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Dear Vincent:
For many years I have rigorously followed the debates among the medical and fitness communities about what sort of diet one should follow for maximum health and well being. But now I find myself more confused than ever. First we were supposed to eat carbs, now we’re not supposed to eat carbs. Then we were supposed to eat margarine, then that changed to butter, and now it’s olive oil. A few years ago we were supposed to eat four to six small meals a day, now we’re supposed to be fasting. What’s the right answer here?
Signed,
Bewildered
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Dear Bewildered:
To my mind, there is nothing wrong with having a reasonably strong body, so make sure you feed yourself properly, and if you feel very hungry sometimes, or rather, have a good appetite, then eat well. I assure that that is what I do myself often enough, and above all used to do. Especially bread, in my opinion, my boy, and don’t be too shy about it. ‘Bread is the staff of life,’ the English say (although they like meat as well, on the whole far too much). (October 14, 1875)
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| photo via May_I_bite |
"With an edge sander, half a millimeter is sanded off each work piece (wood, walnut, transformer, skull or analogue camera) and photographed. About 650 photos are made into a short film, which contrasts the inner structure of nature and technology."Source
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| Photo © Michele Palazzo. Jonas Blizzard in New York, 2016. |
At six o’clock in the morning I have my hair dressed, and have finished my toilet by seven o’clock. I write till nine. From nine to one I give lessons. I then dine, unless I am invited out, when dinner is usually at two o’clock, sometimes at three, as it was to-day, and will be to-morrow at Countess Zichi’s and Countess Thun’s. I cannot begin to work before five or six o’clock in the evening, and I am often prevented doing so by some concert; otherwise I write till nine o’clock. I then go to my dear Constanze, though our pleasure in meeting is frequently embittered by the unkind speeches of her mother, which I will explain to my father in my next letter. Thence comes my wish to liberate and rescue her as soon as possible. At half-past ten or eleven I go home, but this depends on the mother’s humor, or on my patience in bearing it. Owing to the number of concerts, and also the uncertainty whether I may not be summoned to one place or another, I cannot rely on my evening writing, so it is my custom (especially when I come home early) to write for a time before going to bed. I often sit up writing till one, and rise again at six.More: Brain Pickings
"During the Victorian era, mourners sometimes collected their tears in gold decorated "tear bottles" to keep as a remembrance for the next of kin. It has also been said that the widows would go to the grave on the anniversary of the first year of death and sprinkle the tears on the grave to signify the end of the first year of mourning."Link
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| Sorrow by Émile Friant, 1898. |
“Except that the Church did not lend its sanction, the function was conducted quite as if it had been the interment of a human person of some importance. A respectable undertaker was called in, and instructed to conduct the funeral in the ordinary way; the body was to be enclosed in a shell which would go inside a fine oak coffin. There were the usual trappings, including a plate on which was inscribed the statement that ‘Paul’ had for seventeen years been the beloved and faithful cat of Miss —, who now mourned his loss in suitable terms. The coffin, with a lovely wreath on it, was displayed in the undertaker’s shop, where it was an object of intense interest and not a little amusement.”Read more
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| Ivan Mishukov, Russia, 1998 |
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| Oxana Malaya, Ukraine, 1991 |
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| Click here for larger image |
