Jamie123

What would it be like to be a missionary in spirit prison.
 
https://youtu.be/BIAMDF81w8k?list=FLOGthnff2vitBgcB66Ngm1A

Wow. I'm a Communist. Whoda thunk?

My physics teacher at school used to tell this joke:
 
(If this sounds laddish, please bear in mind that physics classes in those days were almost exclusively male.)
 
A mathematician and an engineer are at a party together. The mathematician notices a gorgeous blonde at the other side of the room whom he really wants to get to know better. He says to his friend "Wish me luck; I'm going to try to schmooze with that girl over there."
 
The engineer replies "You don't want to seem too interested. You'll turn her right off! Saunter nonchalantly half way over to her and have a root beer. Then go half the distance again and have another drink. Keep on going until you reach her." 
 
The mathematician thinks about this for a moment and says "But this is Xeno's arrow! I'm never going to reach her!"
 
"No," replies the engineer. "But you'll get close enough for most practical purposes!"

When you're a pleb like me, on the very bottom rung of the academic hierarchy, it doesn't always pay to engage Important People in casual conversation.
 
When I arrived in the building this morning, I stepped into the lift, and just as the doors were closing who should appear but the Acting Dean. So naturally I held the door open for her. She was thankful and I asked her how she was, and pleasantries were duly exchanged. I asked her if she was still Acting Dean (she has been since the last proper dean retired earlier this year) and she said she would be until January.
 
Then I made my big mistake: I asked her if the new dean had been appointed. She said "Yes, it has been announced. It was in the Vice Chancellor's newsletter!"
 
So now...as if I don't have enough to worry about...the Acting Dean knows that I don't bother to read the Vice Chancellor's newsletters.
 
And this is quite true: I occasionally scan them through for "juicy bits" (like the recent accusation that the university has been encouraging hate speech http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/universityeducation/11870429/British-universities-that-give-the-floor-to-extremist-speakers-are-named-and-shamed.html) but mostly they go straight into a file marked "VC's Newsletters". I'm far more interested in what my students are doing than in the high-level politics of the university.
 
But such parochial attitudes can bite you in the butt if you're not careful! Be warned!

Making this into its own thread so as not to continue hijacking another.
 
To reiterate: I acknowledge the existence and the valuable contributions of good teachers, without whom our current society would be much weaker and perhaps not even possible. I am not bagging on teachers, but on the constant whining about how "underpaid" teachers are -- what Backroads calls the "teacher-martyr culture". It's phony and incorrect on multiple levels.
 
No one is paid according to his or her direct worth to society. Rather, people are paid based on the demand for their talents and the shortness of its supply. Thus, the beautiful actor who contributes precious little to the betterment of society beyond making blockbuster movies gets paid absurdly out of proportion to the honest policeman, whose contributions to society are much greater by any rational estimate. This is because, difficult though being a cop may be, there are a lot more people who can be policemen than who are pretty enough and trained enough at acting to be able to headline a movie and pull down $300 million. (Okay, I realize this is only roughly true, but you get my point.)
 
I am perfectly okay with raising teacher salaries by 30%. Heck, I'd be all for it -- as long as those teachers were held to the same accountability as any other professional. Their abilities and results should be monitored on a semi-yearly basis, and if they do not perform, they should be fired.
 
But I maintain that the base claim -- that teachers are underpaid for their important services -- is by and large false. According to the chart I pointed to earlier, a teacher at what I would consider an "early mid-career" point of ten years of teaching service with a Master's degree plus 45 hours of class time (likely achieved by required training) would be making a base salary of $52,000. How this base salary compares to their actual salary is not obvious, but this Seattle Times article from September (when Seattle public schools were on strike) claims that the base salary makes up, on average, 81% of a teacher's salary. That suggests that our "average" teacher at early mid-career is making about $64,200 per year. Not a great professional salary for mid-career, but still solidly within the professional salary range. (By comparison, this site claims that a mid-career engineer makes less than $70,500, on average.)
 
(And don't forget, that is for ten months of work, assuming you count the lengthy Christmas holidays as "work time". That is a salary rate of $77,000 per year, a much healthier salary figure, easily besting the mid-career engineer average mentioned above. And this is on top of the benefits and full retirement, a perk which pretty much no one that I know outside of Boeing receives any more.)
 
I am not claiming that teachers are necessarily overpaid. Rather, I am saying that it's false to claim they are underpaid. I realize that I'm goring a sacred cow, and that some (like shermormon) will decry my politically incorrect stance. So be it. If you have reasonable arguments that demonstrate that teachers are underpaid, I'm happy to give them a listen. But I won't toe the line just because that's what the NEA and other teacher's unions like to claim.

This makes me think of "At the Back of the North Wind" by George MacDonald. It is (***SPOILER ALERT**) a story of a boy called Diamond who is dying. He meets a goddess-like woman who is a personification of the North Wind; sometimes she is a huge giantess and sometimes she is tiny (just as the wind varies in size) and she takes him away on a magical adventure.
 
There is one point in the story where Diamond has to walk on a high precipice; he is afraid but says he will try to be brave. The North Wind replies (I've paraphrased it slightly): "To try to be brave is to be brave - a coward who tries to be brave is braver than the brave man who never had to try".
 
Maybe to try to do our best is to do our best.

Jeff Foxworthy gave us the "You might be a redneck" style of jokes. Here are some tailored for Mormons.
If your first car is a minvan, you just might be a Mormon.
If a three bedroom home counts as a starter home, you might be a Mormon.
If "The First Vision" isn't a reference to anything you did in the sixties, you might be a Mormon.
If a Stake isn't for holding down a tent and a Ward isn't a child in your custody, you might be a Mormon.
If you have more money invested in food in your basement than in clothes in your closet, you might be a Mormon.
If you're at a wedding and the bride isn't pregnant....but her mother is, you might be a Mormon.
And the last one is my favorite even though it isn't funny...
If you go to great lengths and expense to do a service you don't understand for people you don't know who may or may not want it anyway, you may be a Mormon.

I'm not for a minute suggesting that the following joke bares any relation to the level of humor already expressed in the previous posts.
 
 
So, my boss calls me and says, "Hey chaplain, you wanna hear a really stupid joke?"
 
He's the boss, so what choice do I have?  "Sure."
 
"Great," replies the boss.  "Come over, we need to discuss your performance evaluation."

I was told that most Mormon women stop having children after 34....
Because 35 is just too many.

The Pope goes on an official visit to New Your City. When he gets off the plane at JFK Airport there is a limousine waiting for him. It is a very nice shiny limousine and the Pope likes the look at it.
 
"Driver," he says to the driver. "I've always wanted to drive a nice shiny limousine like this, but I've never got to do it. Please will you let me drive it to the hotel?"
 
"I can't let you do that Your Holiness," says the driver. "You're the Pope. You're supposed to sit comfortably in the back and wave to people while I do the driving."
 
"Oh please!" says the Pope. "I'm so sick of sitting in the back and waving. It's all I ever get to do! Just this once I want to drive for a change!"
 
The driver thinks about this for a moment; he's sure this is against the rules, but this is the Pope.
 
"All right," he says. "But please Your Holiness, be careful!"
 
"Oh I will!" says the Pope eagerly, jumping into the driver's seat and revving the engine. Reluctantly the driver climbs into the back and off they go.
 
At first the Pope drives carefully, obeying all the street signs, but gradually the power of this beautiful car goes to his head. He wants to see how fast he can make it go! The speedometer creeps slowly up: 35mph, 40mph...50mph!
 
Eventually he is driving through Manhattan at 60 mph, and he is pulled over by a traffic cop.
 
The cop takes one look at him, turns almost as white as the Pope's robes, and radios his superior officer at the station.
 
"Excuse me Lieutenant," he says. "I've pulled someone over for speeding, but...well, he's someone rather important."
 
"Who?" asks the lieutenant. "Is it the Mayor?"
 
"No," says the cop, "More important than that!"
 
"Well...is it the State Governor?"
 
"No sir....more important than that even!"
 
"Don't tell me you've stopped the President!"
 
"No...even more important than him!"
 
"Well....who?"
 
The cop pauses before replying.
 
"Well sir....I think it must be God, because the Pope is driving!"

The Pope goes on an official visit to New Your City. When he gets off the plane at JFK Airport there is a limousine waiting for him. It is a very nice shiny limousine and the Pope likes the look at it.
 
"Driver," he says to the driver. "I've always wanted to drive a nice shiny limousine like this, but I've never got to do it. Please will you let me drive it to the hotel?"
 
"I can't let you do that Your Holiness," says the driver. "You're the Pope. You're supposed to sit comfortably in the back and wave to people while I do the driving."
 
"Oh please!" says the Pope. "I'm so sick of sitting in the back and waving. It's all I ever get to do! Just this once I want to drive for a change!"
 
The driver thinks about this for a moment; he's sure this is against the rules, but this is the Pope.
 
"All right," he says. "But please Your Holiness, be careful!"
 
"Oh I will!" says the Pope eagerly, jumping into the driver's seat and revving the engine. Reluctantly the driver climbs into the back and off they go.
 
At first the Pope drives carefully, obeying all the street signs, but gradually the power of this beautiful car goes to his head. He wants to see how fast he can make it go! The speedometer creeps slowly up: 35mph, 40mph...50mph!
 
Eventually he is driving through Manhattan at 60 mph, and he is pulled over by a traffic cop.
 
The cop takes one look at him, turns almost as white as the Pope's robes, and radios his superior officer at the station.
 
"Excuse me Lieutenant," he says. "I've pulled someone over for speeding, but...well, he's someone rather important."
 
"Who?" asks the lieutenant. "Is it the Mayor?"
 
"No," says the cop, "More important than that!"
 
"Well...is it the State Governor?"
 
"No sir....more important than that even!"
 
"Don't tell me you've stopped the President!"
 
"No...even more important than him!"
 
"Well....who?"
 
The cop pauses before replying.
 
"Well sir....I think it must be God, because the Pope is driving!"

The Pope goes on an official visit to New Your City. When he gets off the plane at JFK Airport there is a limousine waiting for him. It is a very nice shiny limousine and the Pope likes the look at it.
 
"Driver," he says to the driver. "I've always wanted to drive a nice shiny limousine like this, but I've never got to do it. Please will you let me drive it to the hotel?"
 
"I can't let you do that Your Holiness," says the driver. "You're the Pope. You're supposed to sit comfortably in the back and wave to people while I do the driving."
 
"Oh please!" says the Pope. "I'm so sick of sitting in the back and waving. It's all I ever get to do! Just this once I want to drive for a change!"
 
The driver thinks about this for a moment; he's sure this is against the rules, but this is the Pope.
 
"All right," he says. "But please Your Holiness, be careful!"
 
"Oh I will!" says the Pope eagerly, jumping into the driver's seat and revving the engine. Reluctantly the driver climbs into the back and off they go.
 
At first the Pope drives carefully, obeying all the street signs, but gradually the power of this beautiful car goes to his head. He wants to see how fast he can make it go! The speedometer creeps slowly up: 35mph, 40mph...50mph!
 
Eventually he is driving through Manhattan at 60 mph, and he is pulled over by a traffic cop.
 
The cop takes one look at him, turns almost as white as the Pope's robes, and radios his superior officer at the station.
 
"Excuse me Lieutenant," he says. "I've pulled someone over for speeding, but...well, he's someone rather important."
 
"Who?" asks the lieutenant. "Is it the Mayor?"
 
"No," says the cop, "More important than that!"
 
"Well...is it the State Governor?"
 
"No sir....more important than that even!"
 
"Don't tell me you've stopped the President!"
 
"No...even more important than him!"
 
"Well....who?"
 
The cop pauses before replying.
 
"Well sir....I think it must be God, because the Pope is driving!"

This makes me think of "At the Back of the North Wind" by George MacDonald. It is (***SPOILER ALERT**) a story of a boy called Diamond who is dying. He meets a goddess-like woman who is a personification of the North Wind; sometimes she is a huge giantess and sometimes she is tiny (just as the wind varies in size) and she takes him away on a magical adventure.
 
There is one point in the story where Diamond has to walk on a high precipice; he is afraid but says he will try to be brave. The North Wind replies (I've paraphrased it slightly): "To try to be brave is to be brave - a coward who tries to be brave is braver than the brave man who never had to try".
 
Maybe to try to do our best is to do our best.

This makes me think of "At the Back of the North Wind" by George MacDonald. It is (***SPOILER ALERT**) a story of a boy called Diamond who is dying. He meets a goddess-like woman who is a personification of the North Wind; sometimes she is a huge giantess and sometimes she is tiny (just as the wind varies in size) and she takes him away on a magical adventure.
 
There is one point in the story where Diamond has to walk on a high precipice; he is afraid but says he will try to be brave. The North Wind replies (I've paraphrased it slightly): "To try to be brave is to be brave - a coward who tries to be brave is braver than the brave man who never had to try".
 
Maybe to try to do our best is to do our best.

This makes me think of "At the Back of the North Wind" by George MacDonald. It is (***SPOILER ALERT**) a story of a boy called Diamond who is dying. He meets a goddess-like woman who is a personification of the North Wind; sometimes she is a huge giantess and sometimes she is tiny (just as the wind varies in size) and she takes him away on a magical adventure.
 
There is one point in the story where Diamond has to walk on a high precipice; he is afraid but says he will try to be brave. The North Wind replies (I've paraphrased it slightly): "To try to be brave is to be brave - a coward who tries to be brave is braver than the brave man who never had to try".
 
Maybe to try to do our best is to do our best.

No...this is *not* more drivel about the Flat Earth people and how Antarctica is really a giant ice-wall holding the oceans in and spilling out into...well presumably into Nifelheim and the roots of Ygdrassil (if you're into that sort of thing).
 
This is something far more important...
 
The fact is that Antarctic exploration makes me VERY angry!
 
Why? Well there are two very important reasons...
 
Firstly because Roald Amundsen ate his dogs!
 
They were nice cute husky dogs that anyone else would have been glad to have for a pet. Good, loyal, faithful, hard-working dogs who pulled his sleds all the way to the south pole, allowing him to beat Scott (who despite his poor organization played things fair as far as doggy-woof-woofs went). And how did that Norwegian git repay them? By using them not only as a source of propulsion but also as a source of food.
 
He and his men ate almost the whole lot of them! While Scott was freezing and Oats was going out for "some time", the Norwegians were stuffing themselves with husky-burgers and fries! Amundsen brought only ONE dog back to Norway. You can see it today, stuffed in a museum in Olso. 
 
If you ask me Amundsen should be disqualified, and the credit given to Scott instead! 
 
(Please excuse me while I go and grind my teeth.)
 
But there's another reason as well...
 
When I was 10 years old, my teacher (I'll call him Mr. Keswick - which is very nearly his name) told us the story of Robert Falcon Scott, and how he used horses to pull his sleds to the pole. I asked him why he didn't use mechanical tractors to pull the sleds. Mr. Keswick looked at me and said "For goodness sake this was in 1910! Did they have mechanical tractors then?"
 
Now I had no idea whether they had mechanical tractors in 1910, but the class was already looking at me with amusement, so instead of confessing my ignorance I said "no". Mr.Keswick then led the whole class in a good old laugh at "stupid old Jamie".
 
Well, that summer, when our family was on holiday, I was given some spending money by my Ma and Da which I used to buy a book about Antarctic exploration. (I bought a book on dinosaurs too, but that doesn't come into this story.) On the centre pages it had a cut-out penguin which you made to stand up by pasting it to a toilet roll middle. It also had the story of Scott's and Amundsen's expeditions and - in the middle of one page was a picture of a vehicle with caterpillar tracks, and a caption underneath reading "Motorized sled used by Scott on his 1910 expedition to the south pole!"
 
Check it out here: http://mp.natlib.govt.nz/image/?imageId=images-18720&profile=access
 
So Scott DID attempt to use "tractors". He had two of them. Admittedly neither of them reached the South Pole, but my question had been quite valid! Despite the teacher-induced snickering all around the classroom, it wasn't "stupid old Jamie" at all. It was "stupid old Mr. Keswick!"
 
So I got a train straight back home, went to Mr.Keswick's house, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pushed the picture in his face and shouted "Look at this, Mush! Who's stupid now???!!!"
 
Well ... OK so the last bit of the story is pure fantasy but I certainly did it in my head!

Maybe so, but I don't expect them to pull sledges to the South Pole. I mean....that's just plain silly!
 

No...this is *not* more drivel about the Flat Earth people and how Antarctica is really a giant ice-wall holding the oceans in and spilling out into...well presumably into Nifelheim and the roots of Ygdrassil (if you're into that sort of thing).
 
This is something far more important...
 
The fact is that Antarctic exploration makes me VERY angry!
 
Why? Well there are two very important reasons...
 
Firstly because Roald Amundsen ate his dogs!
 
They were nice cute husky dogs that anyone else would have been glad to have for a pet. Good, loyal, faithful, hard-working dogs who pulled his sleds all the way to the south pole, allowing him to beat Scott (who despite his poor organization played things fair as far as doggy-woof-woofs went). And how did that Norwegian git repay them? By using them not only as a source of propulsion but also as a source of food.
 
He and his men ate almost the whole lot of them! While Scott was freezing and Oats was going out for "some time", the Norwegians were stuffing themselves with husky-burgers and fries! Amundsen brought only ONE dog back to Norway. You can see it today, stuffed in a museum in Olso. 
 
If you ask me Amundsen should be disqualified, and the credit given to Scott instead! 
 
(Please excuse me while I go and grind my teeth.)
 
But there's another reason as well...
 
When I was 10 years old, my teacher (I'll call him Mr. Keswick - which is very nearly his name) told us the story of Robert Falcon Scott, and how he used horses to pull his sleds to the pole. I asked him why he didn't use mechanical tractors to pull the sleds. Mr. Keswick looked at me and said "For goodness sake this was in 1910! Did they have mechanical tractors then?"
 
Now I had no idea whether they had mechanical tractors in 1910, but the class was already looking at me with amusement, so instead of confessing my ignorance I said "no". Mr.Keswick then led the whole class in a good old laugh at "stupid old Jamie".
 
Well, that summer, when our family was on holiday, I was given some spending money by my Ma and Da which I used to buy a book about Antarctic exploration. (I bought a book on dinosaurs too, but that doesn't come into this story.) On the centre pages it had a cut-out penguin which you made to stand up by pasting it to a toilet roll middle. It also had the story of Scott's and Amundsen's expeditions and - in the middle of one page was a picture of a vehicle with caterpillar tracks, and a caption underneath reading "Motorized sled used by Scott on his 1910 expedition to the south pole!"
 
Check it out here: http://mp.natlib.govt.nz/image/?imageId=images-18720&profile=access
 
So Scott DID attempt to use "tractors". He had two of them. Admittedly neither of them reached the South Pole, but my question had been quite valid! Despite the teacher-induced snickering all around the classroom, it wasn't "stupid old Jamie" at all. It was "stupid old Mr. Keswick!"
 
So I got a train straight back home, went to Mr.Keswick's house, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pushed the picture in his face and shouted "Look at this, Mush! Who's stupid now???!!!"
 
Well ... OK so the last bit of the story is pure fantasy but I certainly did it in my head!

Jamie, I hope we live next door to each other in the next life. You would be a hoot to get to know better.

A thought:

How much of this stuff can you watch, how often can you try to take such people seriously and examine their claims without prejudice, before you mentally throw out the whole lot of them and simply paint anyone with claims sounding like that as a crank?
 
Perhaps many have investigated religion and come to the same sort of conclusion, classifying any religious person as a nut. Their prejudice blinds them to what we have to offer, but on the other hand, it's a little hard to blame them totally for their blindness.

No...this is *not* more drivel about the Flat Earth people and how Antarctica is really a giant ice-wall holding the oceans in and spilling out into...well presumably into Nifelheim and the roots of Ygdrassil (if you're into that sort of thing).
 
This is something far more important...
 
The fact is that Antarctic exploration makes me VERY angry!
 
Why? Well there are two very important reasons...
 
Firstly because Roald Amundsen ate his dogs!
 
They were nice cute husky dogs that anyone else would have been glad to have for a pet. Good, loyal, faithful, hard-working dogs who pulled his sleds all the way to the south pole, allowing him to beat Scott (who despite his poor organization played things fair as far as doggy-woof-woofs went). And how did that Norwegian git repay them? By using them not only as a source of propulsion but also as a source of food.
 
He and his men ate almost the whole lot of them! While Scott was freezing and Oats was going out for "some time", the Norwegians were stuffing themselves with husky-burgers and fries! Amundsen brought only ONE dog back to Norway. You can see it today, stuffed in a museum in Olso. 
 
If you ask me Amundsen should be disqualified, and the credit given to Scott instead! 
 
(Please excuse me while I go and grind my teeth.)
 
But there's another reason as well...
 
When I was 10 years old, my teacher (I'll call him Mr. Keswick - which is very nearly his name) told us the story of Robert Falcon Scott, and how he used horses to pull his sleds to the pole. I asked him why he didn't use mechanical tractors to pull the sleds. Mr. Keswick looked at me and said "For goodness sake this was in 1910! Did they have mechanical tractors then?"
 
Now I had no idea whether they had mechanical tractors in 1910, but the class was already looking at me with amusement, so instead of confessing my ignorance I said "no". Mr.Keswick then led the whole class in a good old laugh at "stupid old Jamie".
 
Well, that summer, when our family was on holiday, I was given some spending money by my Ma and Da which I used to buy a book about Antarctic exploration. (I bought a book on dinosaurs too, but that doesn't come into this story.) On the centre pages it had a cut-out penguin which you made to stand up by pasting it to a toilet roll middle. It also had the story of Scott's and Amundsen's expeditions and - in the middle of one page was a picture of a vehicle with caterpillar tracks, and a caption underneath reading "Motorized sled used by Scott on his 1910 expedition to the south pole!"
 
Check it out here: http://mp.natlib.govt.nz/image/?imageId=images-18720&profile=access
 
So Scott DID attempt to use "tractors". He had two of them. Admittedly neither of them reached the South Pole, but my question had been quite valid! Despite the teacher-induced snickering all around the classroom, it wasn't "stupid old Jamie" at all. It was "stupid old Mr. Keswick!"
 
So I got a train straight back home, went to Mr.Keswick's house, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pushed the picture in his face and shouted "Look at this, Mush! Who's stupid now???!!!"
 
Well ... OK so the last bit of the story is pure fantasy but I certainly did it in my head!

Energy (or work) per unit time.

"Middle state" makes me think of Alexander Pope:
 
 
 
So is it the great benefit or the great curse of mankind...to be more than a beast but less than a god?

My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel against what he foresaw was my design. [The young Robinson Crusoe wanted to go to sea.] He called me one morning into his chamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very warmly with me upon this subject: he asked me what reasons more than a mere wandering inclination I had for leaving my father’s house and my native country, where I might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising my fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease and pleasure. He told me it was for men of desperate fortunes on one hand, or of aspiring superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon adventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous in undertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these things were all either too far above me, or too far below me; that mine was the middle state, or what might be called the upper station of low life, which he had found by long experience was the best state in the world, the most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries and hardships, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part of mankind, and not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envy of the upper part of mankind, he told me, I might judge of the happiness of this state by this one thing, viz. that this was the state of life which all other people envied; that kings have frequently lamented the miserable consequences of being born to great things, and wish they had been placed in the middle of the two extremes, between the mean and the great; that the wise man gave his testimony to this as the just standard of true felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty nor riches.
 
He bid me observe it, and I should always find, that the calamities of life were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind; but that the middle station had the fewest disasters, and was not exposed to so many vicissitudes as the higher or lower part of mankind; nay, they were not subjected to so many distempers and uneasinesses, either of body or mind, as those were, who by vicious living, luxury, and extravagances, on one hand, or by hard labour, want of necessaries, and mean or insufficient diet, on the other hand, bring distempers upon themselves by the natural consequences of their way of living; that the middle station of life was calculated for all kind of virtues and all kind of enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of a middle fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health, society, all agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were the blessings attending the middle station of life; that this way men went silently and smoothly through the world, and comfortably out of it, not embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of the head, not sold to the life of slavery for daily bread, or harassed with perplexed circumstances, which rob the soul of peace, and the body of rest; not enraged with the passion of envy, or secret burning lust of ambition for great things; but in easy circumstances sliding gently through the world, and sensibly tasting the sweets of living, without the bitter, feeling that they are happy, and learning by every day’s experience to know it more sensibly.

I've always liked this passage from Roald Dahl's The Twits: