Today people need to be reminded that the choice is not between legal abortion and the supposedly edifying effects of bringing up an unwanted child. The choice is between legal abortion and illegal abortion. To know something of what an illegal abortion was like, you didn't need to have seen a girl's corpse after an unsuccessful operation. All you needed to have seen was a girl's face on the way to a successful one. ...even though you can't expect to defeat the absurdity of the world, you must make the attempt; that's morality, that's religion, that's art, that's life. ...his little packet (accurately compounded and hygienically wrapped by a couple of fellows putting themselves through grad school in chemistry by the approved American method of free enterprise, illegitimate to be sure but this is not unusual in America where so little is legal that even a baby can be illegitimate)... Having an adventure shows that someone is incompetent, that something has gone wrong. An adventure is interesting enough - in retrospect. Especially to the person who didn't have it. It will be seen that the best defence against both suggestio falsi and suppressio veri is (sic) read advertisements carefully, observing both what is said and what is omitted. Those who prefer their English sloppy have only themselves to thank if the advertisement writer uses his mastery of vocabulary and syntax to mislead their weak minds. Caveat emptor. When you are younger you get blamed for crimes you never committed and when you're older you begin to get credit for virtues you never possessed. It evens itself out. Old age is the most unexpected of all things that happen to a man. Cacher son âge, c'est renier ses souvenirs. Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl's clothes off. The Cockney Alphabet
[Amanda Foreman] has the clear delivery and scholarly mind of one of those people who could lose themselves for days in the British Museum without once looking for the mummified cats. That was always my dream - to become the Salad King of New England. What is an anarchist? One who, choosing, accepts the responsibility of choice. People ask me, How do you become an anarchist? Well, it's not easy. You can't rearrange the whole fabric of western civilisation just like that. For a start, it's against the law. You'll need to practice. To begin with, try breaking a few little laws: ride your bike at night with no lights on; walk on the grass. Then, as you get more confident, move on to bigger things: commit a public nuisance; disturb the queen's peace. Keep practising, and before long you'll be robbing banks and overthrowing governments! Agatha Christie, quoted in news summaries, 9.3.1954 That evening, talking with Padre Agustín, there was no doubt at all in my mind that the cloister of Santo Domingo de Silos was among the most radiantly beautiful places on earth. Should I perhaps have been disturbed by my own very peace of mind? Here was I, after all, an atheist, brought up tepid C of E and now standing in a Roman Catholic monastery chatting to a monk who referred to my home city of London (albeit chucklingly) as "Babylon", and I dared to experience such a thing as peace of mind. But the thought did not disturb me. I merely became aware of how few secular buildings in the world were capable of inducing such a condition of peace. Why, asked General Booth, founder of the Salvation Army, should the Devil have all the best tunes? And why, I felt, should God have all the best buildings? There is nothing worth living for but Christian architecture and boats. Armagnac, at the ordinary three-star level, as superior to average Cognac, in my view, as wholewheat bread is to white-sliced;... Art is whatever you choose to frame. Being an artist is as much about what you can see in the world around you as what you create. I look outside now and I can see how truly beautiful the light is. That's what makes me an artist. Long ago he and I had come to the conclusion that the only people in life that were truly worth knowing were the assholes. They're usually smarter and more consistent, and you never waste any time wondering if they're just trying to be nice. One of the good things about Larkin is that he still has you firmly by the hand as you cross the finishing-line, whereas reading Auden is like doing a parachute drop: for a while the view is wonderful, but then you end up on your back in the middle of a ploughed field and in the wrong county. George also had his Thomas the Tank Engine phase. An admiration for the works of Rev W Awdry is almost a diagnostic requirement of autism. It's easy to see why the engines appeal to a systemising brain. They each have a name, a number, a colour (though sometimes, alarmingly, they go for a respray), a similar-but-different shape, a designated function. Their faces are broad and clear, their range of expressions limited and well defined. It's easier for the autistic child to see that Gordon is cross or Percy is mischievous than it is for him to judge the moods of his own mother. |
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Mention that you don't like bacon and people will get pretty animated about it. They'll quiz you about it, or insist you actually do like it, or offer you new ways to cook it, or cook some in front of you and try to make you eat it. Bal-ham, Gateway to the South. Come to think of it, ballet has a lot in common with superhero comics, the story being merely an excuse, a framework to show off the artist's skill with the form. That and the melodrama... The BBC will have no reliable influence on anything unless it is perceived as truthful, and this implied not only that it tells the truth when it deals with reality, but that it quite often deals with reality. It is too beautiful. I cannot bear it. "Why, Oscar," he said, "it always seems to me that the fellow who makes a dead set at beauty is in a bad way. My idea is that beauty is a result, not an abstraction." Here I sit, alone and sixty,Alan Bennett, Faber Book of Parodies ...and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country. I understand it as bias and only bias... It is impossible to create without acknowledging on what latent feelings and passions you wish to speculate - excuse the expression... For me, bias is a great artistic potential, though it need not always be as political... as in Potemkin. When the film is regarded as a simple time-killer, as a sedative or hypnotic, then absence of bias can be interpreted as quite biased in the maintaining of tranquillity and keeping the audience satisfied with conditions as they are... Isn't this the philosophy of the American "happy ending"? It ain't those parts of the Bible that I can't understand that bother me, it is the parts I do understand. There are only 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary, and those who don't. "The only thing you really have to know is the difference between on and off," he said. "Night and day. Right and left. In and out. Down and up. Beat and rest." I cling to the birdshit-streaked chain link, where convicts had marked off the days of their sentence in chalk on penitentiary walls. It has long been my boast that I can read or eat anything. aut liberi aut libri Altogether, I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book does not shake us awake like a blow to the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? So that it can make us happy, as you put it? Good God, we'd be just as happy if we had no books at all; books that make us happy we could, in a pinch, also write ourselves. What we need are books that hit us like a most painful misfortune, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we had been banished to the woods, far from any human presence, like a suicide. A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us. That is what I believe. Outside of a dog, a book is probably man's best friend, and inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. Recipes, like birds, ignore political boundaries. Just as the British empire still has a culinary pulse, beating in a curry in Scotland or in the mug of builder's tea with sugar and milk you are handed in some roadhouse on the Karakorum Highway; just as the Ottoman empire breathes phantom breaths in little cups of muddy coffee from Thessaloniki to Basra; so the faint outline of the Tsarist-Soviet imperium still glimmers in the collective steam off bowls of beetroot and cabbage in meat stock, and the soft sound of dollops of sour cream slipping into soup, from the Black Sea to the Sea of Japan and, in emigration, from Brooklyn to Berlin. Diana! Bring me my sword and my mascara. The harder one stares into the machinery of the brain, the starker the realisation that there is no one in there. There is no inner sanctum of the self. Neural networks have a life and logic of their own. There is no one running the show. The self is a shadow-puppet shaped by the firings of a hundred billion brain cells. These are conceptual conundrums. Intractable to current science, they call for an artistic response. Fermer les maisons closes, c'est bien pire qu'un crime, c'est un pléonasme. Tell me, how many of your drivers own their own buses? Labor is holy, but business is dangerous. |
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Lipp lipi peal, lapp lapi peal, ilma nöela pistmata The French Revolutionary calendar:The year begins at the autumn equinox: Vendémiaire, Brumaire, Frimaire,Fabre d'Églantine In English, beginning in January with Nivôse: Snowy, Flowy, Blowy,George Ellis - I've had teapot stands in this shop as camp as a row of pink tents. ...We're America's drinking buddy. From each according to his stupidity, to each according to his greed. Late capitalism is like arguing with a teenager. Its gambit on matters of fairness and dignity is "Why should I?" and its logical endpoint is "robots". Hands up who thinks Martin's playing too loud. He always played too loud and thought he was Jimi Hendrix. Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. "The Formula" is this: This film is apparently meaningless, but if it has any meaning, it is doubtless objectionable. ...il s'est établi dans Madrid un système de liberté sur la vente des productions, qui s'étend même à celles de la presse; et que, pourvu que je ne parle en mes écrits ni de l'autorité, ni du culte, ni de la politique, ni de la morale, ni des gens en place, ni des corps en crédit, ni de l'Opéra, ni des autres spectacles, ni de personne qui tienne à quelque chose, je puis tout imprimer librement, sous l'inspection de deux ou trois censeurs. Freedom of the press belongs to those who own one. Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties. Lord Cobbold, a banker who had been Lord Chamberlain of Her Majesty's Household since 1963, was a charming gentleman who seemed prepared to give up his onerous theatrical duties without too much of a struggle. When I asked him what subject he would be most likely to ban in a play, irrespective of its merits as a work of art, he answered with the single word "Regicide", which seemed to rule out a good deal of Greek drama as well as many of the works of Shakespeare. My only regret in life is that I did not drink more Champagne. C'est une des principales obligations que j'aie à ma fortune, que le cours de mon état corporel ait été conduit, chaque chose en sa saison. J'en ai vu l'herbe et les fleurs et le fruit: et en vois la secheresse. Heureusement, puisque c'est naturellement. Je porte bien plus doucement les maux que j'aie, d'autant qu'ils sont en leur point et qu'ils me font aussi plus favorablement souvenir de la longue félicité de ma vie passée. "Change for the machines." She sighed heavily. "That's all we've ever done is change for the machines. But this is the last time. We've finally changed enough that the machines will be making all the changes from now on." Bread and cheese. Food of the gods. Olympus practically ran on Wensleydale. A cheese may disappoint. It may be dull, it may be naive, it may be oversophisticated. Yet it remains cheese, milk's leap toward immortality. "Marooned three years agone," he continued, "and lived on goats since then, and berries, and oysters. Wherever a man is, says I, a man can do for himself. But, mate, my heart is sore for Christian diet. You mightn't happen to have a piece of cheese about you, now? No? Well, many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese - toasted, mostly - and woke up again, and here I were." The ultimate salad cheese is feta, not parmesan; parmesan works with everything, whereas feta is like an awkward adolescent that keeps falling out with everyone, until it finally finds a youth club (cucumbers) where it can really be itself. In the evening we went back to Harry's Bar, where our host regaled us with a drink compounded of champagne and cherry brandy. "To have the right effect," said Harry confidentially, "it must be the worst cherry brandy." It was. Chess is probably the only game in the world that cannot attract a single spectator - they are all participants. People may say what they like about the decay of Christianity; the religious system that produced green Chartreuse can never really die. Kosmopolites eimi [I am a citizen of the world].
He [Gromit] was going to have a mouth and do a lot of growling, but I soon saw how hard that was, so I started tweaking his eyebrows instead - and that did everything. With clay, you can create character out of tiny nuances. Gromit was born out of clay, really. If he'd been designed by computer, I'd never have arrived at him. John's middle name is Marwood, but he never used it. It is a shame. I don't know why. He used to call himself Otto at one time. I don't know why. It was when he went a bit mad. My husband and I used to say he was always going a bit mad, with that Python programme especially, but he's done all right for himself. He grew very quickly as a boy. His clothes and his feet were a great worry. I don't think his feet are as big these days. They must have shrunk. Coca Cola = Ke Kou Ke La = Bite the Wax Tadpole Dear Sir, A story is told of Prince Bismarck who, when in France with the Prussian army, entered a country inn one day and asked the host if he had any chicory in the house. He had. Le café est un torréfiant intérieur. Beaucoup de gens accordent au café le pouvoir de donner de l'esprit ; mais tout le monde a pu vérifier que les ennuyeux ennuient bien davantage après en avoir pris. Enfin, quoique les épiciers soient ouverts à Paris jusqu'à minuit, certains auteurs n'en deviennent pas plus spirituels. A mathematician is a device for turning coffee into theorems. She said, "That was a very curious coincidence, the Hotel d'Arpajon, was it not?" Unfortunate CoincidenceBy the time you swear you're his,Dorothy Parker, Enough Rope 51. When the mayor's press conference was over, I screamed. And my scream was immediately answered by thunder and lightning. My friend Aaron e-mailed me and said, "Can you believe it's fucking RAINING right now?" Distraught, wanting and needing my family's attention, I drove home. As I walked up the front steps, as I began to cry, as I touched the doorknob, it thundered so loudly that car alarms went off. Then, as I stepped into the house, closed the door behind me, and fell onto the floor and loudly wept, the wind blew open our back door. That's the power of grief. By providing us with the lovely illusion of human greatness, the tragic brings us consolation. The comic is crueller: it brutally reveals the meaninglessness of everything. I suppose all things human have their comic aspect, which in certain cases is recognised, acknowledged, utilised, and in others is veiled. The real geniuses of the comic are not those who make us laugh hardest but those who reveal some unknown realm of the comic. Nobody who has not written comic strips can really understand the phrase, economy of words. It's like trying to write Paradise Lost in haiku. Below painting comes illustration... below that comes cartoons... then, below the gutter, are the sewers - strip cartoons! Comics! Ugh! The very cesspits of non-culture. One of the joys of doing comics is the informal manner in which you do them. It's Alan and a keyboard, me and a piece of paper and that's basically it. And because it's very low-budget, there's no great investment by anybody in it. It's a thing which is very personal and very pleasurable to do. In a sense, it's words and images going directly from our minds to the reader. I think that's what we've always both really liked about comics. When suddenly facing the realities of 22 pages a month, chunks of plot get thrown out of the window like fridges. I've compared the experience of writing comics scripts to that of being an architect who draws up a plan and later walks around the building, taking pleasure in the way the shadows fall, the rightness of a fountain or a window. You explain what you want, and then, if you're capable of explaining what you want, panel by panel, you get something back that's better than you had imagined. In 1989, I was at a Christmas party for some magazine that was at the Groucho Club [...] I got talking to somebody who, if memory serves, was literary editor at the Telegraph. They asked what I did, and I said I wrote comics. The gentleman looked as though I’d slapped him with a herring, but he couldn't just stop talking to me and turn away, so he asked: 'Oh well, what kind of comics?' I said I'd written a thing called Violent Cases and that I was writing a thing called The Sandman. He said: 'Hang on, you're Neil Gaiman?!' I said: 'Yes.' He said: 'Oh my dear fellow, you don't write comics, you write graphic novels!' I felt like a hooker who'd just been called 'a lady of the evening'. CommentOh, life is a glorious cycle of song,Dorothy Parker, Enough Rope A committee is a cul-de-sac down which ideas are lured and then
quietly strangled. I am not a communist because communism concentrates and absorbs all the powers of society into the state; because it necessarily ends in the centralisation of property in the hands of the state, while I want the abolition of the state - the radical extirpation of the principle of authority and the tutelage of the state, which, on the pretext of making men moral and civilised, has up to now enslaved, oppressed, exploited and depraved them. I've never liked the term "computer science." The main reason I don't like it is that there's no such thing. Computer science is a grab bag of tenuously related areas thrown together by an accident of history, like Yugoslavia. At one end you have people who are really mathematicians, but call what they're doing computer science so they can get DARPA grants. In the middle you have people working on something like the natural history of computers - studying the behavior of algorithms for routing data through networks, for example. And then at the other extreme you have the hackers, who are trying to write interesting software, and for whom computers are just a medium of expression, as concrete is for architects or paint for painters. It's as if mathematicians, physicists, and architects all had to
be in the same department. And Mrs Thatcher has conjugated the verb "to leak":
The awakened conscience of an individual will often lead him to do things in haste that he had better have left undone, but the conscience of a nation awakened by a respectable old gentleman who has an unseen power up his sleeve will pave hell with a vengeance. Il faut conserver le plus possible, réparer le moins possible, ne restaurer à aucun prix. ...This was 'clear soup', Kamante's exquisite consommé. Perhaps the making of this soup taught Karen Blixen something about telling stories. The recipe calls for you to keep the spirit but discard the substance of your rough ingredients: eggshells and raw bones, root vegetables and red meat. You then submit them, like a storyteller, to 'fire and patience'. And the clarity comes at the end, a magic trick. If only the amateurs would get it into their heads that novel-writing is a highly skilled and laborious trade. One does not just sit behind a screen jotting down other people's conversation. One has for one's raw material every single thing one has ever seen or heard or felt, and one has to go over that vast, smouldering rubbish-heap of experience, half stifled by the fumes and dust, scraping and delving, until one finds a few discarded valuables. ...Albert's habit of lecturing industry and the arts at public dinners, the only form of intellectual exercise available to the consorts of queens. We pointed out that every author in the world knows what 'consultation' means: it means the publishers saying: 'This is the cover of your new book', and our saying: 'Well, it's horrible', and their replying: 'Well, tough.' 'Full' consultation, I suppose, would mean that plus lunch. Tant y a que je me contredits bien à l'aventure, mais la vérité, comme disoit Demades, je ne la contredy point. Do I contradict myself?Walt Whitman, Song of Myself 51 A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said today. - "Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood." - Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood. On Cooking the First Hero in Spring. Innocent cylinder with a wound,Christopher Wallace-Crabbe, From the Island, Bundanon, "According to Chaffinch," she said, with the Mythology open on her lap at the picture of the Summer
Lady, "the god Blind Io created the Cornucopia from a horn of the magical goat Almeg to feed his two children by the Goddess Bisonomy, who was later
turned into a shower of oysters by Epidity, god of things shaped like potatoes, after insulting Resonata, goddess of weasels, by throwing a mole at her shadow. It is now the badge of office of the Summer Goddess." The true cost of something is what you give up to get it. A crank is a little thing that makes revolutions. Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has. ...I saw two of them. As my vision is not ironic, but romantic, they were small figures, remote, in a tremendous waste landscape of ice and snow. They were pulling a sledge or something over the ice, hauling together. That is all I saw. I didn't know who they were. I didn't even know what sex they were (I must say I was surprised when I found out). Irving always said credit is great when it's given to you, not when you take it. I knew it would be a good film, a special film, when I started shooting. It's like when you play cricket and it's one of those days when you're on form and every ball pitched to you comes right in the centre of the bat and every ball you hit goes for a six. It's either a four or a six, that's what I told my wife, but I think the ball has gone out of the stadium. I can't find the ball. You are charged with arson, kidnapping, theft, grievous wounding, possession of unlawful atomic weapons, taking and driving away, conspiracy to overthrow the government, coveting thy neighbour's ox, graverobbing, shoplifting, 714 separate driving offences, forging sacred relics, transmuting base metal into gold, genocide, spitting and thirty two offences so unusual and horrible that they do not have names. It is an offence to sing on a bus. What this is is a kind of colonialism. You, Erró, have found a place for yourself in the land of the Fine Art Elite, in "Gallery-land", and you have gone out and discovered a dark continent inhabited by pygmies - barely more than savages really - people with a colourful but primitive culture. Like the Victorian explorers you find what they do ghastly but somehow alluring so you steal from them, give them nothing in return and dismiss them. You display bits of their infantile and garish nonsense in what you call a "synthesis" on a gallery wall in the civilised world, something which has nothing whatsoever to do with giving a full and accurate "report" on the stuff you steal or the people you steal it from. It's more to do with the titillation of your peers. You'd like them to be shocked by the vulgarity of the artefacts you're bringing back from whatever nasty place you've been to but appreciate them (and you, of course) in that post-modern kind of way. One reviewer of your work said "I don't know where Erró finds all that stuff". Luckily for you she and other inhabitants of the galleries don't know the names of the people you steal from and you're not in a hurry to list them. You're exploiting people like me, not because you're a "witness to our time" but because you want to turn the base metal of comics into art gold - and you'd like to have a lucrative career in Gallery-land. You had to come as a god or goddess, either in an actual theology or one of your own devising. Thus, when I asked a woman covered in little tea strainers who she was, she replied 'Cutleria! Goddess of the forgotten bits of the cutlery drawer!' Wow, I said, I've been following your path for years and my mother has been a devotee of you since 1934. She replied that many invoke her name with traditional mantras ('Oh fuck it! Forget it! We'll do without the lemon squeezer.') And of course, humanity being what it is, few things are more conducive of cynicism than to observe stage by stage the evolution of any revolutionary movement. You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline - it helps if you have some kind of football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer. |