Ever wanted to make your own programming language or wondered how they are designed and built?
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We’ll spend the rest of this book illuminating every dark and sundry corner of the Lox language, but it seems cruel to have you immediately start grinding out code for the interpreter without at least a glimpse of what we’re going to end up with.
As the man said, for every complex problem there’s a simple solution, and it’s wrong.
You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge ’em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.
Magicians protect their secrets not because the secrets are large and important, but because they are so small and trivial. The wonderful effects created on stage are often the result of a secret so absurd that the magician would be embarrassed to admit that that was how it was done.
We say Lox is a “high-level” language because it frees programmers from worrying about details irrelevant to the problem they’re solving. The user becomes an executive, giving the machine abstract goals and letting the lowly computer figure out how to get there.
Caring too much for objects can destroy you. Only — if you care for a thing enough, it takes on a life of its own, doesn’t it? And isn’t the whole point of things — beautiful things — that they connect you to some larger beauty?
Any problem in computer science can be solved with another level of indirection. Except for the problem of too many layers of indirection.
The order that our mind imagines is like a net, or like a ladder, built to attain something. But afterward you must throw the ladder away, because you discover that, even if it was useful, it was meaningless.
All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name. André Breton, Mad Love
One has no right to love or hate anything if one has not acquired a thorough knowledge of its nature. Great love springs from great knowledge of the beloved object, and if you know it but little you will be able to love it only a little or not at all.
And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.
“Ah? A small aversion to menial labor?” The doctor cocked an eyebrow. “Understandable, but misplaced. One should treasure those hum-drum tasks that keep the body occupied but leave the mind and heart unfettered.”
To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. Thomas Hardy, Under the Greenwood Tree
Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.