Public Notes


Recent Activity

  • Mario shared from Happy Death (Vintage International) by Albert Camus
    To have money is to have time. That’s my main point. Time can be bought. Everything can be bought. To be or to become rich is to have time to be happy, if you deserve it.
    Note: Writing that cuts to the heart.
  • Mario shared from Happy Death (Vintage International) by Albert Camus
    Only it takes time to be happy. A lot of time. Happiness, too, is a long patience. And in almost every case, we use up our lives making money, when we should be using our money to gain time.
    Note: Breathless!
  • Mario shared from The Hard Thing About Hard Things: Building a Business When There Are No Easy Answers by Ben Horowitz
    Parcells: “Al, I am just not sure how we can win without so many of our best players. What should I do?” Davis: “Bill, nobody cares, just coach your team.” That might be the best CEO advice ever. Because, you see, nobody cares. When things go wrong in your company, nobody cares. The media don’t care, your investors don’t care, your board doesn’t care, your employees don’t care, and even your mama doesn’t care. Nobody cares. And
  • Mario shared from Nineteen Eighty-Four (1984) by George Orwell, Professor Israel Gutman
    And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed-if all records told the same tale-then the lie passed into history and became truth. `Who controls the past,' ran the Party slogan, `controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.' And yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been altered. Whatever was true now was true from everlasting to everlasting. It was quite simple. All that was needed was an unending series of victories over your own memory. `Reality control', they called it: in Newspeak, `doublethink'.
    Note: "All that was needed was an unending series of victories over your own memory." #1984
  • Mario shared from Nineteen Eighty-Four (1984) by George Orwell, Professor Israel Gutman
    The girl with dark hair was coming towards him across the field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed he barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was admiration for the gesture with which she had thrown her clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the...
    Note: To write like a dream; about a dream, in a nightmare. Orwell was poet and prophet.
(San Francisco, CA, USA)
Mario Sundar