Don’t read newspapers for the news (just for the gossip and, of course, profiles of authors). The best filter to know if the news matters is if you hear it in cafes, restaurants... or (again) parties.
THE MOST AND THE GREATEST
The most destructive habit............Worry
The greates joy.............................Giving
The greatest loss.............Loss of respect
The most dangerous parishioner....A gossiper
The world's most incredible computer.....The Brain
The worst thing to be without..........Hope
The most satisfying work......Helping others
The ugliest personality trait........Selfishness
The most endangered species....Dedicated leaders
The deadliest weapon................The tongue
The most power-filled words..........."I Can"
The greatest asset..............................Faith
The greatest natural resource.....Our youth
The greatest "shot in the arm"...Encouragement
The greatest problem to overcome......Fear
The most worthless emotion........Self-pity
The most beautiful attire.................SMILE!
The most prized possession ........Integrity
The most crippling failure disease...Excuses
The most powerful force in life..........LOVE!
The most contagious spirit.......Enthusiasm
Whoever Gossips to you will Gossip about you.
"In few people is discretion stronger than the desire to tell a good story."
"As we are concerned with what others think of us, so we are anxious to know all about them; and from this arise the crude and subtle forms of snobbishness and the worship of authority. Thus we become more and more externalized and inwardly empty. The more externalized we are, the more sensations and distractions there must be, and this gives rise to a mind that is never quiet, that is not capable of deep search and discovery." (Krishnamurti on "gossip". When I read the text, I could not help thinking: this guy is talking about my zaadz activities. Maybe this is too hard a judgement, but basically that's what we are doing here: being concerned with what others think of us and being anxious to know all about them.)
Greed is a dog; falsehood is a filthy street-sweeper. Cheating is eating a rotting carcass. Slandering others is putting the filth of others into your own mouth. The fire of anger is the outcaste who burns dead bodies at the crematorium.
The world is a nest of crows; some caw in praise; some caw in derision. But men should be above the reach of praise and blame.
Some praise me, some blame me. I
go the other way.
In my experince those who do not like you fall into two catagories: the stupid and the envious. The stupid will love you in five years, the envious, never....
Almost everything S. B. said and did bespoke the values his father had insitlled in him. Yet these manly injunctions to withstand hardship without complaint and keep one's own counsel were not Tina Kome's alone, but derived from inititation, when every Kuranko boy learns to bear pain without flinching, to respect the words of his elders without demur, and to overcome his fear of the spirits of the wild and of death. As the old medicine master Saran Salia Sano once told me, "Even when they are cutting the foreskin you must not flinch. You must stand stock-still. You must not make a sound from the mouth. Better to die than to wince or blink or cry out." This control of one's emotions, and of one's speech, was undoubtedly connected to the value the Kruanko place on keeping secrets and promises, and of choosing one's words wisely. To nurse malicious thoughts is to risk malicious acts, and to speak of the devil is to conjure him. Perhaps this was why S. B.'s story was so conspicuously devoid of any ill will, grudges, or snide comments. . . ..
A gossip is one who talks to you about others; a bore is one who talks to you about himself; and a brilliant conversationalist is one who talks to you about yourself.
Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip.
So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip.
Life wounds all of us. At best there is sorrow enough to go round. Yet because the deepest wounds are those of the soul and hidden to mortal sight, we keep hurting each other day by day, inflicting wounds that time mercifully scars over. But the scars remain, ready at a touch to throb angrily and ache again with the old gnawing wild pain. You remember that day in school when the teacher laughed? You were only a little fellow, shy and silent, sitting in the shadow of the big boys, wistfully looking toward the day when you would shine as they did. That day you were sure your chance had come. You were sure that you had just what the teacher wanted on the tip of your tongue, and you jumped up and shouted it out loudly and eagerly, triumphantly - and you were very, very wrong. There followed a flash of astonishment, an instant of dreadful silence, and then the room rang with mirth. You heard only the teacher's laughter, and it drowned your heart. Many years have gone over head since that day, but the sight of a little lad trudging along to school brings it back, and the old pain stirs and beats against the scar. You cover it over, hush it to quiet once more with a smile. "I must have been funny. She couldn't help it." But you wish she had. And there was that time when your best friend failed you. When the loose-tongued gossips started the damaging story and he was pressed for a single word in your defense, he said, "Oh, he's all right. Of course, he's all right, but I don't want to get mixed up in this thing. Can't afford it. Have to think of my own name and my own family, you understand. Good fellow, but I have to keep out of this." You felt forsaken. For weeks and weeks you carried the pain in your heart. The story was bad enough but would right itself. The idea that he should fail you, that he had not, rushed to your side at the first hint of trouble was bad enough, was unbearable. He came back again after it was all over, but the sight of him renewed the ache in your breast and the throb of pain in your throat. The scar was thin, and the hurt beneath it quivered. We all bear scars. Life is a struggle, and hurts must come. But why the unnecessary ones? Why hurt the souls of little children? Why say things to them that they must remember with pain all their lives? Why say the smart, tart thing that goes straight to the heart of someone we love because we would relieve ourselves of the day's tension and throw off a grain of the soul's bitterness? Who are we to inflict wounds and suffering and scars on those about us? Staggering, blind mortals, groping our way from somewhere "here" to somewhere "there" conscious of little but the effort to stay "here" a little longer! It behooves us to travel softly, regardful of one another's happiness, particularly where our path crosses that of those dependent upon us for comfort or enters into the heart of little children.
Sooner or later, a man, if he is wise, discovers that life is a mixture of good days and bad, victory and defeat, give and take. He learns that it doesn't pay to let things get his goat; that he must let some things go over his head like water off a duck's back. He learns that carrying a chip on his shoulder is the quickest way to get into a fight. He learns that buck-passing acts as a boomerang. He learns that carrying tales and gossip about others is the surest way to become unpopular. He learns that giving others a mental lift by showing appreciation and praise is the best way to lift his own spirits. He learns that the world will not end when he fails or makes an error; that there is always another day and another chance. He learns that listening is frequently more important than talking, and that he can often make a friend by letting the other fellow tell his troubles. He learns that all men have burnt toast for breakfast now and then, and that he shouldn't let their grumbling get him down. He learns that people are not any more difficult to get along with in one place than another, and that "getting along" depends about 98 per cent on his own behavior.
Gossip needn't be false to be evil - there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around.
Gossip: entertaining oneself and others by talking about the personal affairs of others.
A gossip is someone who talks to you about others, a bore is someone who talks to you about himself, an excellent conversationalist is someone who talks to you about you.
To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit it and read it are old women over their tea.
Tis an old dial with many a stain; In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom, Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain, And white in winter like a marble tomb. And round about its gray, time-eaten brow Lean letters speak - a worn and shattered row: I am a Shade: A Shadowe too arte thou: I marke the Time: saye, Gossip, dost thou soe?
Gossip is a sort of smoke that comes from the dirty tobacco-pipes of those who diffuse it: it proves nothing but the bad taste of the smoker.
The best ammunition against lies is the truth, there is no ammunition against gossip. It is like a fog and the clear wind blows it away and the sun burns it off.
Gossip is when you hear something you like about someone you don't.
But there's another type of poison perhaps a little more insidious - thought poison - commonly called "gossip." Thought poison differs from body poison in two ways. It affects the mind, not the body, and it is more subtle. The person being poisoned usually doesn't know it. Thought-poison is subtle but it accomplishes "big" things. It reduces the size of our thinking by forcing us to concentrate on petty, unimportant things. It warps and twists our thinking about people because it is based on a distortion of facts, and it creates a guilt feeling in us that shows through when we meet the person we've gossiped about. Thought-poison is 0 percent right thinking: it is 100 percent wrong thinking. And contrary to lots of opinion, women have no exclusive franchise on gossip. Every day many men, too, live in a partially poisoned environment.
HISTORIAN, n. A broad-gauge gossip.
