The notion of making money by popular work, and then retiring to do good work, is the most familiar of all the devil's traps for artists.
One late winter afternoon in Oxford Street, amid the noise of vehicles and voices that filled that dusky thoroughfare, as I was borne onward with the crowd past the great electric-lighted shops, a holy Indifference filled my thoughts. Illusion had faded from me; I was not touched by any desire for the goods displayed in those golden windows, nor had I the smallest share in the appetites and fears of all those moving and anxious faces. And as I listened with Asiatic detachment to the London traffic, its sound changed into something ancient and dissonant and sad—into the turbid flow of that stream of Craving which sweeps men onward through the meaningless cycles of Existence, blind and enslaved forever. But I had reached the farther shore, the Harbour of Deliverance, the Holy City; the Great Peace beyond all this turmoil and fret compassed me around. Om Mani padme hum—I murmured the sacred syllables, smiling with the pitying smile of the Enlightened One on his heavenly lotus.Then, in a shop-window, I saw a neatly fitted suit-case. I liked that suit-case; I desired to possess it. Immediately I was enveloped by the mists of Illusion, chained once more to the Wheel of Existence, whirled onward along Oxford Street in that turbid stream of wrong-belief, and lust, and sorrow, and anger.
Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.
The denunciation of the young is a necessary part of the hygiene of older people and greatly assists the circulation of their blood.
We need new friends. Some of us are cannibals who have eaten their old friends up others must have ever-renewed audiences before whom to re-enact an ideal version of their lives.
Charming people live up to the very edge of their charm and behave as outrageously as the world will let them.
Self-respecting people do not care to peep at their reflections in unexpected mirrors or to see themselves as others see them.
Every author however modest keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.
The denunciation of the young is a necessary part of the hygiene of older people, and greatly assists the circulation of the blood.
What is more mortifying than to feel that you have missed the plum for want of courage to shake the tree?