There Is No Language Without Deceit.

The Close-up Has No Equivalent In A Narrative Fashioned Of Words. Literature Is Totally Lacking In Any Working Method To Enable It To Isolate A Single Vastly Enlarged Detail In Which One Face Comes Forward To Underline A State Of Mind Or Stress The Importance Of A Single Detail In Comparison With The Rest. As A Narrative Device, The Ability To Vary The Distance Between The Camera And The Object May Be A Small Thing Indeed, But It Makes For A Notable Difference Between Cinema And Oral Or Written Narrative, In Which The Distance Between Language And Image Is Always The Same.

In Abortion, The Person Who Is Massacred, Physically And Morally, Is The Woman.

You're The Sort Of Person Who, On Principle, No Longer Expects Anything Of Anything. There Are Plenty, Younger Than You Or Less Young, Who Live In The Expectation Of Extraordinary Experiences: From Books, From People, From Journeys, From Events, From What Tomorrow Has In Store. But Not You. You Know That The Best You Can Expect Is To Avoid The Worst.

The Unconscious Is The Ocean Of The Unsayable, Of What Has Been Expelled From The Land Of Language, Removed As A Result Of Ancient Prohibitions.

The Satirist Is Prevented By Repulsion From Gaining A Better Knowledge Of The World He Is Attracted To, Yet He Is Forced By Attraction To Concern Himself With The World That Repels Him.