An extravagance is something that your spirit thinks is a necessity.
Bernard WilliamsRead
Ideas are like wandering sons. They show up when you least expect them.
Interpretation
Ideas can appear unexpectedly, often surprising us when we least anticipate them.
This quote by Bernard Williams signifies the unpredictable nature of inspiration and creativity. It suggests that ideas, much like wandering sons, arrive unexpectedly and often require us to be open and receptive to embrace their potential, reminding us that creativity can strike at any moment.
In practice
During a brainstorming session, when an unexpected idea pops up, referencing this quote can illustrate the spontaneous nature of creativity.
An extravagance is something that your spirit thinks is a necessity.
There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.
Contemporary moral philosophy has found an original way of being boring, which is by not discussing moral issues at all.
The majority of philosophers are totally humorless. That's part of their trouble.
People have been predicting the death of philosophy since the 17th century. When I was a student, people were saying, 'We're in the last days of philosophy.' Then we were told in the '60s it would be replaced by sociology, then by literary criticism.
Virtually the only subject in which one could ever get a scholarship to Oxford or Cambridge was classics. So I went to Oxford to study classics and, unlike Cambridge, it had a philosophy component, and I became completely transported by it.
When liberty is taken away by force it can be restored by force. When it is relinquished voluntarily by default it can never be recovered.
Life is a battle between faith and reason in which each feeds upon the other, drawing sustenance from it and destroying it.
The difficulty is to try and teach the multitude that something can be true and untrue at the same time.
This single Stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected Corner, I once knew in a flourishing State in a Forest: It was full of Sap, full of Leaves, and full of Boughs: But now, in vain does the busy Art of Man pretend to vie with Nature, by tying that withered Bundle of Twigs to its sapless Trunk: It is at best but the Reverse of what it was; a Tree turned upside down, the Branches on the Earth, and the Root in the Air.
This is the ultimate cruelty, isn't it? That I can talk and talk and to anyone listening, it's only air--too rich a diet to be swallowed by a mundane world.
Whether there is such a thing as Reality, of which the various levels are only partial aspects, or whether there are only levels, is something that literature cannot decide. Literature recognizes rather the *reality of the levels.*
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