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There1 is2 such3 a4 thing5 as6 too7 many8 footnotes9, but I'm hard pressed to think of any examples10.
1 There is not here: you can't be both here and there at the same time. Though you can pass hither on your way thither.
2 Two branches of philosophy (ontology and epistemology) are dedicated to aspects of that slippery verb, to be. Identities are notoriously hard to establish, and even then, they can change. As illustration, take the myth of Zugios, prince of Tegea.
While hunting, he heard a commotion in the woods, and out of the undergrowth burst a naked woman. Being a quick-witted young man, when Zugios heard more noises behind her, he quickly hid her in a thicket -- and sure enough, Silenos followed closely behind. Zugios misdirected the old satyr, and when Silenos had gone on, the woman came out. She told the prince she was Atlante, a nymph and follower of Artemis. She had been bathing when the satyr came upon her, and he'd nearly caught her. In gratitude for her rescue, she swore upon Zeus to reward Zugios with one wish, if it be in her power to grant it. Struck by her beauty, and being a quick-witted (if half-wise) young man, Zugios immediately asked for her hand in marriage.
Atlante was furious but complied, and Zugios triumphantly took her back to the palace of his father, the king. The king was delighted and married them at once, and after the wedding celebrations, the newlyweds retired to their bedchamber. (Insert your own Ovidian description of what their night was like here.) In the morning, Zugios got up to prepare for a day of hunting with his bride. When he stretched, he was so relaxed his hands seemed to reach the ceiling -- and in fact they did, and he could not bring them down. His arms had become branches, and he transformed into a maple tree (zugia in Greek) growing through the roof. Oath fulfilled and revenge complete, Atlante departed, never to be seen again.
The king, mourning the loss of his heir, removed the roof of his son's bedchamber, turning it into a sacred courtyard. His mourning ended when, nine months later, a naked infant was found in a basket, its green rushes still drying, wedged between the maple's roots. Correctly taking the baby for his grandson, the king raised him as his own, naming him Schoeneus ("of the rush basket"). Schoeneus afterward succeeded his grandfather and became the father of Atalante, the great huntress, who was named for her grandmother.
This last was, of course, a false etymology -- Atlante, by her name, would have been a daughter of Atlas -- but when did that ever stop the Greeks? By the time this was told and retold, the identity had become true.
3 I suppose I can't complain about all those such sweet things, in comparison to such things in general. But I am mortal, and like such men am unreasonable. Therefore, since music be the food of love, let's play.
4 A is not an, though it used to be. Nor is it a cow, though again, it used to be.
5 I once had a dream in which my ex-girlfriend the poet claimed she'd broken up with me years before because I'd disagreed with her claim that Thing Two was sexier than Thing One. This puzzled me, both because I couldn't remember the argument and because if Dr. Seuss had made the Things distinguishable, it would have undermined the whole symbology of the story -- he would have had to make the two kids distinguishable as well. To which she asserted that I was "ontologically challenged" and that she was done with her dream, and woke me up.
I'd like to say I lay awake wondering whether I was a butterfly dreaming I was a man, but the parallel didn't strike me till later.
6 When the Poet said, "Life is like a metaphor," the Novelist replied, "No, life is a simile." Myself, I hope to one day write a third simple declarative sentence. If I can do that, the second one I managed will feel less like a coincidence.
7 Circling back to Shakespeare, it could be argued that he used "too too" too much. But we forgive his excesses as we forgive our own.
8 "Iteration"
It has been said too many million times
In all the totaled permutations
By millennia of lovers, rhymed
Or not per styles of nations,
The local talent, or as hormones move
Them—so too each ingenuous gesture
That's meant to flaunt, solicit, prove,
Touch, thrill, impress, stir—
And all the possible event chains end
With one deductive conclusion.
It's nothing new. I'll not pretend,
And you have no illusion
About it. Love is not reducible
To problems solved, like mathematics
With old solutions found in tables,
All columned up and static—
It's locally derived, an asymptote
That we approach by repetition,
Inductively and not by rote.
Therefore tonight's addition,
Despite misgivings another term's a vain
Recurrence—yet not against my will, no—
I say it once again (again)
Here, now, upon our pillow.
9 I like the way Web formatting, where bottom is end, has eliminated the distinction between footnotes and endnotes.
10 Though one candidate is that one short story by Garrison Keillor -- it has only the one footnote, but it's longer than the supposed main text and arguably one too many.
ETA: The answer is in the comments.
---L.
1 There is not here: you can't be both here and there at the same time. Though you can pass hither on your way thither.
2 Two branches of philosophy (ontology and epistemology) are dedicated to aspects of that slippery verb, to be. Identities are notoriously hard to establish, and even then, they can change. As illustration, take the myth of Zugios, prince of Tegea.
While hunting, he heard a commotion in the woods, and out of the undergrowth burst a naked woman. Being a quick-witted young man, when Zugios heard more noises behind her, he quickly hid her in a thicket -- and sure enough, Silenos followed closely behind. Zugios misdirected the old satyr, and when Silenos had gone on, the woman came out. She told the prince she was Atlante, a nymph and follower of Artemis. She had been bathing when the satyr came upon her, and he'd nearly caught her. In gratitude for her rescue, she swore upon Zeus to reward Zugios with one wish, if it be in her power to grant it. Struck by her beauty, and being a quick-witted (if half-wise) young man, Zugios immediately asked for her hand in marriage.
Atlante was furious but complied, and Zugios triumphantly took her back to the palace of his father, the king. The king was delighted and married them at once, and after the wedding celebrations, the newlyweds retired to their bedchamber. (Insert your own Ovidian description of what their night was like here.) In the morning, Zugios got up to prepare for a day of hunting with his bride. When he stretched, he was so relaxed his hands seemed to reach the ceiling -- and in fact they did, and he could not bring them down. His arms had become branches, and he transformed into a maple tree (zugia in Greek) growing through the roof. Oath fulfilled and revenge complete, Atlante departed, never to be seen again.
The king, mourning the loss of his heir, removed the roof of his son's bedchamber, turning it into a sacred courtyard. His mourning ended when, nine months later, a naked infant was found in a basket, its green rushes still drying, wedged between the maple's roots. Correctly taking the baby for his grandson, the king raised him as his own, naming him Schoeneus ("of the rush basket"). Schoeneus afterward succeeded his grandfather and became the father of Atalante, the great huntress, who was named for her grandmother.
This last was, of course, a false etymology -- Atlante, by her name, would have been a daughter of Atlas -- but when did that ever stop the Greeks? By the time this was told and retold, the identity had become true.
3 I suppose I can't complain about all those such sweet things, in comparison to such things in general. But I am mortal, and like such men am unreasonable. Therefore, since music be the food of love, let's play.
4 A is not an, though it used to be. Nor is it a cow, though again, it used to be.
5 I once had a dream in which my ex-girlfriend the poet claimed she'd broken up with me years before because I'd disagreed with her claim that Thing Two was sexier than Thing One. This puzzled me, both because I couldn't remember the argument and because if Dr. Seuss had made the Things distinguishable, it would have undermined the whole symbology of the story -- he would have had to make the two kids distinguishable as well. To which she asserted that I was "ontologically challenged" and that she was done with her dream, and woke me up.
I'd like to say I lay awake wondering whether I was a butterfly dreaming I was a man, but the parallel didn't strike me till later.
6 When the Poet said, "Life is like a metaphor," the Novelist replied, "No, life is a simile." Myself, I hope to one day write a third simple declarative sentence. If I can do that, the second one I managed will feel less like a coincidence.
7 Circling back to Shakespeare, it could be argued that he used "too too" too much. But we forgive his excesses as we forgive our own.
8 "Iteration"
It has been said too many million times
In all the totaled permutations
By millennia of lovers, rhymed
Or not per styles of nations,
The local talent, or as hormones move
Them—so too each ingenuous gesture
That's meant to flaunt, solicit, prove,
Touch, thrill, impress, stir—
And all the possible event chains end
With one deductive conclusion.
It's nothing new. I'll not pretend,
And you have no illusion
About it. Love is not reducible
To problems solved, like mathematics
With old solutions found in tables,
All columned up and static—
It's locally derived, an asymptote
That we approach by repetition,
Inductively and not by rote.
Therefore tonight's addition,
Despite misgivings another term's a vain
Recurrence—yet not against my will, no—
I say it once again (again)
Here, now, upon our pillow.
9 I like the way Web formatting, where bottom is end, has eliminated the distinction between footnotes and endnotes.
10 Though one candidate is that one short story by Garrison Keillor -- it has only the one footnote, but it's longer than the supposed main text and arguably one too many.
ETA: The answer is in the comments.
---L.