"Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions."

--

Source : Tony Kushner (2013). “Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition”, p.107, Theatre Communications Group

Tony Kushner

#Ecology Quotes #Delusion Quotes #Delicate Quotes

“I couldn't recommend more that people put themselves in a situation where they can see a lot of work that they admire, and for free.”
“Why would we have different races if God meant us to be alike and associate with each other?”
“Nothing ought more to humiliate men who have merited great praise than the care they still take to boast of little things.”
“If negative meant positive we'd be heroes.”
“I wish I could attribute the absence of any conventional Arab offensive in the last 20 years to a change of political climate or a willingness to abide by past accords. But unfortunately it is more likely that the Egyptians or Syrians concluded that the next time their tanks headed to Tel Aviv, there was nothing stopping the counterassaults from ending up in downtown Cairo or Damascus.”
“It isn't given to us to see ends. We can only attend to the beginnings and make them right.”

Source : Eleanor H. Porter (2012). “The Road to Understanding”, p.192, The Floating Press
“Writers imagine that they cull stories from the world. I'm beginning to believe that vanity makes them think so. That it's actually the other way around. Stories cull writers from the world. Stories reveal themselves to us. The public narrative, the private narrative - they colonize us. They commission us. They insist on being told. Fiction and nonfiction are only different techniques of story telling. For reasons that I don't fully understand, fiction dances out of me, and nonfiction is wrenched out by the aching, broken world I wake up to every morning.”

Source : Source: logger.believermag.com
“Did you love well what very soon you left? Come home and take me in your arms and take away this stomach ache, headache, heartache. Never so full, I never was bereft so utterly. The winter evenings drift dark to the window. Not one work will make you, where you are, turn in your day, or wake from your night toward me. The only gift I got to keep or give is what I've cried, floodgates let down to mourning for the dead chances, for the end of being young, for everyone I loved who really died. I drank our one year out in brine instead of honey from the seasons of your tongue.”

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