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Peace, though beloved of our Lord, is a cardinal virtue only if your neighbors share your conscience.
Implausible truth can serve one better than plausible fiction, and now was such a time.
‘If people praise you, you’re not walking your own path.’
A half-read book is a half-finished love affair.
that warty old Shylock looks more repulsive every time I clap eyes on him. Has he got a magical portrait of himself stashed in his attic, getting more beautiful by the year?
His best works, he said, are roller coasters that scare the riders out of their wits but let them off at the end giggling and eager for another ride.
the key to fictitious terror is partition or containment: so long as the Bates Motel is sealed off from our world, we want to peer in, like at a scorpion enclosure. But a film that shows the world is a Bates Motel, well, that’s…the stuff of Buchenwald, dystopia, depression. We’ll dip our toes in a predatory, amoral, godless universe—but only our toes.
Who would work factory lines? Process sewage? Feed fish farms? Xtract oil and coal? Stoke reactors? Construct buildings? Serve in dineries? Xtinguish fires? Man the cordon? Fill exxon tanks? Lift, dig, pull, push? Sow, harvest? Now do you begin to see? Purebloods no longer possess these core skills upon which our corpocracy, or any society, rests.
