Author: James Geary

Nassim Nicholas Taleb, author of The Black Swan and Fooled by Randomness, also writes aphorisms, which he has collected in the recently released The Bed of Procrustes: Practical and Philosophical Aphorisms. Reviewing the book in the New York Times, Janet Maslin describes Taleb as a “fiscal prophet and self-appointed flâneur [who] aims particular scorn at anyone who thinks aphorisms require explanation.” Fair enough. Book titles, in contrast to aphorisms, do sometimes require explanation, and this one refers to the mythological Greek villain who chopped off victims’ limbs to make them fit into his bed and who finally got a taste of his own medicine from Theseus, slayer of the Minotaur. These are imperious aphorisms, delivered in grand stentorian tones. (Occasionally, adjectives, unlike aphorisms but like book titles, require explanation, too; Stentor was a Greek herald in the Trojan War described by Homer as having the voice of 50 men). A selection from The Bed of Procrustes, sure to make for uncomfortable reading and definitely not to be taken lying down:

You are rich if and only if money you refuse tastes better than money you accept.

Lose all your money, never half of it.

Randomness is indistinguishable from complicated, undetected and undetectable order; but order itself is indistinguishable from artful randomness.

Respect those who make a living lying down or standing up, never those who do so sitting down.

A good maxim allows you to have the last word without even starting a conversation.

I’ve blogged about Aleksandar Krzavac’s aphorisms before, once in 2009 and once in 2007. He is a Serbian journalist, illustrator and playwright. He is the author of the satirical play Ludi I Zbunjeni (Crazed and Confused People), and his cartoons (sometimes erotic) have appeared widely in Serbian newspapers and magazines. Krzavac is a member of the Belgrade Aphoristic Circle and some of his sayings are featured in the film Goodbye, How Are You?, an excellent documentary about that group. Here’s a selection of his latest:

You do not need to stand on your head to get a different view of world.

History is written in blood. Only the signatures are in ink.

Heaven and Hell have been united; they are now a border-free zone.

Robots will make great aphorists. They like to communicate in short sentences.

Logan Pearsall Smith (Geary’s Guide pp. 173–174) described aphorisms as “x-rays of observation.” His father was an evangelical Quaker and his mother a best-selling author of inspirational literature, so it’s no wonder the young Logan Pearsall became an obsessive collector of aphorisms. He specialized in English–language aphorists, compiling an important anthology and writing monographs about unjustly neglected practitioners of the form. Although an American, Smith lived almost his entire adult life in London, where he became known as an essayist and critic. As a young man in Philadelphia, he knew Walt Whitman, from nearby Camden, New Jersey. One of his sisters married Bertrand Russell (GG p. 346), and Smith once employed Cyril Connolly (GG pp. 29–30) as an assistant. Smith wrote what is, for me, one of the all-time great aphorisms:

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading.

Though his aphoristic output was small, there are a relatively high rate of keepers, such these, culled from a recent reading of All Trivia:

Aphorisms are salted and not sugared almonds at Reason’s feast.

He who goes against the fashion is himself its slave.

A best-seller is the gilded tomb of a mediocre talent.

If you are losing your leisure, look out! You may be losing your soul.

The notion of making money by popular work, and then retiring to do good work on the proceeds, is the most familiar of all the devil’s traps for artists.

How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares, were there a danger of their coming true!

Solvency is entirely a matter of temperament.

I said in my previous post that Edward Bulwer–Lytton was a pretty respectable aphorist but failed to give any examples of his aphoristic respectability. I do so here. Surprisingly, perhaps, in addition to composing what has come to be universally regarded as the most awful opening line of any novel ever written, Bulwer–Lytton is also credited with composing some of the best phrases in the English language, including “the pen is mightier than the sword,” “the great unwashed” and the “pursuit of the almighty dollar.” For more aphorisms, see pp. 184-186 of Geary’s Guide.

One of the surest evidences of friendship that one individual can display to another is telling him gently of a fault. If any other can excel it, it is listening to such a disclosure with gratitude, and amending the error.

You believe that easily which you hope for earnestly.

The easiest person to deceive is one’s self.

Talent does what it can; genius does what it must.

As the Trekkies among you will know, the Ferengi are an alien race inhabiting the universe of Star Trek: The Next Generation. The name Ferengi is apparently derived from the Arabic word for European traders, or Westerners in general. The Ferengi are consummate businesspeople—in fact, they believe that money, or at least economic exchange, really does make the worlds go around—and they devised an aphoristic handbook called the Rules of Acquisition that outlines the fundamental principles for Ferengi business dealings. The rules are appropriately pragmatic:

War is good for business.

Peace is good for business.

This kind of opportunism likely won’t win you many friends, but it certainly influences people. The Rules of Acquisition are refreshingly utilitarian. Even though they come across as unpalatable, well, truth usually is. It’s helpful to be reminded of this, especially during troubled economic times. Despite their extraterrestrial origin, the Ferengi aphorisms are not out of this world but very much of it.

Opportunity plus instinct equals profit.

Greed is eternal.

Expand or die.

The bigger the smile, the sharper the knife.

Whisper your way to success.

Employees are the rungs on the ladder of success. Don’t hesitate to step on them.

You can’t free a fish from water.

Eino Vastaranta, born in 1967, is a Finnish aphorist who also writes humorous columns, jokes, and haiku. He lives and blogs in Helsinki. Vastaranta’s sayings have that distinctive, uniquely Finnish streak of dark wit, the same kind of gallows humor that characterizes many aphorisms from Central and Eastern Europe. But the Finns are, in general, even bleaker in their assessment of the human race. “When the next Flood comes, I wish the animals pushed Noah overboard,” Vastaranta writes. Yet there is a whiff of mysticism in Vastaranta’s aphorisms, perhaps even a (faint) hope of redemption. And, luckily, they are often funny. My thanks to Sami Feiring for alerting me to Eino Vastaranta’s aphorisms.

Always look from the same viewpoint: a new one.

We don’t believe until we see, and we don’t see once we believe.

Human being, inhuman doing.

I can’t see the forest for the cut-down trees.

Search and you shall find—yourself, searching.

You cannot get rid of your roots until you are six feet under.

You can have the last word. Then it’s my turn.

The latest issue of the excellent FragLit Magazine is out and it includes aphorisms by Georges Perros and Marty Rubin; the latter being an alum of this blog. FragLit is edited by Olivia Dresher, an accomplished aphorist herself. Of Perros, FragLt writes: “Papiers collés (Paper Collage, 1960, 1973, 1978), the three-volume notebook written by Georges Perros (1923-1978) and published by Gallimard, continues to enjoy a cult status among French readers because of the author’s sardonic maxims, vignettes, short prose narratives, and philosophical remarks. Excerpts are translated here for the first time in English by John Taylor.” Some Perros aphorisms:

Once we have learned the answer, we often say: that’s what I thought. Thinking is perhaps this.

Life is every now and then.

Here is the full FragLit selection of Perros aphorisms.

Marty Rubin’s aphorisms continue to be whimsical, witty, and wise:

Between thoughts, travel far and wide.

Writing is talking to yourself—with the hope of being overheard.

When you look into things you see things that aren’t there.

Here’s the full Fraglit selection of Rubin aphorisms, Out of Context.

Four of my Assays, abbreviated aphoristic essays, appear in this issue, too.

In the poem/essay Why Aphorisms?, Stephen Coltin writes:

In matters of the highest importance,
only fools are edified by exposition.
Philosophers (if I might be permitted
to amend Samuel Johnson’s aphorism),
“need to be reminded, more often
than they need to be instructed.”