If I Had The Choice Of Knowing

The Mystery Lies In The Here And Now. The Mystery Is: What Is One To Do With Oneself? As You Get Older You Begin To Realize The Trick Time Is Playing, And That Unless You Do Something About It, The Passage Of Time Is Nothing But The Encroachment Of The Horrible Banality Of The Past On The Pure Future. The Past Devours The Future Like A Tape Recorder, Converting Pure Possibility Into Banality. The Present Is The Tape Head, The Mouth Of Time. Then Where Is The Mystery And Why Bother Kicking Through The Ashes? Because There Is A Clue In The Past.

Not To Be Onto Something Is To Be In Despair.

I Am Not Ashamed To Use The Word Class. I Will Also Plead Guilty To Another Charge. The Charge Is That People Belonging To My Class Think They're Better Than Other People. You're Damn Right We're Better. We're Better Because We Do Not Shirk Our Obligations Either To Ourselves Or To Others. . . .we Live By Our Lights, We Die By Our Lights, And Whoever The High Gods May Be, We'll Look Them In The Eye Without Apology.

Have You Noticed That Only In Time Of Illness Or Disaster Or Death Are People Real?

[in Art] You Are Telling The Reader Or The Listener Or The Viewer Something He Already Knows But Which He Doesn't Quite Know That He Knows, So That In The Action Of Communication He Experiences A Recognition, A Feeling That He Has Been There Before, A Shock Of Recognition.