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|When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.|
|Paulie might have moved slow, but it was only because Paulie didn't have to move for anybody. Henry|
|It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool's paradise. Myshkin, The Idiot |
|If you are going to sell yourself, you should at least get a good price. S. Zweig, Beware of Pity, 1939|
|If you hold a cat by the tail... :-) |
|God sends meat, and the Devil sends cooks. John Taylor, 1630|
|Art is the only serious thing in the world. And the artist is the only person who is never serious. Oscar Wilde. The Critic as Artist, 1891|
|I've the most extraordinary longing to say: 'Bloody hell!' Nora Helmer, Act I|
|Yo, whatever man. Shit yeah, let's cook here. Jesse Pinkman|
|I like to feel blond all over. Marilyn Monroe, Pageant magazine, 1952|
|When it's hot like this, you know what I do? I put my undies in the Ice Box! The Girl. The Seven Year Itch, 1955|
|There are two kinds of perfect people: those who are dead, and those who have not been born yet. CHINESE PROVERB|
|My heart was trembling as I walked into the post office and there you were, lying in Box 237. I took you out of your envelope and read you, read you right there. Klara Novak.|
|There is no need for torture: Hell is other people. Garcin, Act 1, Sc. 5. Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit, 1944|
|A light here required a shadow there. Virginia Woolf. To the Lighthouse, 1927|
|What are human beings? Two balloons — that’s your lungs, and an annoying little whistle at the top where the air comes out — that's your voice. Lockhart. Conor McPherson, The Seafarer, 2006|
|Cogito cogito ergo cogito sum (I think that I think, therefore I think that I am). Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, 1911|
|If you're in pitch blackness, all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark. Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood, 1987|
|Awful things happen in every apartment house. Rosemary Woodhouse. Rosemary's Baby, 1968|
|Octagonal in shape, inspired by Futurism and Art Deco and produced in die cast aluminium, the Bialetti Moka Express or Moka from 1933 is an archetype of both its time and its type. It earned my grandfather Alfonso Bialetti eternal fame as a designer, even though he probably wasn't looking for it [...] My grandfather was a dreamer, one of those genial craftsmen who are not so rare in Italian history. He was more interested in producing well-designed and well-manufactured products than in business. Alessi, Alberto. "My grandfather Alfonso Bialetti", Disegno, 8 September 2011.|
| Elvis: You went to art school? Jammy twat. They turned me down, like. But don't get me wrong, they loved me work. The quallies fucked it up.
Carty: Mate, you didn't miss much. Just a bunch of divvies in raincoats.
Elvis: That's what I wanted to be, a divvy in a raincoat. Anyway. Elvis.
Carty: Carty. I'm Carty.
Elvis: So, what you drinking, Carty la?
Carty: Right, sound, mate. I'll have a rum and black, thanks.
Elvis: Rum and black, eh? Think I'll have one of them. Wrong trainies, like. [looking at his shoes]
| Elvis: It's fucking gorgeous, that.
Elvis: The sea, you div....... I'd love to get off, I would.
Elvis: Anywheres. Berlin.
Elvis: Just... just anywhere......Out of here......Out of this.....Wouldn't you?
Carty: [looking at the sky]... Big sky, man.
Elvis: I'm serious. 'New Dawn Fades' on low. Noose around the neck. Off we jolly well pop. Well, this is me, mate.
Carty: All right.
Elvis: Have you got far to go?
Carty: Nah, just down the road.
Elvis: [walking away]...Big sky, man. (Awaydays, 2009)
|What we see before us is just one tiny part of the world. We get into the habit of thinking, this is the world, but that's not true at all. The real world is in a much darker and deeper place than this, and most of it is occupied by jellyfish and things. We just happen to forget all that. Two thirds of the earth's surface is ocean, and all we can see of it with the naked eye is the surface: the skin. We hardly know anything about what's beneath the skin. Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, 1994/1995|
|But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean. H.P. Lovecraft, The White Ship, 1919|
|Nothing is worse than to finish a good shit, then reach over and find the toilet paper container empty. Even the most horrible human being on earth deserves to wipe his ass. Charles Bukowski, Factotum, 1975|
|Maria Janion (1926-2020)|
|People who do not know me soon come to understand that I do not have any sense. James Keziah Delaney. Taboo, 2017|
|I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping she buys SHIT. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it I want to taste it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It AIN'T the coffee in my kitchen, it's the dead nigger in my garage. Jimmie, Pulp Fiction, 1994|
|One of the thieves was saved. (Pause) It’s a reasonable percentage. Vladimir (Didi), Act 1. Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot, 1953|
| Eileen: Maybe Billy stopped to look at a cow like the other time.
Kate: A fool waste of time that is, looking at cows.
Eileen: If it makes him happy,sure, what harm? There are a hundred worse things to occupy a lad's time than cow watching. Things would land him up in hell. Not just late for his tea.
Kate: Kissing lasses.
Eileen: Kissing lasses.
Kate (pause) Ah, no chance of that with poor Billy.
Eileen: Poor Billy'll never be getting kissed. Unless it was be a blind girl.
Kate: A blind girl or a backward girl.
Eileen: Or Jim Finnegan's daughter.
Kate: She'd kiss anything.
Eileen: She'd kiss a bald donkey.
Kate: She'd kiss a bald donkey. And she'd still probably draw a line at Billy. Poor Billy.
[Martin McDonagh, The Cripple of Inishmaan, Scene One, 1996]
|Are there any feelings left? Mark Ravenhill, Shopping and Fucking, 1996|
|The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. Sylvia Plath, The Moon and the Yew Tree, 1961|
|We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night (Introduction, 1966)|
| Wojciech Pszoniak (1942-2020)
Karol! He has already called me a pig thrice, so I will reply only once - idiot! Moryc Welt, The Promised Land, 1974
|[...] the plague bacillus never dies [...] Albert Camus, The Plague, 1947|
|I am this thing that needs to sing. Leonard Cohen, Thing (Book of Longing), 2006|
|With a rebel yell, more, more, more... Billy Idol, 1983|
| Sean Connery (1930-2020)
Bond. James Bond. Dr. No, 1962
|[...] the last man to enter Parliament with honest intentions. James "Jim" A. Sharpe, Remember, Remember: A Cultural History of Guy Fawkes Day, 2005|
| Kirk Douglas (1916-2020)
Acting is like prizefighting. The downtown gyms are smelly, but that's where the champions are.
(Roger Ebert, Interview with Kirk Douglas, June 01, 1969)
|It was horrible to be standing in the field where he painted his last painting — the crows in the wheatfield — leaning on the same tree with a gun in my hand. Kirk Douglas, The Ragman’s Son, 1988|
|Krzysztof Penderecki (1933-2020)
|Max von Sydow (1929-2020)|
| Chris: Would you like some brandy in that, Father?
Father Merrin: Well, the doctors say I shouldn't, but thank God... my will is weak.
Father Merrin : I cast you out, unclean spirit!
Regan / Demon : Shove it up your ass, you faggot!
|Diego Armando Maradona (1960-2020)|