Monday, August 30, 2010


"Dreyfus once wrote from Devil's Island that he would see the most glorious birds. Many years later in Brittany he realized they had only been seagulls. For me they will always be glorious birds."

"I don't mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one."

“Now, what's that supposed to be coming out of there?”
“Lightning. Fire. The power of God or something.”
I'm beginning to understand Hitler's interest in this.”

“They ain't paying us enough for this, man.”
“Not enough to have to wake up to your face.”
“What? Is that a joke?”
“Oh, I wish it were.”

"On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! ... This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God."

Oh, the things I will do to avoid what I should actually be working on.