I saw Ghosts at a tiny performance in Woodbridge. Give me the sun… — that’s a great line, isn’t it?

I like the idea of setting a precise time limit on the life of a truth. And perhaps we should automatically scrap blog posts after, say, six months.

“I propose to raise a revolution against the lie that the majority has the monopoly
of the truth. What sort of truths are they that the majority usually supports? They are truths that are of such advanced age that they are beginning to break up. And if a truth is as old as that, it is also in a fair way to become a lie, gentlemen. (Laughter and mocking cries.)
Yes, believe me or not, as you like; but truths are by no means as long-lived as Methuselah–as some folk imagine. A normally constituted truth lives, let us say, as a rule seventeen or eighteen, or at most twenty years–seldom longer. But truths as aged as that are always worn frightfully thin, and nevertheless it is only then that the majority recognises them and recommends them to the community as wholesome moral nourishment. There is no great nutritive value in that sort of fare, I can assure you; and, as a doctor, I ought to know.