Some Memorable Words I Read Last Year
January 1st 2010 08:59
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Everett Dirksen (a Republican senator in the US) says:
I am a man of fixed and unbending principles, the first of which is to be flexible at all times.
~*~
Peter Hoeg (the Danish author of Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow) says:
I watch the sunset, which lasts three hours at this time of year. As if the sun, on the verge of leaving, had discovered qualities in the world that are now causing it to have second thoughts about departing.
and
But the boy on the stairs looks at me with a gaze that cuts straight through to what he and I have in common. It's the kind of look you see in newborns. Later it vanishes, sometimes reappearing in extremely old people.
~*~
Pico Iyer (in Falling Off The Map: Some Lonely Places Around The World) says:
Yet loneliness cuts in both directions, and there are 101 kinds of solitude. There is the loneliness of the hermit and the loneliness of the widow. And as with people, so too with nations. Some are born to isolation, some have isolation thrust upon them. Each makes its own accommodation with wistfulness and eccentricity and simple, institutionalised standoffishness. Australia, a part of the Wild West set down in the middle of the East, hardly seems to notice, or to care, that it is a Lonely Place; Bhutan all but bases its identity upon its loneliness, and its refusal to be assimilated into India, or Tibet, or Nepal. Vietnam, at present, is a pretty girl with her face pressed up against the window of the dance hall, waiting to be invited in; Iceland is the mystic poet in the corner, with her mind on other things. Argentina longs to be part of the world it left and, in its absence, re-creates the place it feels should be its home; Paraguay simply slams the door and puts up a Do Not Disturb sign. Loneliness and solitude, remoteness and seclusion, are many worlds apart.
~*~
Pedro Almodovar says:
Anything that is not autobiography is plagiarism.
~*~
Paul Theroux says, in Ghost Train to the Eastern Star:
[...] luxury is the enemy of observation, a costly indulgence taht induces such a good feeling that you notice nothing. Luxury spoils and infantilises you and prevents you from knowing the world. That is its purpose, the reason why luxury cruises and great hotels are full of fatheads who, when they express an opinion, seem as though they are from another planet.
~*~
Gilles Deleuze says, in Cinema 1:
We know that things and people are always forced to conceal themselves, have to conceal themselves when they begin. What else could they do? They come into being within a set which no longer includes them and, in order not to be rejected, have to project the characteristics which they retain in common with the set. The essence of a thing never appears at the outset, but in the middle, in the course of its development, when its strength is assured.
~*~
Alain de Botton says, in The Art of Travel:
It was hard to say when exactly winter arrived. The decline was gradual, like that of a person into old age, inconspicuous from ay to day until the season became an established relentless reality.
~*~
Ralph Waldo Emerson says:
In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts.
P.S. Happy 2110, I mean 1200, I mean 2010! Celebrates your multiple pasts and multiple futures, and don't forget you are the happy result and kissing point of all these. Celebrate!
I am a man of fixed and unbending principles, the first of which is to be flexible at all times.
~*~
Peter Hoeg (the Danish author of Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow) says:
I watch the sunset, which lasts three hours at this time of year. As if the sun, on the verge of leaving, had discovered qualities in the world that are now causing it to have second thoughts about departing.
and
But the boy on the stairs looks at me with a gaze that cuts straight through to what he and I have in common. It's the kind of look you see in newborns. Later it vanishes, sometimes reappearing in extremely old people.
~*~
Pico Iyer (in Falling Off The Map: Some Lonely Places Around The World) says:
Yet loneliness cuts in both directions, and there are 101 kinds of solitude. There is the loneliness of the hermit and the loneliness of the widow. And as with people, so too with nations. Some are born to isolation, some have isolation thrust upon them. Each makes its own accommodation with wistfulness and eccentricity and simple, institutionalised standoffishness. Australia, a part of the Wild West set down in the middle of the East, hardly seems to notice, or to care, that it is a Lonely Place; Bhutan all but bases its identity upon its loneliness, and its refusal to be assimilated into India, or Tibet, or Nepal. Vietnam, at present, is a pretty girl with her face pressed up against the window of the dance hall, waiting to be invited in; Iceland is the mystic poet in the corner, with her mind on other things. Argentina longs to be part of the world it left and, in its absence, re-creates the place it feels should be its home; Paraguay simply slams the door and puts up a Do Not Disturb sign. Loneliness and solitude, remoteness and seclusion, are many worlds apart.
~*~
Pedro Almodovar says:
Anything that is not autobiography is plagiarism.
~*~
Paul Theroux says, in Ghost Train to the Eastern Star:
[...] luxury is the enemy of observation, a costly indulgence taht induces such a good feeling that you notice nothing. Luxury spoils and infantilises you and prevents you from knowing the world. That is its purpose, the reason why luxury cruises and great hotels are full of fatheads who, when they express an opinion, seem as though they are from another planet.
~*~
Gilles Deleuze says, in Cinema 1:
We know that things and people are always forced to conceal themselves, have to conceal themselves when they begin. What else could they do? They come into being within a set which no longer includes them and, in order not to be rejected, have to project the characteristics which they retain in common with the set. The essence of a thing never appears at the outset, but in the middle, in the course of its development, when its strength is assured.
~*~
Alain de Botton says, in The Art of Travel:
It was hard to say when exactly winter arrived. The decline was gradual, like that of a person into old age, inconspicuous from ay to day until the season became an established relentless reality.
~*~
Ralph Waldo Emerson says:
In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts.
Maybe you will come up with a quote people you respect will love this year
P.S. Happy 2110, I mean 1200, I mean 2010! Celebrates your multiple pasts and multiple futures, and don't forget you are the happy result and kissing point of all these. Celebrate!
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