All Quotes

"In Yoga there is a precise correspondence between theory and practice. This is far from the case with those European philosophers who admired India, such as Schopenhauer, who limited himself to ethical indications, while Yoga goes into the details of a method of the body and mind, of consciousness. (p. 17)"

"Yoga implies objectless subjectivism, calling into question the transpersonal components of being. The self, the centre of an identity that is not only ours, is naked. (p. 44)"

"The entire work is a treatise on perception, on optimal cognitive modes that replace erroneous ones. (p. 55)"

"The link between philosophy and theatre is strong because theatre also deals with the embodiment of cognitive action, that is, making something happen as a sign of something else."

"Art in the broad sense is representation, that is, it repeats or imitates something that already exists or presents a quality of experience that does not yet exist but can be brought into being. Art as creation is never a repetition of something that already exists, but is the recomposition of something that does not exist."

"Theatre has a long tradition as a form of presentation and requires actors and spectators who are passively receptive. Jerzy Grotowski decided to abandon presentation and begin research into the possibility of creating experiences not through representation, which induces receptive perception, but through practices that allow something to happen to the actor."

"The comparison between Yasser Arafat and Giuseppe Mazzini does not hold up. Mazzini was opposed to the terrorist plans of certain factions of the Carbonari. In fact, he generally disapproved of the Carbonari and broke with them. This is one of his historical merits. He wanted an association, the “Giovine Italia”, which would call for open political struggle. This also included the use of arms against absolutist and tyrannical governments that did not allow any freedom. But it was an armed struggle aimed at mobilising public opinion, not at physically suppressing opponents."

"They were just idealists. In addition to a political organisation, Arafat administers large financial interests under the banners of petrodollars, sheikhs and, in general, Arab states that are anything but democratic. Israel is much more so."

"Of course, it would be good to evacuate the territories occupied in the 1967 war, with the exception of Jerusalem, which is a special case. But this cannot be expected if an organisation that practises terrorism against Israel and whose aim is the destruction of that state is established in these territories. No one can be asked to commit suicide."

"I am the first to criticise Israeli policy in the West Bank, the settlements, the restrictions on democratic freedoms, everything that is reactionary and repressive. I criticise Israel's very presence in those territories. But I do not demand its suicide."

"Israel is not Austria, which kept Lombardy-Veneto under its heel. It is like the constitutional Austria of 1867, which opened its Parliament to minorities, to the Italians of Trento, Trieste and Pola. No one denies the Palestinians living in the occupied territories the right to irredentism. I fully recognise that. But under that Austria, would Italian irredentists have done well to resort to terrorism? Even in Trieste, many distanced themselves from Oberdan's plan to assassinate the king. His attempt would have had dramatic consequences if it had been carried out."

"Thomas! Oh, Thomas! Come in here and see what we got. Ain't they cute, Tom? And you get to take care of them. Now, you be good to them, and I'll run down to the store for some nice, fresh cream."

"Thomas! What's the idea picking on them poor little kittens?! If you don't take good care of them little angels while I'm gone, I'll pulverize you to pieces! You hear me?!"

"William Hanna as Tom and Jerry (uncredited)"

"Lillian Randolph as Mammy Two Shoes (1952 original) (uncredited)"

"Thea Vidale and Mammy Two Shoes (1990 redubbed) (uncredited)"

"I... First I want to just say how very sorry I am for all of... what’s happened. I know there’s nothing I can say to make this better. The truth is, I want an answer just as bad as all of you. I love those kids. I know it’s-- I know it’s not the same as how you love them but... believe me I really loved those children and I’ve spent every waking moment since... that day asking myself what could have happened. I wish I had some insight or explanation but I just don’t have one. I just--"

"I can make your parents hurt themselves. I can make them hurt each other. I can make them eat each other if I want to. Do I want to, Alex?"

"This is a true story that happened right here in my town two years ago. A lot of people die in a lot of really weird ways in this story but you won’t find it in the news or anywhere like that because the police and top people in this town were like so embarrassed about not being able to solve it that they covered everything all up."

"[about Justine Gandy] It was a Wednesday and she was going to her classroom just like every morning. But this day was different. This day, none of her kids were there. Every other class at that school had all their kids. Even the other third grade class that Mrs. Belt taught was full. But Mrs. Gandy’s room was totally empty. Well... not totally. There was one boy there. His name was Alex Lilly and he was the only kid in a class of eighteen that came to school that day. And do you know why? He was the only one there because the night before at 2:17 in the morning, every other kid in Mrs. Gandy’s third grade class woke up... got out of bed... walked downstairs, opened the front door... walked across the front yard and into the dark... and they never came back."

"One night before they did, they had a big meeting at the school with all the teachers and all the parents. There were a bunch of counselors and people like that to help everyone figure out how to feel and how to be sad together I guess. This is where the story really starts."

"Captain Ed: Mr. Graff, I can understand your passion, and I don't mind having these conversations with you because god forbid if it was my child, I'd be demanding answers too. Those kids walked out of those homes; no one pulled them out. No one forced them. What do you see that I don't?"

"Josh Brolin - Archer Graff"

"Julia Garner - Justine Gandy"

"Alden Ehrenreich - Paul Morgan"

"Austin Abrams - James"

"Cary Christopher - Alex Lilly"

"Toby Huss - Ed Locke"

"Benedict Wong - Marcus Miller"

"Amy Madigan - Gladys"

"Sara Paxton - Erica"

"Justin Long - Gary"

"June Diane Raphael - Donna Morgan"

"Whitmer Thomas - Alex's father"

"Callie Schuttera - Alex's mother"

"Luke Speakman - Matthew Graff"

"Clayton Farris - Terry Miller"

"Scarlett Sher - Maddie, the child narrator"

"Initially, advertising slogans influenced me the most. I really liked the way that language was aggressive and immediate, but with lots of subtext. It's reaching for the back of your mind to influence you."

"Willie Nelson has an ability that is particular to country music – these one-liners that set up a whole song, then everything else is built around that. I guess you could call them zingers. Crazy is the perfect song. It's an incredibly complex emotion: it's concise, but it describes a state of mind so clearly and poignantly. He's a true American poet."

"The concept of person is an acquisition of Christianity. Historically, the word ‘person’ marks the dividing line between pagan and Christian culture. (introduction, p. 9)"

"Hidden by distance, the darkness behind the stars reached an impenetrable black density. Light, thought, and possibility were sucked helplessly into the inhaling mouth of the dead hole. Inside the hole was the center of the heart of the opposite of space. The future and the past were nullified, backwards and forwards. History rewound, snubbed out before it began. Silence was exterminated. The earth floated in a sea of black blood, glowing like an ember cupped in the hands of an invisible god. His corrupt breath spread clouds of poison gas, cloaking the continents in a sweet tasting atmosphere. Agitated hoards of reptilian predator birds migrated through the hemispheres in a stone-eyed search for prey, casting shadows on the red dirt like cryptic signals flashed down from the veiled deities that lived behind the sky. Beneath the ground, liquid fire rolled in waves of buried hatred. A mindless howl echoed through the lightless subterranean canyons in a single sustained note of ignorant and savage pain."

"There's a point when you wake up from a drunk, in perfect clarity. The synapses in your brain feel greased, and the distinction between your subconscious and conscious mind evaporates. A point where everything is hyper-vivid, your intelligence humming at maximum capacity, like a meditating Buddhist acolyte overwhelmed with sudden white-light attainment. And at that instant, you see everything charged with energy - the past, present and future spread out in front of you, blissful and meaningless and simultaneous, every microscopic detail in every object drifting through your eyes, along with panoplies of stars and universes, pulled together through the woven fabric of your flesh, so that while disintegrating, you're invisible, while seeing everything, you see nothing."

"In order to come out the winner, in my mind, I memorized their faces, down to the smallest detail, the smallest nuance of expression — the black curling hair growing out of his cheek that he'd missed shaving, the pale pink blemish above her right eyebrow showing through the film of cream-colored makeup, applied with skillful thickness so that it blended out smoothly into her forehead. When I closed the door, I held them in my mind, exposing their image permanently onto a blank sheet in a secret file where I kept my memories for future use. I'd use this and other memories of them to serve me, to make them please me. They were flimsy in there, among the images I preserved, foolish really, not threatening at all. Two people who crushed each other's bodies every othernight beneath their mutual flab, muttering gratuitous, lustful phrases into each other's waxy ears until they'd come. Then they'd roll over, farting a sleep-inducing lullaby."

"My hands are soft and cool. When I touch the smooth enamel walls of my stall, I feel the warmth of the women pass through the wall and into me. I absorb everything around me. I can taste the bitter luminous gas trapped in the fluorescent tube above my head. I can decipher the single note hum of the light beneath the depth-charge rhythm of the disco. The beat of the music pummels my body and spreads me outwards against the walls of the stall. I'm no longer contained in myself. I'm joined to the walls, part of a living cell. The stall is an organism. The circle of stalls is a circle of malignant cells surrounding a cancer. The women are rotting, sucking each other and transferring their corrosive juices back and forth, sharing their disease. I can smell them, ammoniac and fetid, through the wall."

"Responding quickly, multiple hands press into the arena from the surrounding walls. Disembodied feelers, they form the interior nerves of an underwater creature groping for nourishment and stimulus. The fingers gesture, twitch and writhe, trying to attract the attention of the dancers. From the inside, the women see flickering mirrors reflecting the colored lights, and beneath the mirrors they see gummy prehensile pods, swaying frantically in the quickened current."

"We're unified, from stall to stall, man to woman, hand to body, liquid to solid, animate to inanimate. It doesn't matter if it's my hands inside her or someone else's as she rolls and glides from feeler to feeler. We're one creature, pulsing with bliss, sight, sound. Our orgasm never ends."

"The fear of being captured by the killers - hung up on hooks forced through the skin at the base of our necks, burned slowly alive above a low fire, our flesh pulled away in slabs from our bodies then eaten before our eyes - moves our legs forward, keeps our eyes half-open. Inevitably we'll drift into the jungle where we'll be eaten by the beast. He'll drag us to his secret pit and play with us until he's bored, then devour us. The thought of its tusks buried in our guts is less terrifying than the knives and fire of the human killers, so we fall into the brush, defeated, waiting to be taken. As we fall into sleep, we hear him breathing at our necks, hot and moist, prodding our bodies with his snout. He talks to us in a human voice, like the innocent voice of a little girl, soothing us, reassuring us, laughing softly to himself beneath his words."

"Resting like a child in the arms of these twisted vines, where the ropes of hair mixed with the fringe of her jacket, her breasts rose naked like a sacrifice offered up to the light, like two huge peeled eggs, plump and melting in the weak warmth of the sun, threaded with a faint map of blue veins. She turned to me and smiled. Her mouth was a wreck of browned and blackened claws, but her tongue was pale pink beneath them, gleaming like the last surviving innocent animal in a universe of scum. Steam rose from her insides, drifting up into the trees."

"Fanged branches clutched at my face and hair, the mud sucked and chewed at my feet, and I fell rather than walked as she led me through the forest. The trees ran with sap, hunched over like emerald-haired mammoths dripping with weight. I drank the air, saturated with bitter dew and the gas rising from the mulch. My clothes bled from my body, drenched with clammy sweat and steam. My shoes were stolen and devoured by the mud. My shirt disintegrated, dripping from my back. My feet were shredded by sharpened sticks and bones concealed in the muck. My nostrils and mouth harbored feeding hives of gnats and mosquitoes. Twisting walls of poison vines rose up like cyclones funneling down from the dense mesh of the forest canopy."