Revolution Is The Festival Of The Oppressed.

The Fear Of Freedom Is Strong In Us. We Call It Chaos Or Anarchy, And The Words Are Threatening. We Live In A True Chaos Of Contradicting Authorities, An Age Of Conformism Without Community, Of Proximity Without Communication. We Could Only Fear Chaos If We Imagined That It Was Unknown To Us, But In Fact We Know It Very Well.

Gillard Is As Likeable As Rudd Is Charmless. She Is Self-deprecating; He Is Ludicrously Vainglorious. She Is A Mistress Of Understatement; He Is A Ranter.

Great Artists Are Products Of Their Own Time: They Do Not Spring Forth Fully Equipped From The Head Of Jove, But Are Formed By The Circumstances Acting Upon Them Since Birth. These Circumstances Include The Ambiance Created By The Other, Lesser Artists Of Their Own Time, Who Have All Done Their Part In Creating The Pressure That Forces Up An Exceptional Talent. Unjustly, But Unavoidably, The Very Closeness Of A Great Artist To His Colleagues And Contemporaries Leads To Their Eclipse.

Perhaps Women Have Always Been In Closer Contact With Reality Than Men: It Would Seem To Be The Just Recompense For Being Deprived Of Idealism.

The Only Perfect Love To Be Found On Earth Is Not Sexual Love, Which Is Riddled With Hostility And Insecurity, But The Wordless Commitment Of Families, Which Takes As Its Model Mother-love. This Is Not To Say That Fathers Have No Place, For Father-love, With Its Driving For Self-improvement And Discipline, Is Also Essential To Survival, But That Uncorrected Father-love, Father-love As It Were Practiced By Both Parents, Is A Way To Annihilation.