Jehovah S Witnesses From The United States

"The older I get, the brighter colours I live. But in the past, they were dark, dingy, sad colours."

"A lot of art today doesn't convey much hope, and I hope mine does. I try to paint what I think the future holds and my innermost feelings about God's promise for the future."

"But what I like most about Keane, myself, is that he's mass-produced, like a factory."

"I think what Keane has done is just terrific. It has to be good. If it were bad, so many people wouldn't like it."

"Margaret is probably the greatest woman painter alive."

"Gradually it dawned on me that I was painting my own inner emotions. Those children were asking: "Why are we here? What is life all about? Why is there sadness and injustice?" All those deep questions. Those children were sad because they didn't have the answers. They were searching."

"And Margaret, uh, has done a lot of experimenting in her work. I think, probably, no artist has experimented the way Margaret has."

"His art is in heroic bad taste. It's incredibly vulgar, it's weird, but it's still gorgeous. Bad-taste entertainment is the best entertainment. What I really love about Keane is that he is so commercial."

"I finally got to the point where I decided I don't care if it's good art or bad art, it's what I do. I enjoy doing it, and people like it."

"I'd have to lock the door of the paint room. He wouldn't allow anyone in. I was like a prisoner."

"I had just announced for the first time publicly on a radio show in San Francisco that I had done all the Keane paintings and not my ex-husband. And this, um, Bill Flang of the San Francisco Examiner thought that Walter and I should appear in Union Square and have a paint-off to decide who had done the paintings, since I was—said that I had done them. So, he arranged it, and LIFE magazine as there and all the different newspapers and t.v. stations and they, uh—some of them in the audience played "High Noon"—[laughs] And, of course, Walter didn't show up."

"He can't paint eyes. He couldn't learn to paint at all."

"M, you see, is four, and D is four too, and H is eight, and four and four and eight are sixteen, which is made up of one and six, which make seven—my number."

"It was the eyes that did it. [timid giggle] I liked the way he painted eyes and he liked mine."

"I still paint sad children, because there's sadness in the world, but they have hope, and I have hope."

"I lost all respect for him and myself, and lived in a nightmare."

"Children do have big eyes. When I'm doing a portrait, the eyes are the most expressive part of the face. And they just got bigger and bigger and bigger."

"Walter was extremely charming. He could charm anybody, especially women."

"He'd threatened me so many times. I thought he was so crazy he could hire a hit man to come get me anytime."

"The holy spirit means the invisible power of Jehovah, holy because he is holy. This power of Jehovah operated upon the minds of honest men who loved and who were devoted to righteousness, directing them in the writing of the Bible. The spirit of God, i. e., his invisible power, moved upon the waters and thereby he created."

"Rutherford, though not an appointed Judge, acted the part by title and deed, while criticizing the clergy for their titles. He railed against the clergy for its class distinctions while himself exercising the control and rule of a Pope. He castigated the political arena while employing the tactics of a back-room politico. His rhetoric was never without euphemisms attacking the "greedy commercialists" while himself leading a lifestyle that would make them envious. The Judge pointed his finger at a doomed world of decadent people while himself enjoying fine liquor, quality cigars, and the company of female traveling companions. He acted as a prophet of God predicting the end of the world and the resurrection of the Princes in 1925. He built a mansion to house the Princes upon their imminent return but was the only "Prince" to ever inhabit the home. Either Rutherford was a con man or else had delusions that exceeded even Pastor Russel's. Probably the truth is that he possessed both of these traits."

"The Judge had a prodigious appetite for alcoholic beverages and was not pleased when Prohibition became law."

"Rutherford loved to depict the clergy as money grubbers with their hands in the pockets of the people, and big business as greedy commercialists exploiting the workers. In fact, Rutherford was himself guilty of these very things. While his workers plodded from door to door selling his prolific writings, the Judge lived the life of a major industrialist. He spent winters at Beth Sarim and traveled by steamship to Europe each summer. At Brooklyn headquarters he maintained a luxurious apartment on the top floor. All of this was done during the depression, when soup lines were the norm in America. Ironically, although Rutherford fashioned the organization into the "Fuller Brush" of religion, he himself never went door to door. The reason given was that he was too busy with executive responsibilities."

"In Germany the common people are peace-loving, ... The Devil has put his representative Hitler in control, a man who is of unsound mind, cruel, malicious and ruthless . . . He cruelly persecutes the Jews because they were once Jehovah’s covenant people and bore the name of Jehovah, and because Christ Jesus was a Jew."

"You may successfully resist any and all men, but you cannot successfully resist Jehovah God. . . . In the name of Jehovah God and His anointed King, Christ Jesus, I demand that you give order to all officials and servants of your government that Jehovah’s witnesses in Germany be permitted to peaceably assemble and without hindrance worship God."

"It is more reasonable to conclude that the Great Pyramid of Gizeh as well as the other pyramids thereabout, also the sphinx, were built by the rulers of Egypt and under the direction of Satan the Devil."

"It is to be expected that Satan will try to inject into the minds of the consecrated the thought that 1925 should see an end of the work, and that therefore it would be needless for them to do more."

"Do you believe it! Do you believe that the King of glory is present, and has been since 1874?... Behold, the King reigns! you are his publicity agents. Therefore advertise, advertise, advertise, the King and his kingdom."

"I spent a lot of time teaching myself theory and harmony so I could be free to express myself on the instrument. I learned what relatives and substitutes could be played against a root of a chord, like E minor related to G, and so forth. I've also gathered all this knowledge because for ten years all I've done is play jazz, every day."

"Andy Murray, he's been joking about myself and him playing a match. I'm like, 'Andy, seriously, are you kidding me?' For me, mens' tennis and womens' tennis are completely, almost, two separate sports. If I were to play Andy Murray, I would lose 6-0, 6-0 in five to six minutes, maybe 10 minutes. No, it's true. It's a completely different sport. The men are a lot faster and they serve harder, they hit harder, it's just a different game. I love to play women's tennis. I only want to play girls, because I don't want to be embarrassed."

"We say booty. I'm not quite sure about 'posterior'. I'll try to keep that in the back of my mind. 'What are you doing?' 'I'm shaking my posterior.'"

"That's why everyone hates Spillane — except his millions of readers and his banker!"

"When I started the paperback market, there were only a few good writers, now the market's loaded... you don't know which one to take."

"They had dropped the body behind a pile of cement blocks from a partly shattered wall, pulling a broken section of sheetrock over to hide it from casual view. But there's nothing casual about a little kid who liked to play in junk and found himself stumbling over the mutilated body of what had been a redheaded woman. At one time she would have been beautiful, but death had erased all that."

"He stood with his back angled to the wall. To an indifferent observer he was simply in idle conversation, but it wasn't like that at all. This was an instinctive gesture of survival, being in constant readiness for an attack. His head didn't turn and his eyes didn't seem to move, but I knew he saw us. I could feel the hackles on the back of my neck stiffening and I knew he felt the same way. Dog was meeting dog. Nobody knew it but the dogs and they weren't telling. He was bigger than I thought. The suggestion of power I had seen in his photographs was for real. When he moved it was with the ponderous grace of some jungle animal, dangerously deceptive, because he could move a lot faster if he had to. When we were ten feet away he pretended to see us for the first time and a wave of charm washed the cautious expression from his face and he stepped out to greet Dulcie with outstretched hand. But it wasn't her he was seeing. It was me he was watching. I was one of his own kind. I couldn't be faked out and wasn't leashed by the proprieties of society. I could lash out and kill as fast as he could and of all the people in the room, I was the potential threat. I knew what he felt because I felt the same way myself."

"They had left him for dead in the middle of a pool of blood in his own bedroom, his belly slit open like gaping barn doors, the hilt of the knife wedged against his sternum. But the only trouble was that he had stayed alive somehow, his life pumping out, managing to knock the telephone off the little table and dial me. Now he was looking up at me with seconds left and all he could do was force out the words, "Mike ...there was no reason.""

"The two young men turned and they didn't smile because they were Woody Ballinger's two boys, Carl and Sammy, and for one brief instant, there was something in their faces that didn't belong in that atmosphere of joviality and the little move they instinctively made that shielded them behind the others in back of them was involuntary enough to stretch a tight-lipped grin across my face that told them I could know. Could. From away back out of the years I got that feeling across my shoulders and up my spine that said things were starting to smell right and if you kept pushing the walls would go down and you could charge in and take them all apart until there was nothing left but the dirt they were made of."

"I have no fans. You know what I got? Customers. And customers are your friends."

"If the public likes you, you're good. Shakespeare was a common, down-to-earth writer in his day."

"If you're a singer you lose your voice. A baseball player loses his arm. A writer gets more knowledge, and if he's good, the older he gets, the better he writes."

"I'm a commercial writer, not an author. Margaret Mitchell was an author. She wrote one book."

"Nobody reads a mystery to get to the middle. They read it to get to the end. If it's a letdown, they won't buy anymore. The first page sells that book. The last page sells your next book."

"Some days hang over Manhattan like a huge pair of unseen pincers, slowly squeezing the city until you can hardly breathe. A low growl of thunder echoed up the cavern of Fifth Avenue and I looked up to where the sky started at the seventy-first floor of the Empire State Building. I could smell the rain. It was the kind that hung above the orderly piles of concrete until it was soaked with dust and debris and when it came down it wasn't rain at all but the sweat of the city."

"On an ordinary day the corridor would have been filled with the early lunch crowd, but now the emptiness gave the place an eerie feeling, as though I were a trespasser and hidden eyes were watching me. Except that I was the only one there and the single sign of life was the light behind my office door. I turned the knob, pushed it open and just stood there a second because something was wrong, sure as hell wrong, and the total silence was as loud as a wild scream. I had the .45 in my hand, crouched and edged to one side, listening, waiting, watching."

"The phone rang. It was a thing that had been sitting here, black and quiet like a holstered gun, unlisted, unknown to anybody, used only for local outgoing calls, and when it was triggered it had the soft, muted sound of a silenced automatic. The first ring was a warning sound. The second time would be death calling."

"The temperature was six below zero and it kept me dying on the spot because the blood coagulated and clotted in ugly smears of cloth and skin and the pain hadn't started yet, so when the little fat guy who saw my eyes open and still bright pulled me away from the carnage he was almost in the shock I was going into. Nobody would listen to him. He was a drunk. I was nearly dead. Sometimes the body responds to a stimulus that can't be explained. He got me upright. I walked woodenly, dyingly. I was sat in an old car. The fat man rolled down the windows. The blood stayed frozen. My hands were numb and I couldn't feel my feet. Idly, I wondered what frostbite was like. Breathing was a thing that was happening, but at a pace that said it could slow, then stop at any time. A dull, squeezing sensation of pain was beginning to gnaw on my insides and I knew that eventually, and very soon, it would grow into a terrible, devastating animal with an awful hunger and I would be eaten alive by it. I wanted to scream but nothing would come out."

"I'm not an author, I'm a writer, that's all I am. Authors want their names down in history; I want to keep the smoke coming out of the chimney."

"I knew a couple of things... during the war years they came out with reprints of all the Dumas novels, Moby Dick, for the servicemen, and I saw this and believe me I'm a very sharp merchandiser, and I say this is the new marketplace for writing: original paperback books."

"I was the first one probably in writing to use a nickname, Mickey, and it stuck."

"I'm 82 years old, wherever I go everybody knows me, but here's why... I'm a merchandiser, I'm not just a writer, I stay in every avenue you can think of."