Jeff Scott > Recent Status Updates

...the music from the junkie is to get you to become a means for him to obtain more junk... He, a machine, will turn you into his machine.

They were the eyes of a person who knew he was good as dead. When you have that look, you're not young or old, or black or white, or even a man or a woman. You're gone from all those things.

If I had known it was harmless I would have killed it myself.

What is identity? he asked himself. Where does the act end? Nobody knows.

...the eyes were always the same: empty, like drains that could suck the whole world down into them.

Would they succeed in tapping and draining dry the immense subterranean resevoir of his dark inspired mind?

Because when on a raw and frosty morning I get up at 5 o clock and stand shivering my belly off on the stone floor and all the rest still have another hour to snooze before the bells go, I slink downstairs through all the corridors to the big outside door with a permit running card in my fist, I feel like the first and last man on the world, both at once.

...writing and plenitude are incompatible.

...fascism was a way of realizing his poetry, of making real the world it evoked--the abolished, invented, impossible world of Paradise

...a violent patriotic poetry of sacrifice and yokes and arrows...that inflamed the imaginations of youths and would send them to slaughter

I mean that the fasion arose, in the best cases (the worst aren't worth mentioning), from the natural need all writers have to invent their own tradition, from a certain urge to be provocotive, from the problematic certainty that literature is one thing and life another and that it was therefore possible to be a good writer at the same time as being a terrible person...

Everyone at this table is in broken pieces that won't go together. Pieces that have nothing to do with each other. Like they all come from different jigsaws all muddled together into one box that someone's assistant who couldn't care less in a charity shop or wherever the place is where old jigsaws go to die.

...to be filled with goodness and then shattered by goodness so beautifully, mosaically, fragmented, by such shocking goodness

Too much hard luck can create a permanent meanness of spirit in any creature.

the unglamorous business of raising up schools/literacy in places that are too small too remote and too unimportant to merit the attention

...a picket line of girls' schools...a Great Chinese Wall of women's literacy...that would surround the Taliban...with... female education.

When you are a parent, the instant your child first begins to read is a moment of the purest magic.

...this wind-up bird is there every morning in the trees of the neighborhood to wind things up, US our quiet little world, everything.

He spoke ofthe mounting litany of loss asa life that should have been devoted to worthwhile pursuits is given over to the business of death.

...every boulder that you see is one of my...martrys. Now we must make their sacrifice worthwhile. We must turn these stones into schools.

...the pledge to build a school is a commitment that cannot be surrendered...promises that the balance sheet of one's life is measured.

his aimless wanderings... seemed to underscore how difficult it can be for almost any man with a streak of independence to find his place...

...young women are the single biggest potential agents of change in the developing world.

Every time I visited to check on one of our projects, it seemed ten Wahhabi madrassas had popped up nearby overnight.

In times of war you hear leaders...saying God is on our side.. it isn't true. In war God is on the side of refugees, widows, and orphans.

Shiny new toys don't solve policy problems.

Walt quote:"I wouldn't be surprised if, by 2008 or 2009, Library 2.0 has the same quaint, faintly archaic feel that @your library does now.

And there's a moment when everything comes to a stop... your hope evaporates. That's when you become a true prisoner.