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Give us this day our daily mask.
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He says his aim is poetry. One does not aim at poetry with pistols. At poets, perhaps.
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Hell is very likely to be modernization infinitely extended.
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The truth is always a compound of two half- truths, and you never reach it, because there is always something more to say.
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I write for film or, in this case, television when I haven't got a play cooking.
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Left to themselves people are noble, generous, uncorrupted, they'd create a completely new kind of society if only people weren't so blind, stupid and selfish.
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We must be born with an intuition of mortality.
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Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one. A moment. In childhood. When it first occurred to you that you don’t go on forever. It must have been shattering, stamped into one’s memory. And yet, I can’t remember it.
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I'm vaguely embarrassed by myself sometimes.
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The truth is, we value your company, for want of any other. We have been left so much to our own devices—after a while one welcomes the uncertainty of being left to other people's.
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Personally I am in favour of education but a university is not the place for it.
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Nowadays, an artist is someone who makes art mean the things he does.
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I never had any frustration about writing uncredited. I always felt that the satisfaction of doing it was in the doing of it, really, and getting recognised by the small number of people that know what you did.
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And for the last three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute.
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One bulls-eye and you're rich and famous. The rich get more famous and the famous get rich. You're the talk of the town....The sense of so much depending on success is very hard to ignore, perhaps impossible. It leads to disproportionate anxiety and disproportionate relief or disappointment.
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When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning, we will be alone, on an empty shore.
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My work always tried to unite the true with the beautiful; but when I had to choose one or the other, I usually chose the beautiful.
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I doubt that art needed Ruskin any more than a moving train needs one of its passengers to shove it.
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It takes character to withstand the rigours of indolence.
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I'm the kind of person who embarks on an endless leapfrog down the great moral issues. I put a position, rebut it, refute the rebuttal and rebut the refutation. Endlessly.
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Act first! The ideas will follow, and if not - well, it's progress
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I'm hopeless at looking into myself and trying to see how things are working and why.
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I don't write at the library, because I smoke when I work or would like the possibility of a smoke. Also, I need to be at my own desk.
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My mind gets into a verbal mode.