My Quiet Life

... hear my plea: please drop the word "DPI" from your vocabulary when dealing with photographers or graphic designers, or ... anyone, really. DPI is a meaningless, archaic term. See this awesome page for an explanation.

Example request:"Photos should be shot in high-rez, 4x6, 300 dpi"

[Insert snarky sarcasm about trying to find the "high-rez" button on my camera here]

How this request should have read: "We need the images in 1200x1800 minimum resolution in JPG format." (or whatever format they need).

We, the denizens of the 21st century, thank you.

Question: What is the opposite of faith?

Not disbelief. Too final, certain, closed. Itself a kind of belief.

Doubt.

So, I've had a collection of quotes I like from whatever books I'm reading at the time that I maintain here. I figured I'd go ahead and sync it so that it's crossposted here.

Sorry for the deluge today. Enjoy!

"But isn't it all the same to you what people think of you?"

"I don't quite know how to answer you. A real man ought not to worry about such things; a real man is not meant to be thought about, but is someone who must be either obeyed or hated."

Bazarov was a jerk.

"Why do you disagree with free thought for women?" he asked in a low
voice.

"Because, my lad, as far as I can see, free-thinking women are all
monsters."

Pavel, on the contrary, a lonely bachelor, was entering into
that indefinite twilight period of regrets which resemble hopes and of
hopes which are akin to regrets, when youth is over and old age has not yet
started.

It is the same in all wars; the soldiers do the fighting, the
journalists do the shouting; and no true patriot ever gets near a
front-line trench, except in the briefest of propaganda tours. Sometimes it
is s comfort to me to think that the aeroplane is altering the condition of
war. Perhaps when the next great war comes we may see the sight
unprecedented in all history; a jingo with a bullet-hole in him.

It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain
attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation,
that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of
struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which
is of the very essence of dreams. . . ."

He was silent for a while.

". . . No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the
life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence,--that which
makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is
impossible. We live, as we dream--alone. . . ."

I am, like, so emo..

He filled himself up with God knows what, but he could not deny, in the
small hours of his insomniac nights, that he was full of something that had
never been used, that he did not know how to begin to use, that is, love.
In his dreams he was so tormented by women of unbearable sweetness and
beauty, so he preferred to stay awake and force himself to rehearse some
part of his general knowledge in order to blot out the tragic feeling of
being endowed with larger-than-usual capacity for love, without a single
person on earth to offer it to.