The Singing-Woman From The Wood's Edge
What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,
What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter?
( Read more... )
With him for a sire and her for a dam,
What should I be but just what I am?
--Edna St. Vincent Millay
Poem quoted by
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
And a few posts later,
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Thinking about the vices has, indeed, the effect of showing precisely to what extent ours is a culture of many subcultures, of layer upon layer of ancient religious and class rituals, ethnic inheritances of sensibility and manners, and ideological residues whose original purpose has by now been utterly forgotten. With this in view, liberal democracy becomes more of a recipe for survival than a project for the perfectibility of mankind.
- Judith N. Shklar, Ordinary Vices