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I would rather be a poor man in a garret with plenty of books than a king who did not love reading.
Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.
We are born in a prision,/
raised in a prision/
Send to a prision called school,
We work in the dark — we do what we can — we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.
Life without a purpose is a languid, drifting thing; every day we ought to review our purpose, saying to ourselves, 'This day let me make a sound beginning
Remember/
When you were small/
How people seemed so tall/
Always had their way/
Remember your ma and pa/
Just wishing for movie stardom/
Always , Always playing a part/
If you ever feel sad/
And the whole world is driving you mad/
Remember, Remember Today
It is stern work, it is perilous work to thrust your hand in the sun And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men.
It's all been a bad joke that just ran out of control. I got into food for fun but the business got a mind of its own. Now — my good Lord — look where it has gotten me. My products are on supermarket shelves, in cinemas, in the theater. And they say show business is odd.
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I was going to say he's a piece of work, but that might not translate too well. Is that all right, if I call you a 'piece of work'?
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