[b]Stephen Fry
… Our language, tiger, our language: hundreds of thousands of available words, frillions of legitimate new ideas… And yet, oh, and yet, we, all of us, spend all our days saying to each other the same things time after weary time: “I love you,” “Don’t go in there,” “Get out,” “You have no right to say that,” “Stop it,” “Why should I,” “That hurt,” “Help,” "Marjorie is dead.”[/b]
True enough. Well, not counting the last one. But that’s just me.
Mow the fuckers down.
So, what do you think, Don Trump’s foreign policy?
We have also an edition of The Trial, by the notorious Jew, Kafka. Berlin would appreciate it, I am thinking, if this too was added to the bonfire. Also the works of that decadent lesbian Bolshevik, Jane Austen.
Hmm. Sounds like something you might overhear in the Oval Office.
Feelings are not something to which one does or does not have rights.
You know, if you keep them to yourself.
‘If you wouldn’t mind coming with us, sir? I am arresting you now and will shortly make a formal charge at the station.’ I was so happy, so blissfully, radiantly, wildly happy that if I could have sung I would have sung. If I could have danced I would have danced. I was free. At last I was free. I was going on a journey now where every decision would be taken for me, every thought would be thought for me and every day planned for me. I was going back to school.
Sure, that’s one way to look at it.
Mental health is one of the last great taboos.
Not unlike the lack of it.