修心，齐家，治国，平天下

近日来突然对《大学》里的哲学很感兴趣，《大学》是儒家经典--《四书》之一：

古之欲明德於天下者，先治其國；欲治其國者，先齊其家；欲齊其家者，先修其身；欲修其身者，先正其心；欲正 其心者，先誠其意

““三纲八目”的连贯性，由个人之"明明德"做起：格物，致知，诚意，正心，修身；发挥到“新民”：齐家，治国，平天下，以达到“止于至善”的境地。

所谓的“三纲”指的是三个纲领：1）明明德 2）新民 3）止于至善 。

所谓的“八目”指的是八个条目：1）格物 2）致知 3）诚意 4）正心 5）修身 6）齐家 7）治国 8）平天下。

“格物”就是研究事物。“致知”就是达到真知灼见，把正确的答案找出来，增加知识。“诚意”就是要意念真诚，表里如一（所以要慎独），不虚伪，不自欺欺人。“正心”就是要端正自己的心灵，消除邪恶之心。“修身”就是把自己的身子（包括思想言行）培养好。

“齐家”就是整治其家，在伦理上要父子有亲，长幼有序，使家庭亲亲和蔼。“治国”就是把国家治理的好，除了教化，还须政令。“平天下”就是奔驰天下（包括许多国家），主要是用政令来平。

整个大纲的意思就是在于把自己灵明的德性能够彰明出来，在亲爱民众，使人人革新，以达成至善的境界。要想使人能彰明自己的明德，先要治好自己的国家；要想治好自己的国家，先要治好自己的家庭；要想治好自己的家庭，先要修养己身；要修好己身，先使自己的心平正；要想使自己的性情得当，先使自己的意念真实无妄；要想使自己的意念真实无妄，先增加自己的知识。要想增加自己的知识，在于能做到即物穷理。””

郑渊洁语录

100分把童年变成100岁。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第16卷

当当官的乐趣不在于说对了部下听，而在于说得不对部下也得听。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第9卷

如果一个国家的孩子说大人话办大人事，这个国家的大人准说孩子话办孩子事。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第27卷

不会摇尾巴的狗在这个世界上是无法生存的，除非你不当狗。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第10卷

电视台如果说真话就是光临观众家的天使，如果说假话就是夜入民宅的小偷流氓强盗。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第11卷

孩子把玩具当朋友。成人把朋友当玩具。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第15卷

人类中凶恶的人比最凶恶的动物还凶恶。人类中善良的人比最善良的动物还善良。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第29卷

没有距离就没有崇拜。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第8卷

腰缠万贯是另一种穷。一贫如洗是另一种富。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第19卷

过去，是从土地里找财富的时代。现在，是从人的大脑里找财富的时代。从人的大脑里挖掘财富的最好方法就是使用科学的教育方法开发学生的智力。哪个国家的教育方法科学，哪个国家就占了便宜，它的经济发展速度就会比别人快。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第30卷

女性有两个特点：衣服再多，也觉得自己没衣服；姿色再少，也觉得自己有姿色。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第1卷

合格的教师和父母的标志：发现孩子的优点，告诉他什么地方行。不合格的教师和父母的标志：发现孩子的缺点，告诉他什么地方不行。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第5卷

飞机是穿梭在天上的十字架。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第14卷

有人高兴，就必定有人痛苦。有人痛苦，就必定有人高兴。这就是人类。这就是生命。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第3卷

越是丑陋的人，越怕别人说他丑陋；越是完美的人，越爱说自己不完美。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第14卷

差生是差老师和差家长联手缔造的。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第16卷
从某种意义上说，大学是把简单的道理往复杂了说、把听得懂的话往听不懂了说的场所。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第28卷

从生态平衡角度看，小草和人类一样重要。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第7卷

铁饭碗的真实含义不是在一个地方吃一辈子饭，而是一辈子到哪儿都有饭吃。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第6卷

达到极限后再提速，只有死路一条。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第24卷

有关饮食的种种清规戒律不会危害人，除非你一一照办。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第23卷

判断一个国家有没有前途，就看这个国家的孩子是不是真心喜欢上学。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第22卷

吝啬的真实含义不是舍不得花自己的钱，而是舍得花别人的钱。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第21卷

时间能消除一切仇怨。在时间面前，世间的一切仇恨都显得微不足道和软弱无力。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第13卷

太阳的伟大之处在于它把光明撒向人间的同时不让任何人接近它。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第18卷

在游戏规则不健全的地方，最不保险的事就是买保险。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第25卷

标榜自己淡泊名利的人本身就是在捞取名声。摆出捍卫真理架式的人捍卫的绝对不是真理。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第17卷

写回忆录的本质是自己给自己整理遗容。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第18卷

老虎没有虎性就不吃人的。人没有人性就吃人了。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第16卷

生的时候自己用哭声宣告问世，死的时候别人用哭声为你送行。悲剧是贯穿人生始终的主旋律。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第25卷

如果好人怕警察，这国家就出毛病了。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第4卷

有没有国家承认的学历不重要，重要的是有没有国家承认的能力。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第26卷

可以分享别人的喜悦，不可以分享别人的成就。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第13卷

拥有大学文凭的真正含义是好找工作，而找工作的真正含义是给别人打工。因此，大学文凭实际上是加入打工族的特别通行证。没有大学文凭的真正含义是不好找工作，不好找工作的真正含义是逼迫自己创业当老板。因此，没有大学文凭实际上是进入老板序列的特别通行证。
摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第26卷

撑死的鱼比饿死的鱼多。涝死的花比旱死的花多。富死的人比穷死的人多。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第21卷

生命以无限循环的形式在宇宙中生存。有神论者管这叫轮回转世，无神论者管这叫物质不灭。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第2卷

最难过的，是好日子。最容易过的，是苦日子。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第27卷

真理在刚刚问世的时候都是胡说八道。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第25卷

如果全是老姜，将是一个何等辛辣的社会。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第27卷

地球是行驶在宇宙中的泰坦尼克号。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第32卷

没有军队可能就没有和平，有了军队可能就有了战争。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第31卷

实行地方保护主义的最佳手段是推行廉政。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第33卷

鼓励能将白痴变成天才。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第32卷

"理屈词穷"已经过时。如今是理屈词富的时代。越是没理的人越喋喋不休。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第33卷

当官的品质富有，老百姓的钱包才能富有。当官的品质贫穷，老百姓的钱包肯定贫穷。
--摘自《郑渊洁童话全集》第31卷31卷

the notebook

Miracles

Who am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?
The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by. I’m a sight this morning: two shirts, heavy pants, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck and tucked into a thick sweater knitted by my daughter thirty birthdays ago. The thermostat in my room is set as high as it will go, and a smaller space heater sits directly behind me. It clicks and groans and spews hot air like a fairytale dragon, and still my body shivers with a cold that will never go away, a cold that has been eighty years in the making. Eighty years, I think sometimes, and despite my own acceptance of my age, it still amazes me that I haven’t been warm since George Bush was president.

Nicholas Sparks

I wonder if this is how it is for everyone my age. My life? It isn’t easy to explain. It has not been the rip-roaring spectacular I fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around with the gophers. I suppose it has most resembled a bluechip stock: fairly stable, more ups than downs, and gradually trending upward over time. A good buy, a lucky buy, and I’ve learned that not everyone can say this about his life. But do not be misled. I am nothing special; of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough. The romantics would call this a love story, the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I’ve chosen to follow. I have no complaints about my path and the places it has taken me; enough complaints to fill a circus tent about other things, maybe, but the path I’ve chosen has always been the right one, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Time, unfortunately, doesn’t make it easy to stay on course. The path is straight as ever, but now it is strewn with the rocks and gravel that accumulate over a lifetime. Until three years ago it would have been easy to ignore, but it’s impossible now. There is a sickness rolling through my body; I’m neither strong nor healthy, and my days are spent like an old party balloon: listless, spongy, and growing softer over time. I cough, and through squinted eyes I check my watch. I realize it is time to go. I stand from my seat by the window and shuffle across the room, stopping at the desk to pick up the notebook I have read a hundred times. I do not glance through it. Instead I slip it beneath my arm and continue on my way to the place I must go. I walk on tiled floors, white in color and speckled with gray. Like my hair and the hair of most people here, though I’m the only one in the hallway this morning. They are in their rooms, alone except for television, but they, like me, are used to it. A person can get used to anything, if given enough time. I hear the muffled sounds of crying in the distance and know exactly who is making those sounds. Then the nurses see me and we smile at each other and exchange greetings. They are my friends and we talk often, but I am sure they wonder about me and the things that I go through every day. I listen as they begin to whisper among themselves as I pass. “There he goes again,” I hear, “I hope it turns out well.” But they say nothing directly to me about it. I’m sure they think it would hurt me to talk about it so early in the morning, and knowing myself as I do, I think they’re probably right. A minute later, I reach the room. The door has been propped open for me, as it usually is. There are two others in the room, and they too smile at me as I enter. “Good morning,” they say with cheery voices, and I take a moment to ask about the kids and the schools and upcoming vacations. We talk above the crying for a minute or so. They do not seem to notice; they have become numb to it, but then again, so have I.
Afterward I sit in the chair that has come to be shaped like me. They are finishing up now; her clothes are on, but still she is crying. It will become quieter after they leave, I know. The excitement of the morning always upsets her, and today is no exception. Finally the shade is opened and the nurses walk out. Both of them touch me and smile as they walk by. I wonder what this means. I sit for just a second and stare at her, but she doesn’t return the look. I understand, for she doesn’t know who I am. I’m a stranger to her. Then, turning away, I bow my head and pray silently for the strength I know I will need. I have always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, though to be honest, my faith has made for a list of questions I definitely want answered after I’m gone. Ready now. On go the glasses, out of my pocket comes a magnifier.

I put it on the table for

The Notebook

a moment while I open the notebook. It takes two licks on my gnarled finger to get the wellworn cover open to the first page. Then I put the magnifier in place. There is always a moment right before I begin to read the story when my mind churns, and I wonder, Will it happen today? I don’t know, for I never know beforehand, and deep down it really doesn’t matter. It’s the possibility that keeps me going, not the guarantee, a sort of wager on my part. And though you may call me a dreamer or fool or any other thing, I believe that anything is possible. I realize the odds, and science, are against me.
But science is not the total answer; this I know, this I have learned in my lifetime. And that leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to the natural order of things. So once again, just as I do every day, I begin to read the notebook aloud, so that she can hear it, in the hope that the miracle that has come to dominate my life will once again prevail.

And maybe, just maybe, it will.

Ghosts

It was early October 1946, and Noah Calhoun watched the fading sun sink lower from the wraparound porch of his plantation-style home. He liked to sit here in the evenings, especially after working hard all day, and let his thoughts wander without conscious direction. It was how he relaxed, a routine he’d learned from his father.
He especially liked to look at the trees and their reflections in the river. North Carolina trees are beautiful in deep autumn: greens, yellows, reds, oranges, every shade in between. Their dazzling colors glow with the sun, and for the hundredth time, Noah Calhoun wondered if the original owners of the house had spent their evenings thinking the same things.
The house was built in 1772, making it one of the oldest, as well as largest, homes in New Bern. Originally it was the main house on a working plantation, and he had bought it right after the war ended and had spent the last eleven months and a small fortune repairing it. The reporter from the Raleigh paper had done an article on it a few weeks ago and said it was one of the finest restorations he’d ever seen. At least the house was. The remaining property was another story, and that was where he’d spent most of the day. The home sat on twelve acres adjacent to Brices Creek, and he’d worked on the wooden fence that lined the other three sides of the property, checking for dry rot or termites, replacing posts when he had to. He still had more work to do on it, especially on the west side, and as he’d put the tools away earlier he’d made a mental note to call and have some more lumber delivered.
He’d gone into the house, drunk a glass of sweet tea, then showered. He always showered at the end of the day, the water washing away both dirt and fatigue. Afterward he’d combed his hair back, put on some faded jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt, poured himself another glass of sweet tea, and gone to the porch, where he now sat, where he sat every day at this time. He stretched his arms above his head, then out to the sides, rolling his shoulders as he completed the routine. He felt good and clean now, fresh.

His muscles were tired and he knew he’d

Nicholas Sparks

be a little sore tomorrow, but he was pleased that he had accomplished most of what he had wanted to do. Noah reached for his guitar, remembering his father as he did so, thinking how much he missed him. He strummed once, adjusted the tension on two strings, then strummed again. This time it sounded about right, and he began to play. Soft music, quiet music. He hummed for a little while at first, then began to sing as night came down around him. He played and sang until the sun was gone and the sky was black. It was a little after seven when he quit, and he settled back into his chair and began to rock. By habit, he looked upward and saw Orion and the Big Dipper, Gemini and the Pole Star, twinkling in the autumn sky. He started to run the numbers in his head, then stopped. He knew he’d spent almost his entire savings on the house and would have to find a job again soon, but he pushed the thought away and decided to enjoy the remaining months of restoration without worrying about it. It would work out for him, he knew; it always did. Besides, thinking about money usually bored him. Early on, he’d learned to enjoy simple things, things that couldn’t be bought, and he had a hard time understanding people who felt otherwise. It was another trait he got from his father.

Clem, his hound dog, came up to him then

The Notebook

and nuzzled his hand before lying down at his feet. “Hey, girl, how’re you doing?” he asked as he patted her head, and she whined softly, her soft round eyes peering upward. A car accident had taken her leg, but she still moved well enough and kept him company on quiet nights like these. He was thirty-one now, not too old, but old enough to be lonely. He hadn’t dated since he’d been back here, hadn’t met anyone who remotely interested him. It was his own fault, he knew. There was something that kept a distance between him and any woman who started to get close, something he wasn’t sure he could change even if he tried. And sometimes in the moments right before sleep came, he wondered if he was destined to be alone forever.
The evening passed, staying warm, nice. Noah listened to the crickets and the rustling leaves,thinking that the sound of nature was more real and aroused more emotion than things like cars and planes. Natural things gave back more than they took, and their sounds always brought him back to the way man was supposed to be. There were times during the war, especially after a major engagement, when he had often thought about these simple sounds. “It’ll keep you from going crazy,” his father had told him the day he’d shipped out. “It’s God’s music and it’ll take you home.”

He finished his tea, went inside, found a book,

Nicholas Sparks

then turned on the porch light on his way back out. After sitting down again, he looked at the book. It was old, the cover was torn, and the pages were stained with mud and water. It was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, and he had carried it with him throughout the war. It had even taken a bullet for him once. He rubbed the cover, dusting it off just a little. Then he let the book open randomly and read the words in front of him:
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free fligh into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars. He smiled to himself. For some reason Whitman always reminded him of New Bern, and he was glad he’d come back. Though he’d been away for fourteen years, this was home and he knew a lot of people here, most of them from his youth. It wasn’t surprising. Like so many southern towns, the people who lived here never changed, they just grew a bit older.

zz Words Women Use

just can't help smiling while reading the following lines.
Words Women Use:

1. Fine:
   This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.
   
   
2. Five Minutes:
   If she is getting dressed, this means half an hour. Five Minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
   
   
3. Nothing:
   This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.
   
   
4. Go Ahead:
   This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!
   
   
5. Loud Sigh:
   This is actually a word, but is a non -verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing(refer back to #3 for the meaning of nothing).
   
   
6. That's Okay:
   This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That's okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
   
   
7. Thanks:
   A woman is thanking you - do not question or faint. Just say you're welcome.
   
   
8. Whatever:
   Is a woman's way of saying _ _ _ _YOU!
   
   
9. Don't worry about it, I got it:
   Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking, "what's wrong." For the woman's response, refer to # 3.
   
   Share this to the men you know, to warn them about arguments they can avoid if they remember
   the terminology. Share this to all the women you know to give them a good laugh, cause they know
   its true!