“ If you sing a song of peace with enough gestures and grimaces, it becomes a war song. ”
Sadness flies on the wings of the morning, and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.
~ Jean Giraudoux
I remember a time when a cabbage could sell itself by being a cabbage. Nowadays it’s no good being a cabbage – unless you have an agent and pay him a commission. Nothing is free anymore to sell itself or give itself away. These days, Countess, every cabbage has its pimp.
I believe in the gods. Or rather I believe that I believe in the gods. But I don't believe that they are great brooding presences watching over us I believe they are completely absent-minded.
I forgot they were talking about me. They sound so wonderfully convincing.
