The 15 Rules of Web Disruption

http://www.ritholtz.com/blog/2012/11/the-15-rules-of-web-disruption-2/

Rugby Links

http://www.norwaysport.co.uk/
http://www.lshunter.tv/
http://www.atdhenet.tv/
http://p2pstreams.eu/
http://www.footballalive.com/

http://forum.wiziwig.eu/threads/60534-Wednesday-s-Football-Links
http://www.sportlemon.tv/c-1.html
http://www.livefootballol.com/
http://www.real-tv-sport.com/channel-2.php
http://livesoccerfree.blogspot.com/
http://www.freefootball.org/

Streaming may of course be legal or otherwise depending on your country or state... ;-)

Norgeidrett1

www.norwaysport.co.uk

Our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor...

‎"We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor." Signers of the Declaration of Independence paid in exactly those ways--except they kept true to their "sacred honor." Take a moment to appreciate these men. 

Five signers were captured by the British as traitors and tortured before they died. Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned. Two lost their sons in the Revolutionary War, another had two sons captured. Nine of the fifty-six fought and died from wounds or the hardships of the Revolutionary War.

What kind of men were they? Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners, men of means, well educated. But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.

Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British navy. He sold his home and his properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.

Thomas McKean was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him and poverty was his reward.


Vandals or soldiers or both, looted the properties of Ellery, Clymer, Hall, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton.

At the battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr. noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his Headquarters. The owner quietly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.


Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.

John Hart of New Jersey  was driven from his wife's bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished. A few weeks later he died from exhaustion and a broken heart.

Lewis Morris and Philip Livingston suffered similar fates.

Such are the stories and sacrifices of the American Revolution. These were not wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were softspoken men of means and education. They had security, but they valued liberty more. Standing tall, straight, and unwavering, they pledged: "For the support of this declaration, with the firm reliance on the protection of the Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

They gave you and I a free and independent America. The history books of today do not tell the student a lot of what happened leading to and during the revolutionary war. We didn't just fight the British. We were British subjects, a state of siege and repression of rights and liberties had existed for many years and a state of war had existed for two years prior to the signing of the Declaration, and we fought our own government for independence!

Most of the citizens of today take their liberties so much for granted. They shouldn't, for in taking liberty for granted, they have lost much of it. All governments progress from liberty to tyranny and despotism, unless carefully watched and circumscribed.

Observing the World

After about an hour's worth of air traffic congestion delays around JFK airport, I finally departed New York City yesterday evening en route for Vilnius, Lithuania... one of my favorite inconspicuous corners of Europe.

The route took me through Helsinki, Finland for a brief connection, and I was on the ground long enough to witness something truly bizarre: a complete and utter lack of people.

I could practically count on two hands the number of passengers milling around the airport this morning during peak business hours... it was almost something out of a zombie movie.

Ordinarily I would have seen hundreds, thousands of people... and I have in the past as I've traversed this route many times before. And no, today was not a holiday.

Helsinki's airport functions as a major transfer point, especially for European business travelers criss-crossing the continent or flying to Asia, which makes airport traffic an interesting proxy on the European economy (though not necessarily a reflection of Finland's).

While a single example is not enough data to draw any significant conclusions, I mentally filed the observation as another snapshot of Europe's deteriorating economic situation.

It reinforces what I observed here several months ago when I was last on the continent in April; it was as if a dark cloud was hanging overhead, and the general mood was absolutely sour. 

People seemed to be capitulating all hope and starting to make peace with the fact that their economic futures have been squandered by a stupid experiment.

Of course, I'm referring specifically to the 'euro experiment'... however the euro is merely a symptom of a much larger experiment-- that of fiat currency.

It wasn't all that long ago that money was actually made of something scarce-- a real asset that couldn't be conjured at will by an appointed bureaucrat.

In time, money supplies grew to be controlled by governments and banking cartels in the form of worthless pieces of paper. Since then, it's devolved further to strings of bits in a giant database; our money supply is nearly all digital.

As my friend Tim Price characterizes it, what passes as 'money' today is merely an abstraction of an abstraction of the real thing.

The euro experiment was merely a commingling of 17 different national fiat experiments... albeit a remarkably stupid one.

Under the normal fiat game, a country would at least have to stand on its own two feet and con(vince) the market that its particular brand of monopoly money was sound.

With the euro, even the trashiest economies in Europe were able to pass off Germany's credibility as their own. And now, finally, after more than a decade, the market is calling that ridiculous bluff.

Spanish bond yields have risen to a euro-era record, well north of 7%. Italian bond yields are 6%. The talking heads on financial news are going bonkers... nobody can fathom these countries staying afloat with interest rates being so 'high'. And they're right.

What's funny is that the 20-year average of Italian 10-year bond yields since 1993 is 5.9%. They're currently priced at 6.06%. Italian bond yields aren't spiking, they're just reverting to the mean. The real spike hasn't happened yet.

Italy is in such dismal shape that having to borrow funds at 'average' rates is going to push it into insolvency... the government can only limp along if it can borrow at absurdly low rates that don't even keep pace with inflation.

Perhaps more than anything, this shows how truly broken the system has become... and what a colossal failure the experiment has been.

Of course, before things completely break down, they'll resort to the same old tactics that bankrupt governments have relied on in the past--outright confiscation of wealth, capital controls, and financial repression.

It's already happening across the continent, in fact.

In Greece, the government is helping itself to people's savings at will, in their sole discretion... and forcing businesses to 'prove' the tax purity of their funds.

In Italy, the government has colluded with several banks (like BNI) to freeze customers out of their accounts with no warning or explanation.

ATM limits are being imposed at many banks across the continent, and Euro leaders are openly discussing more severe controls to stem potential capital flight.

The conclusion to draw from all of this is clear: finance the government, save the banks, screw the people. This reality, coming soon to a western civilization near you.

Simon Black 

The Price of Inequality

Date: June 13, 2012 Reporting From: New York City 

In Medieval Europe when most people were living short, brutish lives wallowing in muddy serfdom, there was one city that served as a shining economic beacon for the rest of the continent: Venice.

At the time, Venice was one of the richest places in the known world, underpinned by its dominance in trade and the upward mobility of its citizens.

The concept of what we know today as "America" was alive and well in Venice during the Middle Ages; Venice was a place where, with guts, hard work, and a little bit of luck, you could become very wealthy and live the Venetian Dream.

The modern Limited Partnership structure, in fact, is derived from an early Venetian model called the 'commenda', a sort of special purpose vehicle for trade missions.

A standard commenda involved young entrepreneurs with a lot of energy but no capital partnering with older veterans with a lot of capital but no energy. The old guys would finance a trade mission to Asia, and the young guy would head off to foreign lands to make money.

If/when he returned, they would split the profits, the young guy receiving 25% to 50%.

A lot of people became very wealthy through this model, and even the poorest serf could come to Venice and rise up in social and financial status.

As you could imagine, though, they managed to find a way to screw it up.

In the early 1300s, the ruling elite eliminated the commenda structure that had made so many people so much money. Shortly afterward, the state started charging exorbitant taxes to merchants and nationalizing trade.

A police force was introduced in 1310 for the first time ever... not to protect the people from criminals, but to protect the criminals (government) from the people.

It didn't take long for Venice to decline into insignificance. Any opportunities to create wealth and live prosperously vanished as Venetian politicians engaged in the wholesale destruction of their economy, the livelihoods of its participants, and the 'Venetian Dream.'

With 20/20 hindsight, we can look back upon medieval Venice and pinpoint the early 1300s as the turning point to rapid decline... when there was a great unraveling of economic foundations and personal freedom.

It certainly makes one wonder whether future historians will look back upon this period in Western civilization and draw the same conclusion.

While I'm no fan of economist Joseph Stiglitz or the neo-Keynesian ideals he espouses, his new book proves this point more than just about any other recent work.

In The Price of Inequality, Stiglitz provides copious data showing that individuals in the United States now have a lower likelihood of moving up in social/financial status than any other developed country in the world.

This fact is reinforced by the Federal Reserve's most recent Survey on Consumer Finances, which showed that median US household net worth fell nearly 40% from 2007 to 2010.

This is the natural effect when you base an entire system on the whims of a very small elite that has awarded itself the ability to spend recklessly, rack up unsustainable levels of debt, and conjure money out of thin air.

As in Venice before them, US politicians have been engaging in the wholesale destruction of their economy, the livelihoods of its participants, and the American Dream.

Mission accomplished.

Until tomorrow, 
  

Simon Black 

Eisenhower's Opinion

Africa's Size

I never realized how immense Africa was until this map. I am IMPRESSED!

Cemetery Escort Duty

I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.

I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.

I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in. 

Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time. 

I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery. 

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.

'Ma'am,may I assist you in any way?' 

She took long enough to answer. 

'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.' 

'My pleasure, ma'am.' Well, it wasn't too much of a lie. 

She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?' 

' Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.' 

She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine.. I'll be as quick as I can.'

I lied a little bigger: 'No hurry, ma'am.' 

She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.' 

'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.' 

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918. 

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943. 

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.. 

She paused for a second. 'Two more, son, and we'll be done' 

I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am.. Take your time.' 

She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.' 

I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.' 

'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.' 

She headed down the walk I'd pointed at.. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out. 

'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.' 

Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?' 

She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all marines.' 

She stopped. Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. 

I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car. 'Get to the 'Out' gate quick. I have something I've got to do.' 

Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet. 

'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post. 

When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!' 

I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. 

She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice. 

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac. 

Instead of 'The End,' just think of 'Taps.' 

As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.' 

Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy. 

'In God We Trust...' 

A friend sent me this. Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!

The Last Six Seconds ~ LtGen John F Kelly, USMC

The last half of a speech given by LtGen Kelly to the Semper Fi Society of St. Louis MO on 13 November. As always around the birthday of the Marine Corps, November 10, it is common to highlight the legacy of the Marine Corps through the actions of those who bravely defended the country, or as Admiral Nimitz said after Iwo Jima, “Uncommon Valor was a Common Virtue.”

General Kelly’s son died 4 days before this speech by an IED in Afghanistan while on his 3d combat tour. He was a second lieutenant doing what lieutenants and NCO’s do – leading from the front and forward into the enemy. His name was Robert Kelly.  Where do we get such people?  We are most fortunate they walk among us and protect us.  

... "I will leave you with a story about the kind of people they are…about the quality of the steel in their backs…about the kind of dedication they bring to our country while they serve in uniform and forever after as veterans.  Two years ago when I was the Commander of all U.S. and Iraqi forces, in fact, the 22nd of April 2008, two Marine infantry battalions, 1/9 “The Walking Dead,” and 2/8 were switching out in Ramadi.  One battalion in the closing days of their deployment going home very soon, the other just starting its seven-month combat tour. Two Marines, Corporal Jonathan Yale and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter, 22 and 20 years old respectively, one from each battalion, were assuming the watch together at the entrance gate of an outpost that contained a makeshift barracks housing 50 Marines.  The same broken down ramshackle building was also home to 100 Iraqi police, also my men and our allies in the fight against the terrorists in Ramadi, a city until recently the most dangerous city on earth and owned by Al Qaeda.  Yale was a dirt poor mixed-race kid from Virginia with a wife and daughter, and a mother and sister who lived with him and he supported as well.  He did this on a yearly salary of less than $23,000.  Haerter, on the other hand, was a middle class white kid from Long Island.  They were from two completely different worlds.  Had they not joined the Marines they would never have met each other, or understood that multiple America’s exist simultaneously depending on one’s race, education level, economic status, and where you might have been born.  But they were Marines, combat Marines, forged in the same crucible of Marine training, and because of this bond they were brothers as close, or closer, than if they were born of the same woman.

The mission orders they received from the sergeant squad leader I am sure went something like: “Okay you two clowns, stand this post and let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.”  “You clear?”  I am also sure Yale and Haerter then rolled their eyes and said in unison something like: “Yes Sergeant,” with just enough attitude that made the point without saying the words, “No kidding sweetheart, we know what we’re doing.”  They then relieved two other Marines on watch and took up their post at the entry control point of Joint Security Station Nasser, in the Sophia section of Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq.

A few minutes later a large blue truck turned down the alley way-perhaps 60-70 yards in length-and sped its way through the serpentine of concrete jersey walls.  The truck stopped just short of where the two were posted and detonated, killing them both catastrophically. Twenty-four brick masonry houses were damaged or destroyed.  A mosque 100 yards away collapsed.  The truck’s engine came to rest two hundred yards away knocking most of a house down before it stopped.  Our explosive experts reckoned the blast was made of 2,000 pounds of explosives.  Two died, and because these two young infantrymen didn’t have it in their DNA to run from danger, they saved 150 of their Iraqi and American brothers-in-arms.

When I read the situation report about the incident a few hours after it happened I called the regimental commander for details as something about this struck me as different.  Marines dying or being seriously wounded is commonplace in combat.  We expect Marines regardless of rank or MOS to stand their ground and do their duty, and even die in the process, if that is what the mission takes.  But this just seemed different.  The regimental commander had just returned from the site and he agreed, but reported that there were no American witnesses to the event-just Iraqi police.  I figured if there was any chance of finding out what actually happened and then to decorate the two Marines to acknowledge their bravery, I’d have to do it as a combat award that requires two eye-witnesses and we figured the bureaucrats back in Washington would never buy Iraqi statements.  If it had any chance at all, it had to come under the signature of a general officer.

I traveled to Ramadi the next day and spoke individually to a half-dozen Iraqi police all of whom told the same story.  The blue truck turned down into the alley and immediately sped up as it made its way through the serpentine.  They all said, “We knew immediately what was going on as soon as the two Marines began firing.”  The Iraqi police then related that some of them also fired, and then to a man, ran for safety just prior to the explosion.  All survived.  Many were injured…some seriously.  One of the Iraqis elaborated and with tears welling up said, “They’d run like any normal man would to save his life.”  “What he didn’t know until then,” he said, “and what he learned that very instant, was that Marines are not normal.”  Choking past the emotion he said, “Sir, in the name of God no sane man would have stood there and done what they did.”  “No sane man.”  “They saved us all.”

What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned a couple of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded some of the suicide attack.  It happened exactly as the Iraqis had described it.  It took exactly six seconds from when the truck entered the alley until it detonated.

You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives.  Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a second for the two Marines to separately come to the same conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into their view at the far end of the alley.  Exactly no time to talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should do.  Only enough time to take half an instant and think about what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before: “…let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.”  The two Marines had about five seconds left to live.

It took maybe another two seconds for them to present their weapons, take aim, and open up.  By this time the truck was half-way through the barriers and gaining speed the whole time.  Here, the recording shows a number of Iraqi police, some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the normal and rational men they were-some running right past the Marines.  They had three seconds left to live.

For about two seconds more, the recording shows the Marines’ weapons firing non-stop…the truck’s windshield exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart and tore in to the body of the son-of-a-bitch who is trying to get past them to kill their brothers-American and Iraqi-bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines standing their ground.  If they had been aware, they would have known they were safe…because two Marines stood between them and a crazed suicide bomber.  The recording shows the truck careening to a stop immediately in front of the two Marines.  In all of the instantaneous violence Yale and Haerter never hesitated.  By all reports and by the recording, they never stepped back.  They never even started to step aside.  They never even shifted their weight.  With their feet spread shoulder width apart, they leaned into the danger, firing as fast as they could work their weapons.  They had only one second left to live.

The truck explodes.  The camera goes blank.  Two young men go to their God. Six seconds.  Not enough time to think about their families, their country, their flag, or about their lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very brave young men to do their duty…into eternity.  That is the kind of people who are on watch all over the world tonight-for you.

We Marines believe that God gave America the greatest gift he could bestow to man while he lived on this earth-freedom.  We also believe he gave us another gift nearly as precious-our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines-to safeguard that gift and guarantee no force on this earth can ever steal it away.  It has been my distinct honor to have been with you here today.  Rest assured our America, this experiment in democracy started over two centuries ago, will forever remain the “land of the free and home of the brave” so long as we never run out of tough young Americans who are willing to look beyond their own self-interest and comfortable lives, and go into the darkest and most dangerous places on earth to hunt down, and kill, those who would do us harm. 

God Bless America, and….SEMPER FIDELIS!"

Without a Stitch in Time

Some humorous history goes largely unreported. For example, circumstances surrounding Washington's success at the Battle of Trenton, December 26,1776, are not reported in the American records, but are in the Hessian's.

What seems suspiciously absent from the normally well-kept American records is that Colonel Donop's Hessian contingent stationed in Bordentown, 6 miles south of Trenton, to support Trenton in case of attack, had been lured south 12 miles to Mount Holly in response to American Colonel Griffin's colonial forces. Upon arriving in Mount Holly, December 23, both Colonel Griffin's force and all town residents had escaped to the countryside in advance of the literally rapacious Hessians. The one exception was an “exceedingly beautiful” widow in the house obviously the choice for overnight headquarters of Colonel Donop.

Donop chose indulge his opportunity of a willing lady for several days, keeping his troops in Mount Holly, and too far from Trenton to be of support. A Hessian Captain Ewald later wrote, “This great misfortune, which surely cost the utter loss of the thirteen splendid provinces of the Crown of England, was due partly to the extension of the cordon, partly to the fault of Col. Donop, who was led by the nose to Mount Holly by Col. Griffin, and detained there by love. Thus the fate of an entire Kingdoms often depends upon a few blockheads and irresolute men.”

Circumstantial evidence exists that a pretty young lapsed Quaker, a passionate patriot, an intimate of Washington, and widow of John Ross, was the mysterious lady.

Betsy Ross, it seems, not only stitched the American flag, but saved it without a stitch. However, one cannot tell that story to school children, but it does perhaps explain why Betsy Ross' pew in Christ Church was always next to Washington's.

------------------------------------------

Hessians in the American Revolution were know for aggressive rape and plunder, and it was Colonel Rall's Hessians in Trenton who had bayoneted 500 Americans trying to surrender at Fort Washington during the Battle of New York. However, Washington ordered the 826 captives from Trenton be treated compassionately since they had not chosen to fight this war.
The Pennsylvania Militia assigned to escort the Hessians from New Jersey to a camp in Virginia, indeed, earned Hessian respect by following those orders. When they arrived at the Pennsylvania border, the Militia Captain his captives to continue on alone. Three days later, the Hessians arrived at the Virginia camp,to a man.

After the war a quarter of the Hessians elected to stay in America. Many more returned to Germany only long enough to gather their families and sail for America.

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Although Washington's forces were depleted to around 2500 by lapsing enlistments, Jerseymen guerrilla units swelled to near 12,000, during the winter of 1776-77. Seems the rape, plunder and foraging by Hessians and Redcoats, turned that winter into the fighting season for farmers. These units were aggressive and well led, often engaging in 8 to 10 attacks per week—and only bothering to report the larger ones.

This Foraging War continued until Spring, with British control reduced to the mouth of the Raritan River and Staten Island. The rest of New Jersey was liberated.

Americans knew from this time on this was a war they could win, and British Officers wrote home privately that they thought victory impossible.

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America's Forgotten History, Part 1: Foundations, Mark David Ledbetter, 2010

What's Really Important

“We can reject everything else: religion, ideology, all received wisdom… but we cannot escape the necessity of love and compassion. This, then, is my true religion, my simple faith. In this sense, there is no need for temple or church, for mosque or synagogue, no need for complicated philosophy, doctrine or dogma. Our own heart, our own mind, is the temple. The doctrine is compassion. Love for others and respect for their rights and dignity, no matter who or what they are: ultimately these are all we need. So long as we practice these in our daily lives, then no matter if we are learned or unlearned, whether we believe in Buddha or God, or follow some other religion or none at all, as long as we have compassion for others and conduct ourselves with restraint out of a sense of responsibility, there is no doubt we will be happy.” ~Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama

From Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space

…we were hunters and foragers…. The frontier was everywhere. We were bounded only by the Earth and the ocean and the sky…. The open road still softly calls…. Our little terraqueous globe is the madhouse of those hundred thousand millions of worlds. We, who cannot even put our own planetary home in order, riven with rivalries and hatreds… are we to venture out into space?
By the time we’re ready to settle even the nearest other planetary systems, we will have changed. The simple passage of so many generations will have changed us. Necessity will have changed us. We’re an adaptable species.

It will not be we who reach Alpha Centauri and the other nearby stars. It will be a species very like us, but with more of our strengths and fewer of our weaknesses… more confident, farseeing, capable, and prudent….

For all our failings, despite our limitations and fallibilities, we humans are capable of greatness. What new wonders undreamt of in our time will we have wrought in another generation? And another? How far will our nomadic species have wandered by the end of the next century? And the next millennium?

Our remote descendants, safely arrayed on many worlds through the Solar System and beyond, will be unified by their common heritage, by their regard for their home planet, and by the knowledge that, whatever other life may be, the only humans in all the Universe come from Earth.

They will gaze up and strain to find the blue dot in their skies. They will marvel at how vulnerable the repository of all our potential once was, how perilous our infancy, how humble our beginnings, how many rivers we had to cross before we found our way.