It's funny how the colours of the like real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen.
It is as inhuman to be totally good as it is to be totally evil.
If you expect the worst from a person you can never be disappointed.
I see you have books under your arm, brother. It is indeed a rare pleasure these days to come across somebody that still reads, brother.
But, brothers, this biting of their toe-nails over what is the CAUSE of badness is what turns me into a fine laughing malchick. They don't go into what is the cause of GOODNESS, so why of the other sh...
But where I itty now, O my brothers, is all on my oddy knocky, where you cannot go. Tomorrow is all like sweet flowers and the turning vonny earth and the stars and the old Luna up there. ... And all...
Bueno, que me cuelguen si no es ese gordo maloliente, el cabrón Billy y toda la porquería. ¿Cómo estás, botellón de aceite de cocina barato? Acércate, que te daré una en los yarblocos, si es que los t...
Каждый убивает то, что любит.
You were not put on this earth just to get in touch with God. That sort of thing could sap all the strength and the goodness out of a chelloveck.
Yes yes yes, there it was. Youth must go, ah yes. But youth is only being in a way like it might be an animal. No, it is not just like being an animal so much as being one of these malenky toys you vi...
Was war, then, the big solution after all? Were those crude early theorists right? War the great aphrodisiac, the great source of world adrenaline, the solvent of ennui, Angst, melancholia, accidia, s...
The heresy of an age of reason. I see what is right and approve, but I do what is wrong.
Speak up for me, sir, for I'm not so bad. I was led on by the treachery of others.
One's first memories are often vicarious: one is told that one did something or was involved in something; one dramatizes it and folds the image falsely into the annals of the truly remembered.
Oh, it was gorgeosity and yumyumyum. When it came to the Scherzo I could viddy myself very clear running and running on like the very light and mysterious nogas, carving the whole litso of the creechi...
If I had died it would have been even better for you political bratchnies, would it not, pretending and treacherous droogs as you are.' But all that came out was er er er.
I can't accept that a work of fiction should be either immoral or moral. It should merely show the world as it is and have no moral bias.
You could viddy it all right, all of it, very clear—tables, the stereo, the lights, the sharps and the malchicks—but it was like some veshch that used to be there but was not there not no more. And yo...
What sort of world is it at all? Men on the moon and men spinning round the earth like it might be midges round a lamp, and there's not no attention paid to earthly law nor order no more.
We can destroy what we have written, but we cannot unwrite it.