My Musings

Are words just an approximation of our thoughts? If so, then what is the integral? Where is the Calculus to exact the sum under the curve of consciousness? Can a man really find out man? Or is he left to only comprehend himself completely, while the thoughts of others exist as the solution to an equation, derived and never known as a present thing? Perhaps the world of language is more exact than is supposed here. Perhaps words are only triggers to complex mental processes. After all, language is only the vibration of air particles, or the ink on a page; pixels on a screen as well. Each, in its microscopic state, is nothingness. But when viewed as a whole, it becomes a symphony that will guide the listener or the reader in his thoughts toward an ultimate conclusion.

"[Plymouth Rock] has become an object of veneration in the United States. I have seen bits of it carefully preserved in several towns in the Union. Does not this sufficiently show how all human power and greatness are entirely in the soul? Here is a stone which the feet of a few poor fugitives pressed for an instant, and this stone becomes famous; it is treasured by a great nation, a fragment is prized as a relic. But what has become of the doorsteps of a thousand palaces? Who troubles himself about them?" -Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America I have recently started reading the book from which this quotation comes, and I am very impressed so far. Tocqueville's writing, even on the seemingly mundane subject of the geography of America, is full of metaphorical description that brings to life the inanimate and gives significance to a history long forgotten by this generation. The quotation above was merely a footnote in the text, but its richness surpasses the