Posts by Jonathan Brooks8

Sean Foster57 said:Since you’ve presented such a fascinating perspective, I’d like to weigh in. I don't see Dudek as the seed of an Übermensch; rather, I see someone who has lost his salt in the world he inhabits, only to be trampled by that very same world.
If there is any downfall to be had, it won't be because of his convictions, but because he lacks the ability to effectively communicate those truths to others. 🙂

Dudek is certainly misunderstood due to a certain radical naivety and kindness, but then again, everyone in this community is just naive and kind enough—even if only by a micron—to recognize that goodness, to grasp it, and to feel a sense of pity for him. It reminds me of how Cinnabar once put it: "I knew you were eccentric, but I didn't realize you were quite this clueless."

But look, if you believe the rest of us have somehow managed to hold onto our salt, then you have to admit the soup is far too salty—meaning, people destroy things to satisfy individual whims or group interests that are diametrically opposed to the broader community's needs... things like public health, the purity of our food and water supplies, or climate stability...
So, I would argue that Dudek is actually the salt that keeps the edible world...

William Gonzalez3 said:For there to be a true community, there needs to be a sense of togetherness—something most people simply lack, though Dudek seems to possess it.
What brought Cinnabar and the Most Serene together wasn't actually a sense of belonging or unity, but rather pure self-interest.
As soon as that interest vanishes, I suspect this unnatural alliance will vanish right along with it.
They didn't become allies because they suddenly started caring about each other's well-being, nor because they feel part of the same group; they did it strictly because it served them both at the time.
What makes Dudek a truly communal being is precisely the fact that he consistently acts against his own perceived interests to support the community.

They essentially use the local community as a tool to achieve their own goals.
To them, the community doesn't mean much. If it aligns with their interests, they'll use it.
If it doesn't, they tend to ignore it entirely.
To him, the community is the entire purpose.

Dudek just can't seem to prioritize which community interests matter most, which is probably why he loses out on jobs in the aerospace industry....

Perhaps he struggles to rank the various interests of the other members of this supposed community, but the weight of his own interests compared to the community's needs is actually quite obvious.
The needs of the community always come before his own.
That is what makes him a man of the community, whereas the others are more of a social aggregate—essentially just a collection of individuals who happen to live near one another.
They are merely a physical community.
Dudek is the only one who truly believes in the concept.

Regardless, it still isn't quite clear to me what would constitute Dudek's downfall.

A community isn't something detached from individual interests—rather, it's the specific point where individual interests converge through symbiosis. In other words, for something to actually qualify as a community, there must be a baseline level of individual satisfaction that eventually coalesces into a shared interest.

For instance, the entire town of Gruntovec breathes as one when they are threatened by the agendas of some corporate middleman. The only person who might ever consider catering to that middleman at the expense of Gruntovec would be Dudek.

So, we shouldn't shy away from pursuing personal interests; the real art lies in knowing how much to compromise when those interests clash violently with the common good. A community-minded person steps back from their own desires once they realize those desires undermine the group.

On the flip side, Dudek is an outlier—he is entirely oriented toward the collective, often at the total expense of himself. He’s someone who would only attempt to protect his own interests if he were practically coerced into mimicking normal behavior... he’s essentially the Obelix of the group, having stumbled into the magic potion way too early in life.

Krvnik said:maybe he can't weigh the competing interests of every single member in this supposed community, but the hierarchy of his own priorities compared to the group's is unmistakable.
the needs of the community always take precedence over his own.
that is what distinguishes him as a man of the community, whereas everyone else is just a social aggregate—essentially a cluster of individuals who happen to live in proximity.
they are merely a physical assembly.
Dudek is the only one who truly believes in the bond.

regardless, it remains unclear what his ultimate downfall would look like.

There are a few ways to answer that: Dudek's downfall could be learning how to prioritize himself at the cost of the group (like if he had successfully negotiated a better deal on white truffles when that Dalmatian sped off in his car), it could be the biological extinction of all Dudeks within the world, or it could be his expulsion from the community itself—being cast out by even those closest to him (imagine if both Rega and the midwife turned their backs on him), leaving him as a pariah... completely invisible.

William Gonzalez3 said:The truth is, the community Dudek is trying so hard to join doesn't actually exist.
Everyone involved is primarily driven by their own private interests rather than any collective goal—which, in my view, effectively dissolves the idea of a community and just leaves a collection of individuals.

So, I don't think the group is truly rejecting him; it’s more that he isn't playing by the unwritten rules they've set for themselves.
Dudek, however, clings to those rules quite sincerely—though, perhaps, the fewer rules there are, the less complicated each episode becomes.
In that sense, he seems almost destined to fail within this specific dynamic—which, I guess, is how most episodes wrap up.

But then again, failing isn't the same thing as being defeated.

It does exist; when that fraudulent buyer surfaced claiming he’d snap up anything on the market, Presvetli and Cinnabar went from being bitter rivals to sudden allies—which proves they recognize a shared interest and understand the value of sticking together. It’s just Dudek who insists on putting his own agenda above everything else.
The problem is that Dudek lacks any sense of prioritization regarding what actually matters to the group... which is exactly why he’s losing his job at NASA....

William Gonzalez3 said:Well, I suppose for someone to truly fail, they actually have to attempt something first.
Since he isn't really trying to change anything, he can't exactly succeed—or fail—at something he has no intention of achieving, I guess.

In that sense, Dudek is perhaps closest to the seed of Budhe.
Budhek.
And he will leave behind a lasting world heritage.
Actually, he preserves it every single day.
People who are constantly trying to grab as much of the world as possible aren't actually preserving it—because if they truly cared about preserving it, or viewed it as their own, they wouldn't be trying to seize it in the first place.
You can't acquire what you already possess, I suppose.

He’s trying his hardest to be part of the community, despite being pushed to the fringes by everyone else. His most desperate attempt at engagement comes in the form of a rhetorical question he asks himself: "Isusek, Isusek, what would Regica say to me now?"

First off, when I talk about the world, my mind goes straight to the human world—once we’ve found our footing there, of course, then it’s only natural to look toward the broader, universal world.

Within the social fabric of Gruntovac, you see the fundamental tension of the human world playing out... Dudek simply cannot fit into the established hierarchy of Gruntovac; it’s as much a part of him as some innate biological glitch. This sense of detachment from the sphere of Cinober, Presvetli, and the rest isn't something he picked up along the way through psychological struggles, life experience, or by chasing some grand ambition. Dudek doesn't crave power or status—he just wants to belong to the community and have enough cash on hand for his cigarettes, a decent meal, or maybe a tune-up for his bike.

It becomes clear through various instances that Dudek operates on a plane far beyond everyone else; whether he's helping Cinober bundle reeds, leading Presvetli’s cow home from the county fair, fixing a roof, or offering up his meager, imaginary funds for the town's water system as a public service, he remains torn—caught in the impossible mission of trying to reconcile conflicting needs while trying to help everyone at once.

So, is Dudek destined for failure, or will he ultimately help us preserve our world heritage? Is he not perhaps the seed of a superman, a seed of Christ, a seed of Buddha, or a servant of Allah? If Dudek falls, does the world fall with him? Can he even truly fail?

Well, there really is a certain charm to the autumn of one's life—it has its perks. Just imagine finally breaking free from the tyranny of fashion trends; you stop dressing to impress the crowd and start opting for simple, comfortable pieces that don't pinch or pull at all. Then there’s the matter of free speech—you can be blunt, resolute, and entirely unapologetic about your views, without feeling the need to filter yourself for the sake of others, even if they still tolerate your newfound directness... I’m actually looking forward to the day when the younger generation starts offering me their seats on the subway. You can take a stroll through Times Square and always find someone your own age ready for a real conversation, while everyone else just rushes past in a frantic blur... I suspect you haven't quite reached this stage of perspective yet; you're likely still stuck in the shock of it all.

Ronald Rogers27 said:I think your second and third paragraphs are a bit too idealistic. No matter how much things change, society is always going to project its own conflicts onto the people around it. Society evolves, and honestly, I feel like it moves way faster than any one individual can. For a single person to outpace the rest of society, they’d need this incredibly sharp vision of the future based on their own predictions.

Maybe someone like that could actually break free from the friction society forces on them. But you have to admit, you could probably count those kinds of people in any given country on just two hands, right?

Ronald Rogers27

To say that "society evolves faster than the individual" is really comparing apples to oranges... societal evolution is an incredibly sluggish mechanism that stretches across generations of people, whereas an individual—in this context—is merely a flash in the pan of history (though an individual does "evolve" through their internal struggle with themselves, their own demons, desires, limitations, and so on). Yet, these "flashes" are the sole engine of societal progress; without them, there would be no movement at all. Just look at the concept of being "ahead of one's time," or being "misunderstood" by the community you live in—only for society, much later, to recognize and utilize that person's contribution through others—it just goes to show how different the "tempo" of society truly is.

An individual doesn't actually need some grand "vision of the future" to achieve personal "evolution faster than society"—truth be told, what drives a person most is often just sheer dissatisfaction with the present, with restrictive circumstances, the nature of their culture, or the very conflicts society has forced upon them. It is pain, essentially, that pushes us forward.

What an individual possesses that society lacks—and what society can only "acquire" through the individual—is creativity, ideas, gifts, and raw talent; that spark of novelty an individual brings to the table. Society renews itself only through the creativity of individuals, and that is how it evolves. The individual, however, draws from the collective pool—a massive reservoir of information—which then serves as the foundation for those creative ideas.

atko said:You're talking about variations, not the universal meaning of morality. Who sets the norms?

It is precisely because norms are established that there is no universal meaning to morality; it evolves alongside the process of establishment—namely, with the shifting "interest groups." Universally speaking, there is only something akin to a personal, basic, intuitive ethical code (something even animals possess) that exists prior to all the learned norms brought by culture and society, but we weren't really discussing that.

Ronald Rogers27 said:I agree with that first sentence. But honestly, it goes deeper than that narrow context. A Man draws ideas from society; really, he pulls them from the entire social framework. Freeing a Man from other people is essentially freeing the version of the Man who was shaped by society in the first place—it’s just taken to the extreme. You can never fully break away from society as a whole.

So, what does that first paragraph actually imply? It means a Man will first partially free himself from other people, and ONLY THEN can he break free from modern society itself. Plenty of connections (Man - Society) will vanish, while others just morph into something else.

Because of that, I can't get behind the bolded part.

Ronald Rogers27

Every individual carries the weight of societal contradictions on their own shoulders. In this sense, a person exists in a state of dual conflict: (1.) acting as a component of the system—a member of society—working to resolve those very societal contradictions (which essentially means always working against the status quo), while simultaneously (2.) wrestling with internal conflicts inherited through socialization, education, and upbringing.

In other words, by seeking liberation, a person finds themselves in a position of rebellion against the society that currently exists, all while striving toward the society that ought to be. The individual acts as a sort of filter through which the frictions of society are refined...

The moment society stops projecting its conflicts onto the individual, that person will be free—and since that individual will have finally resolved the ultimate social contradiction, society itself will be liberated as well... hence the simultaneity of it all.

Larry Wilson5 said:Moral laws aren't some cosmic constant—they’re manufactured by whichever interest group holds the reins at any given moment. Which means that specific "morality" will always be vulnerable to being challenged by a competing interest group. It’s a cycle we see repeated throughout history, much like the way systemic corruption is constantly being masked up.

There isn't just one singular "moral" or "immoral"—there isn't one monolithic code. Instead, there are multiple, vastly different codes existing in parallel. They are all products of their historical context because even right now, various eras are flowing through different societies simultaneously. These spheres collide and clash in the present moment; for instance, the moral code in Denmark—which permits caricatures of the prophet Muhammad as an expression of individual liberty—clashes directly with the moral code in Iran. In both Denmark and Iran, morality is simply a state of dynamic equilibrium between various interest groups, which fluctuate in power over time...

redtinker36 said:.. I suspect the value placed on human life today is exceptionally low .. and that this dictates the level of fear an individual experiences—a fear that has arguably never been higher in history .. fear as a permanent state .. as a driving force .. I believe evolution will move toward liberating the individual from social influence .. at any cost .. essentially pitting man against man..

Throughout history, there is a constant tension, a persistent striving—the unrelenting pressure to pivot from a state of subjugation toward a state of freedom. This pursuit of liberty unfolds across two distinct yet interconnected fronts: first, the struggle for freedom from one's own impulses, and second, the struggle for freedom from the system (society itself).
From a systemic perspective, every new threshold of freedom inevitably creates a previously unknown form of bondage, making it seem as though nothing truly changes—just endless variations on the theme of freedom versus constraint.
On a personal level, individuals draw ideas of liberty from society, yet they remain perpetually occupied with the same fundamental task of inner liberation; eventually, that internal shift "feeds back" into the system as an impulse for societal change.
Ultimately, the goal of the historical human experience is the simultaneous liberation of the individual from both society and the self—a process driven by the sheer necessity of our own nature.

Larry Wilson5 said:Do you think morality can be captured by laws?
Morality ought to serve life itself—to follow its inherent rhythms. If we can't manage to protect our environment, our people, our resources, our plants, our air, or our soil... then how much "progress" has morality actually made? It just becomes a series of judgments. Naomi was making a point about this recently. What about you, Lomaća?

Laws—which include everything from social customs and regulations to statutes, constitutions, and international treaties—are essentially just recorded historical morality. They outline rights, obligations, or simply our mutual responsibilities. Because they are products of their specific era, they act as a recorded snapshot of both morality and immorality... and as such, they are perpetually unfinished and imperfect. This constant process of refinement is nothing less than the evolution of our shared responsibility....

Why on earth do you think we’re failing to protect nature? Laws exist specifically to regulate environmental protection as a direct response to the destruction caused by human negligence.

Larry Wilson5 said:- Humanistic morality hasn't changed.
It just gets more sophisticated, I guess. It branches out and shifts its shape, but the core stays the same.
A slave once saw a whip and shackles; today, they see credit cards and contracts.
Unless people change their focus—it's over.

Nothing is truly different, yet everything remains exactly the same; morality evolves, but so does immorality, two opposing forces performing on the very same stage—without morality, there can be no immorality to speak of... so, what has actually shifted? The individual has become "transparent"—visible and traceable through a digital paper trail that follows them everywhere. Such a person is naturally forced to adhere to a specific standard of ethical responsibility—a standard imposed upon the individual by society through laws, regulations, codes, and social customs simply to remain a functioning member of the community.

steelridge58 said:I’ve been really chewing on what Patrick Wright2 wrote earlier about how Asceticism is essentially just the act of curbing your desires, and it got me wondering if we have to view it as this constant struggle of restraint, or if it could actually be more about finding true liberation through a complete shift in our values and how we see the world—which would mean that "restraint" isn't even really happening anymore because the desire itself has changed. It made me think of Saint Francis of Assisi; though honestly, maybe I'm only making that connection because I only recently started reading up on him, so I'm curious if it's okay to make that association here and whether you all think he could truly be considered an ascetic?

"Do not take gold, silver, or copper coins in your belts; no travel bag, no extra tunic, no shoes, nor a staff, for the worker is worthy of his food!" (Matthew 10:9-10)

It is often said that these specific passages from the Gospel of Matthew served as the blueprint for Saint Francis's entire way of life—leading him to preach while wearing nothing but a simple robe tied with a rope. He walked away from his family's wealth entirely to take a vow of poverty... which, by any definition, is certainly a path of Asceticism...

Asceticism is essentially "hardcore" self-discipline—think of an ascetic as someone seeking a cure through rigor. Moderation, on the other hand, is more of a "gentle" discipline—it functions primarily as a preventative measure.
Since both paths fall under the umbrella of self-discipline, it really comes down to sheer mental fortitude—and that’s a muscle you have to train, "build up," which makes it incredibly difficult for those who haven't practiced... To build on the question regarding "utility" versus "harmfulness"—self-discipline is actually a form of intentional harm used specifically to achieve a beneficial outcome.
In today's world, it's hard to see the tangible benefits of such discipline—unless we're talking about extreme circumstances—especially in high-consumption American societies where everything is handed to you on a silver platter, which is why these kinds of "measures" often face such pushback.

Raymond Cook5 said:[No content provided to rewrite.]

I mean... I'm really just out here splitting hairs at this point.
Look, colleague—mathematics and art have been intertwined since the days of ancient Egypt, yet we still haven't even managed to translate their six foundational scrolls on the subject. People love to talk about the "inseparable connection between art and math," as if it’s some new discovery. It isn't. Three hundred years before M.C. Escher started playing with perception, Leonardo actually pulled off the impossible—fitting the human form perfectly within both a circle and a square. You might call it pure geometry, but that's a simplification—there is an immense amount of complex ratio work and calculation involved behind the scenes. And let's not even get started on the thinkers who came before him; they understood the golden ratio intimately, documenting it extensively in countless treatises long before it became a modern obsession.

The golden ratio isn't some mystical phenomenon—it’s nothing more than a double ratio, pure and simple mathematics. We see traces of it stretching all the way back to ancient Egypt, though I honestly have my doubts about whether those builders actually understood what they were doing. Did they truly grasp this concept of a "divine proportion," or was it handed to them by some higher power? Or, perhaps more likely, did they just stumble upon it through basic aesthetic intuition long before anyone officially "discovered" it? It's much more plausible that they simply gravitated toward it because it looks right, rather than following some complex formula they couldn't possibly have known.

It’s a bit of a misconception that Western artists just stumbled upon the golden ratio out of thin air—they actually earned their stripes by digging through the archives of ancient civilizations, specifically those foundational works coming out of Greece. We're talking about deep dives into texts like those ten volumes on temple architecture penned by Marcus Vitruvius Pollio. It wasn't magic; it was rigorous study. (The 1st century B.C.!!!!)Leonardo's "Vitruvian Man"—the one that gave the whole concept its name—essentially breaks down how mathematics can be applied directly to the arts, specifically within architecture. It’s all about that golden ratio; using pure numbers to dictate the physical structure of our world.

Look, your post is fine, I suppose—but there’s something undeniably off about it. You spend so much time quoting others only to pivot into a few sentences that just... explode with sensationalism. It’s jarring. Honestly, if you’re looking to lean that hard into the drama, maybe you should have considered a career in journalism or politics instead. Now, don't get me wrong—M.C. Escher's work is absolutely fascinating, but...

It’s like this—it serves as a narrow gateway into Western philosophy, dragging us into a world defined by complementarity, polarity, self-creation, and those deep-seated self-contradictions that don't just drive viewers of M.C. Escher's prints mad—they also mess with anyone attempting to find a different kind of meaning in written thought than what is already visually etched into Escher's designs.
Why through small doors ???
He isn't even touching on that kind of stuff—you know, all that nonsense about complementarity, polarity, self-actualization, or those self-contradicting tropes—which is frankly just trash. Absolute garbage. But, I will say this: his imagery is incredibly compelling.
"It drives illustrators crazy"—what?! Look, that only happens when you're sketching out technical diagrams and accidentally misconnect a few nodes... maybe those kinds of images used to mess with people's heads back in the 19th century—or even earlier—but honestly, I don't think they have that kind of effect on anyone today.
Look, like I was saying before—and I’ll stand by this—there is just far too much sensationalism being thrown around here for what is essentially an analysis of a single painting style. It's excessive.
Look, I’m genuinely glad to see the younger generation still taking an interest in art and philosophy—truly, I am—but this shallow, sensationalist approach to everything? It achieves absolutely nothing. It’s all flash and no substance, which I suppose might fly with the crowd that spends their weekends obsessed with *The Bachelor* or some other mindless reality TV trash, but let's be honest: it’s just idiocy reaching new heights. That said, I will give credit where it's due—I respect the effort being put in.
Hey there. Hope everyone's doing alright.
P.S. "If someone has already weighed in on this—well, I clearly missed it."

The issue isn't about the style of painting itself, but rather the method of communicating a philosophical concept through drawing—which is precisely why one could call it a philosophical idea, given that it conveys an entire, cohesive worldview.

It essentially boils down to our awareness of the inherent falsehood of a two-dimensional image—something we accept quite easily because our perception is three-dimensional; in other words, we don't instinctively trust a flat plane to be "real." However, the implication here is that our own three-dimensional perception is also untruthful, provided we become aware (through meta-perception) of the fourth dimension... especially if we attempt to illustrate that four-dimensional reality through a continuous sequence of three-dimensional images... and so on.

So, I would advise caution with your conclusions; viewed from a broader dimension, they are invariably imprecise...

Is there anyone out there who possesses—deep down, in their very essence—the soul of a killer? Isn't the soul itself fundamentally composed of both the slayer and the slain... isn't the world nothing more than a vast, swirling pool of violence, killers, and victims into which the soul is forced to plunge?

Robin Palmer6 said:I'm not entirely sure if this is the right subforum for this kind of thing...

Answer the following question with a simple yes or no. Please don't dodge the question; be serious for once.

If you had the opportunity to kill just one person without facing any legal consequences,
would you do it?

If your answer is yes, everyone else will view you as a psychopath in need of psychiatric help, while those others pretend to be morally superior innocents.
If your answer is no, everyone will know you're lying—even if they don't call you out on it—because it would be obvious they'd all lie too if they said no.

My answer is yes.

But why kill someone just because you won't get caught? If the answer is yes, then we aren't just talking about a lack of ethics—we’re talking about pure immaturity and a total lack of perspective, both in the response and in the premise itself.

steelridge58 said:I mean, you could definitely look at it through that lens, but when we’re talking about the sculptor as a symbol for what he actually represents, I was really just offering a "snapshot of a sculpture" to illustrate a specific moment within that context... so, in my mind, she’s really speaking to her own vulnerability, which is why I phrased it as an instruction on how to handle her...

See, the thing is, I find her surrender so ethereal—so completely devoid of resistance—that he can’t actually impose his will upon her through carving; he can only reveal what she already is. For a sculpture to truly exist, the material needs to offer some pushback, to be malleable yet dense (though I suppose I’m twisting that to suit my own narrative—you know how it goes, like the Pentagon arguing over budget allocations...).

redtinker36 said:... according to Revelation... if there is a God, you really ought to strive to be one of those people in white robes... they belong to Him... while everyone else just gets crushed...

... and it’s entirely possible there isn't even a God... but honestly, the situation doesn't look much better... it's possible that being an honest person isn't even part of the plan...

... maybe you have plenty of beautiful examples of love... from your own life... which serve to effectively mask the examples of hatred... drawn from all sorts of different lives...
... perhaps you're playing the card that every Hitler was just an outlier... and that a few million people can occasionally... be sacrificed for the greater good...
... but... if there is no God... humanity hasn't found anything solid yet... anything that would actually guarantee... a better tomorrow...
... to me... for instance... it's worrying... just the fact that humans now kill more of their own kind than animals...

... no... I can't know for sure... that's why I say "if"... and... well, damn it... I'm just a philosopher...
... what do you think the future holds?

I suppose I am—though that’s really just a somewhat self-incriminating way of describing a gut feeling—that the answer lies in the matter of density.

steelridge58 said:If we look at it that way, we could start talking about the "art" of loving, where being honest becomes just another expression or visible manifestation of that underlying craft. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a mere skill, though, because to me, those two things aren't quite the same; an art form, much like fine art itself, inherently requires love to exist and flows directly from it, whereas a simple skill doesn't necessarily need any heart behind it at all.

For anyone out there who has a soft spot for poetry... here is A User Manual

Lovely; she is simply surrendered—completely open to his whims—and there is a certain beauty in being at peace with that...

steelridge58 said:I find myself agreeing with every single word you said, though it makes me wonder if we could apply that same logic to freedom... like, does freedom also emerge, distinguish itself, and pull away in the face of life's circumstances by detecting lack of freedom as its antithesis, or perhaps love versus its absence?

But while honesty acts as a kind of crystallization—this hardening or homogenization that forms a direct opposition to dishonesty—love is actually the opposite of that process because love works to break things down; it dilutes, softens, and dissolves... but not by opposing the hardness directly, but rather by absorbing it, taking it into itself, and melting it away until that rigidity simply vanishes.

So, if we look at honesty as a trait in relation to love (viewing love as this massive, all-encompassing force), structurally speaking, love isn't a quality that would support that kind of rigid honesty; quite the contrary, it tends to decrystallize it, much like it does with anything else that acquires those fixed properties.

Now, if what I wrote above holds true, then what was said here can't possibly be right.

I mean, if that "translation" of a soulful feeling is explained as love, or actually *is* love, shouldn't the translation be something else entirely?

I tend to view honesty as a translation, or perhaps an adaptation, of love—which I consider the more fundamental emotion. Think of it this way: love is such an ethereal "substance," a raw "medium," that it lacks the capacity—or perhaps the necessity—to manifest anything tangible on its own; it possesses only the qualities of openness and acceptance.

But once introduced to the friction of the real world, love acquires the specific properties required of a sculptor—and it is from that raw material of love that you carve out honesty.

So, when I speak of "hardening," what I mean is that honesty is essentially concentrated love—much like how the love shared between a man and a woman is a concentrated form of affection, love adapted to the complexities of their lives, translated into action.