

agus ròs geal bristeadh fàire.


Làinnir sheòl air linne ghrianaich,

Gorm a’ chuain is iarmailt àr-bhuidh,

An òg-mhadainn ‘na do chuailean

‘s na do ghruaidhean soilleir àllainn.


Mo leug camhanaich is oidhche

T’ aodann ‘s do choibhneas gràdhach,

Ged tha bior glas an dòlais

Tro chliabh m’òg-mhaidne sàthte.”



DAWNING


You were dawn on the mountain,

And daylight dancing over the water,

A sun on her elbow in the gold-stream

And a white rose breaking the horizon.


Glitter of sails on a sunlit firth

The blue depths and bronzed sky

Morning is young in your hair,

And in your cheeks, bright, beautiful.


My jewel of night and daybreak -

your face, your love and kindness,

Though the arrows of misfortune

Marr this morning of our youth.



NOTE: Both Sorley MacLean and Iain Crichton Smith have translated this poem too. I borrowed one line from Smith “glitter of sails on a sunlit firth” but otherwise the translation is my own, inadequate, work. I have deRassified and simplified the poem to make it more English-friendly. In Gaidhlig the first line “Bu tu camhanaich air a’ Chuilthionn” has an almost Biblical feel in the majesty MacLean sees in Eimhir, but the Cuilthionn means little to non-Highlanders, so I just generalized it to mountains. Gaelic words like ‘og-mhadainn’ have no real English equivalents either, so I just gave up and made up something similar. I hope you enjoy my translation.