Usually when we lose a game is because we turn the ball over or not play well enough and usually it is the turnover thing. We have to take care of the ball. It is starts with me and not turning it over.
God is a witness that cannot be sworn.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.
That's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing that divides the world in two, on the one side the outside, on the other the inside, that can be as thin as foil, I'm neither one side nor the other, I'm in the middle, I'm the partition, I've two surfaces and no thickness, perhaps that's what I feel, myself vibrating, I'm the tympanum, on the one hand the mind, on the other the world, I don't belong to either.
In London, people can be so. . . well, it's not even a case of people being unkind or unfriendly. You just don't make any contact in London. You go from A to B with your eyes on the pavement.
Tis an admirable thing to see how some people will labour to find out terms that may obscure a plain sense, like a gentleman I knew, who would never say 'the weather grew cold,' but that 'winter begins to salute us. ' I have no patience for such coxcombs.
In this business, if you don`t have the capacity to step back and have some sort of relativity about things, you're screwed
Out of abysses of Illiteracy, Through labyrinths of Lies, Across wastelands of Disease. . . We advance Out of dead-ends of Poverty, Through wilderness of Superstition, Across barricades of Jim Crowism. . . We advance.