He is hurt too much she wants to be flowers and you make her owls and she is at the hunting
Chantel decided in the end she'd be better off at Luke's
Sometimes the boy asks questions and his mother talks about her parents.
Episodes of The Library have no regular schedule, no credits, and sometimes not even dialogue.
I wish I still had that photo.
There was a wall.  It did not look important.
Look how far away he is, he always is.  But he comes back, he comes back, he comes back...
It is because he comes from so far away that nothing can separate us.
It is all right for me to beg and crawl and wheedle because I am at war.  They will see how I forgive.
She sat with Tina, whose head hurt and hurt and hurt.
She felt Luciente approaching again.  Again it was a wild careening approach, full of pain
So that was the other world that might come to be.  That was Luciente's war, and she was enlisted in it.
I want to write about people who dream and wait for the night to end, who long for the light so they can hold the ones they love.
Subjects were required to construct the optimum auto-disaster victim by placing a replica of Reagan's head on the unretouched photographs of crash fatalities.
The profound anality of the Presidential contender may be expected to dominate the United States in the coming years.
The glass curtain-walling formed an element in a vertical sky, a mirror of this deteriorating landscape.
From whatever angle you approach it, the present offers no way out.
It's useless to wait - for a breakthrough, for the revolution, the nuclear apocalypse or a social movement.  To go on waiting is madness.
We are already situated within the collapse of a civilization.  It is within this reality that we must choose sides.
Action is pointless, only senseless hope makes sense.
This malaise, the feeling that there is nothing new, is itself nothing new of course.
Live 8 was a strange kind of protest; a protest that everyone could agree with: who is it who actually wants poverty?
By contrast with their forebears in the 1960s and 1970s, British students today appear to be politically disengaged.
the resurgence of bureaucracy in neoliberalism is more than an atavism or anomaly.
Erase the traces.  Destroy, in order to create.  Build a new world on the ruins of the old.
In contemplating these images however, one is reminded of the interesting element to Albert Speer's otherwise utterly banal 'Theory of Ruin Value'.
What happens to the libidinal imaginary when mystique, mystery, myth, and the stage sets of the Romantic are stripped away?
'Sexpol', as an appropriately Bolshevik acronym, derives from the 1930s work of renegade Freudian Wilhelm Reich
Of course, no one has to believe the TV shows, the magazines and the adverts, and many don't.
Capitalism has had a complex effect on our understanding of 'equality'.
No discussion of the current fortunes of women can take place outside of a discussion of work.
The discourse of work as pure emancipation depends on blocking out class and age constantly.
What is striking about Elle, Vogue, etc., apart from the relentlessly contentless writing, was just how confusing they are.
After three thousand years of explosion, by means of fragmentary and mechanical technologies, the Western world is imploding.
it is sometimes a bit of a shock to be reminded that, in operational and practical fact, the medium is the message.
the most important event in English history has never taken place; namely, the English Revolution
photographs alter and enlarge our notions of what is worth looking at and what we have a right to observe
It is mainly a social rite, a defense against anxiety, and a tool of power.
Reality has always been interpreted through the reports given by images.
Through being photographed, something becomes part of a system of information, fitted into schemes of classification and storage
the taking of photographs seems almost obligatory to those who travel about
Seeing comes before words.  The child looks and recognizes before it can speak.
the knowledge, the explanation, never quite fits the sight.
The way we see things is affected by what we know or what we believe.
Many of these assumptions no longer accord with the world as it is.
Mystification is the process of explaining away what might otherwise be evident.
By contrast, a woman's presence expresses her own attitude to herself, and defines what can and cannot be done to her.
why are these pictures so vacuous and so perfunctory in their evocation of the scenes they are meant to recreate?
It is the assumption of this book that a work of art is a gift, not a commodity.
a cardinal property of the gift: whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away, not kept.
When he rose the third time, she walloped him with the stick.
A gift that cannot moves loses its gift properties.
The gift is an emanation of Eros, and therefore to speak of gifts that survive their use is to describe a natural fact: libido is not lost when it is given away.
Only when the increase of gifts moves with the gift may the accumulated wealth of our spirits continue to grow among us
There was a liberating joy in surrendering to the radical anonymity of the music
These kind of experiences, shared by millions, can't really be documented
the Ecstasy experience ranges from open-hearted tete-a-tete through collective euphoria to full-blown mystical rapture.
Born aloft in the cradling rush of sound, swirled up and away into a cloud of unknowing, for the first time I truly grasped what it was to be 'lost in music'.
by then, Madchester was already in its twilight.
Shut Up And Dance laid the groundwork for jungle, the subculture that would evolve out of breakbeat hardcore.
What makes British hardcore unique is the way the same shift from utopian to dystopian was reflected in the music.
At the moment I think my two favourite pieces of music are I am sitting in a room by Alvin Lucier and 'Can't Get You Out of My Head' by Kylie Minogue.
this is, to a degree, a book about music
The song is about itself and about the fact that it is about itself.
As he speaks, it becomes clear that he has a slight speech impediment, a little stutter.
I have of late been visited by a ghost giraffe.
Having been disturbed by the ghost giraffe every night for two full weeks, it is now his very absence I find disturbing.
Ghosts are see-through, therefore, a certain percentage of the spotlight will pass through.
'Cheer up,' Teddy crawling back toward the busted cot.  'There'll be more.'
Sometimes you fly.  But you can never rise above a certain height.
You're catching the War.  It's infecting you and I don't know how to keep it away.  Oh, Jess.  Jessica.  Don't leave me...
Did she goad him into the street, was she the death of him?
Ten minutes later, back up in his room, he's lying face-down on the bed, feeling empty.
But these are rumours.  Their chronology can't be trusted.
There were false alarms.  Pokler was almost sure once during the winter, during the test series at Blizna.
Lanark had an inner restraint which stopped him displaying much resentment or anger.
Ozenfant said, "Yes, but the air trembles above it.  Soon it shuts, and then boom!"
Two or three hundred miles to the south was a groove in the earth with a gathering of stone and metal in it - Glasgow.
Later McAlpin went out and returned with Ruth.
Beyond the northern lobby the corridor was crossed by a wrought-iron screen ten feet high.
"Which proves," said Lanark, who was eating a salad, "that the world's great stories are mostly a pack of lies."
Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance
Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her upstairs.
She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to finish the immolation.
I believed - yes, I believed that through her I would be saved.
One evening on deck, after dinner, we were all gathered about Clara, who was delightfully lounging in a rocking-chair.
Clara expressed her delight, clapping her hands like a baby whose governess has just given it permission to torture a little dog.
Under the stimulus of another laugh, his triple chin, the pads of his neck, and his belly trembled like jelly.
She still looks at the water which is growing darker and darker; but I really do not believe she is looking at the water
Every work of art is the child of its age and, in many cases, the mother of our emotions.
The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game is not yet past.
the arts are encroaching one upon another, and from a proper use of this encroachment will rise the art that is truly monumental.
so we come to the second main result of looking at colours: their psychic effect.
The starting point is the study of colour and its effects on men.
Scriabin's attempt to intensify musical tone by corresponding use of colour is necessarily tentative.
After my divorce, I set up house in the apartment I had been using as an office.
He seemed so like my father that I instinctively answered politely - even though I was actually the elder.
But as we sat down on the sofa and I started to take her in my arms again, being careful not to touch her chest, Kei suddenly stiffened.
Out of the darkness came the delicate scent of a woman's perfume.
Between each idea and each point of itinerary an affinity or a contrast can be established, serving as an immediate aid to memory.
The connections between one element of the story and another were not always obvious to the emperor.
Your cities do not exist.  Perhaps they have never existed.  It is sure they will never exist again.
it was all there, merely arranged in a different order, no less appropriate to the inhabitants' needs than it had been before.
Atkins and I waited for Bill Drummond on a bridge over the A102
A straw-hatted man, burdened with implements of his trade, spins around to face the viewer.
It would be better to swim.  These are sacred places, where road meets river.
We touch the walls of buildings to dowse for lost heat.
The stabbing at the roadside, O'Mahoney insisted, was 'an everyday thing on the M25'.
I loved arriving at the bookstore first thing in the morning, when the streets were still quiet
I smiled, waved my hand.  How wonderful it would be, I thought, to be young and beautiful in his arms.
I turned to the mirror.  My hair looked like pure snow, sparkling in the sunlight.
It flared up in me in a second: the desire to fly.
Frank nodded at the girls on either side of him, that weird smile still scrunching up his face.
Frank had said: "Kenji, can I tell you a secret?"
Along with the fear I felt an overwhelming revulsion.
The gates and the opening closed behind them with a sound that made the earth shake
while he waited for the water to boil he went from room to room to see that nothing was amiss here at least.
For a long time they were silent, and when Colin spoke he did no more than put his sister's thoughts into words.
when I saw those four pairs of eyes glowing in the shaft, something went wrong in my head.
side by side, flecked with snow, their red tongues lolling, and their sharp eyes narrowing
Colin shut the book.  The elation had gone.
the Soldier's Hump - with its ring of pines, where strange, pale lights are said to move among the trees on certain nights of winter.
She took Susan by the hand, and they went through the trees to a clearing
But was he a man?  There was something wrong in the way of his running.
These siths or fairies they call sluagh maithe or the good people
The men of that second sight do not discover strange things when asked, but at fits and raptures
It only now remains to answer the most obvious objections against the reality and lawfulness of this speculation
There are also spells against bruises, swollen-cheeks called goll ghalar, the tayyi, or flux, toothache, being smitten with an infectious and evil eye.
Ye wake in a corner and stay there hoping yer body will disappear
Sammy knew that was coming.  He fucking knew it.  Obvious as fuck.
It's terrible.  Be different if ye were used to it.
Fair enough, I know what ye're saying.
Tam stood where he was for a wee minute, then the sound of his footsteps.
Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation.
The spectacle, grasped in its totality, is both the result and the project of the existing mode of production.
The spectacle is not a collection of images, but a social relation among people, mediated by images.
The spectacle presents itself as something enormously positive, indisputable and inaccessible.
It covers the entire surface of the world and bathes endlessly in its own glory.
The spectacle is the guardian of sleep.
The spectacle is the existing order's uninterrupted discourse about itself, its laudatory monologue.
This is why the spectator feels at home nowhere, because the spectacle is everywhere.
The more his life is now his product, the more he is separated from his life.
The spectacle is capital to such a degree of accumulation that it becomes an image.
The development of productive forces shatters the old relations of production and all static order turns to dust.
The unconscious movement of time manifests itself and becomes true within historical consciousness.
The world already possesses the dream of a time whose consciousness it must now possess in order to actually live it.