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“While the Growing went on, this god of their market-place was their true god, their familiar and spirit-control. They did not know that they were his helplessly obedient slaves, nor could they ever hope to realize their serfdom (as the first step to becoming free men) until they should make the strange and hard discovery that matter should serve man’s spirit. (p.211)”
― The Magnificent Ambersons
― The Magnificent Ambersons
“Wagner: Yet elocution makes the orator;
I'm far behind, I feel it more and more.
Faust: Seek thou an honest retribution!
Be thou no motley, jingling fool!
It needs but little elocution
To speak good sense by reason's rule.
It ye've a message to deliver,
Need ye for words be hunting ever?”
― Faust
I'm far behind, I feel it more and more.
Faust: Seek thou an honest retribution!
Be thou no motley, jingling fool!
It needs but little elocution
To speak good sense by reason's rule.
It ye've a message to deliver,
Need ye for words be hunting ever?”
― Faust
“One day this apartheid will be a thing of the past. Our people will be free.’
‘Maybe. But the past claws its way out. You can’t bury it just like that. It’s not like human flesh. And yet we need to move forwards.”
― For you I’d steal a goat
‘Maybe. But the past claws its way out. You can’t bury it just like that. It’s not like human flesh. And yet we need to move forwards.”
― For you I’d steal a goat
“Faust: What cheerful light breaks on my gloomy
fancies,
As in the midnight woods when moonlight
floods the skies?”
― Faust
fancies,
As in the midnight woods when moonlight
floods the skies?”
― Faust
“One goes forth to search for the blooming bushes of childhood and finds autumnal creeper growing rampant where one left behind blooming roses. Fortunate is he who is able to take delight in the blaze of color of the leaves when he has overcome his disappointment. However, many set forth in search of roses and forget that winter has set in. It is those people whose souls bleed when they search for their childhood. The wind has caused the rose to shed its petals, and those people grasp at thorns. (p.16,17)”
― Memoirs of a Man's Maiden Years
― Memoirs of a Man's Maiden Years
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