(August 15, 2015 at 8:17 pm)JuliaL Wrote:(August 15, 2015 at 11:13 am)Randy Carson Wrote: Question: What is the best way to achieve "sustained happiness"? Is it by:
1) volunteering or working with a charity;
2) taking educational courses;
3) participating in religious organizations; or
4) participating in a political or community organization?
Answer: 3.
I understand the draw of many psychoactive substances is that of producing euphoria.
They, like religious organizations, have a down side. Sometimes it is lethal.
In the case of religious delusions the size of James Inhofe's it looks like it'll be fatal for technological civilization. He really shouldn't be able to advocate against climate change mitigating actions on the grounds that God wouldn't let us ruin our ecosystem. But he does.
Inhofe Wrote:"God's still up there", the "arrogance of people to think that we, human beings, would be able to change what He is doing in the climate is to me outrageous."
(August 15, 2015 at 5:15 pm)Lemonvariable72 Wrote:
When: whenever the sun is not in the sky.
Where: where ever you and alcohol share a point in space.
How much: till you can't remember your name
Written like a person who has not yet destroyed their liver's reserve capacity.
Fortunately, denying that smoking will hurt your lungs is still an option.
Your gonna die someday anyway. Hell every breath you take is releasing free radicals that will eventually kill you. So why worry and say I wont do this, when the king and the popper go to the same place.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.



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