"I often think of the image only I can see now, and of which Iâ€™ve never spoken. Itâ€™s always there, in the same silence, amazing. Itâ€™s the only image of myself I like, the only one in which I recognize myself, in which I delight"

-- Marguerite Duras

#Thinking Quotes #Silence Quotes #Delight Quotes

“Death is an awful thing. I don't believe in it myself.”
“A Grand Design we couldn't see because we were part of it. A Grand Design we only got occasional, fleeting glimpses of. A Grand Design involving the entire course of history and all of time and space that, for some unfathomable reason, chose to work out its designs with cats and croquet mallets and penwipers, to say nothing of the dog. And a hideous piece of Victorian artwork. And us.”

Source : Connie Willis (2009). “To Say Nothing of the Dog”, p.479, Bantam
“Comics have a problem, and that is continuity - the obsession with placing the characters in an existing world, where every event is marked in canon. You're supposed to believe that these weepy star boys of now are the same gung-ho super teens fighting space monsters in the '60s, and they've only aged perhaps five years.”
“As long as art is the beauty parlor of civilization, neither art nor civilization is secure.”
“And now you're off to Port Caynn. Watch them sailor lads. They'll have your skirts up and a babe in your belly afore you know what you're about." "Everyone keep warning me about sailors," I complained. "Why can't someone tell the sailors to stay clear of me?" Granny snorted. "Oh, you're the fierce one now! Just take care no one else catches you unawares and knocks you on the nob!”
“I could never be like Hitchcock and do only one kind of movie. Anything that's good is worthwhile.”
“I'm holding a media mutiny.”
“Now shall I become a common tale, A ruin'd fragment of a worn-out world; Unchanging record of unceasing change. Eternal landmark to the tide of time. Swift generations, that forget each other, Shall still keep up the memory of my shame Till I am grown an unbelieved fable.”

Source : Hartley Coleridge, Derwent Coleridge (1851). “Poems”, p.272

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