The Gross National Product measures everything except that which makes life worthwhile
By the early seventies I had become an Englishman - that is to say, I hated England just as much as half my compatriots seemed to do.
And it isn't that I'm so unhappy I don't want to live anymore. That's not what it feels like. It feels more like I'm tired and bored and the party's gone on too long and I want to go home. I feel flat and there doesn't seem to be anything to look forward to, so I'd rather call it a day.
It's brilliant, being depressed; you can behave as badly as you like.
It's just that romance, with its dips and turns and glooms and highs, its swoops and swoons and blues, is a natural metaphor for music itself
There isn't so much to be afraid of, out there. I can remember thinking it was funny to find that out, on the last night of my life; I'd spent the rest of it being afraid of everything.
Have you got any soul?" a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues.
Who would have ever thought I'd find love, contentment and joy in a prison cell, but I did. I knew that I knew that I knew that day, I'd been released, and I thought to myself, "I need to tell everyone about this" because no one had ever told me.
Even in such a time of madness as the late twenties, a great many man in Wall Street remained quite sane. But they also remained very quiet. The sense of responsibility in the financial community for the community as a whole is not small. It is nearly nil. Perhaps this is inherent. In a community where the primary concern is making money, one of the necessary rules is to live and let live. To speak out against madness may be to ruin those who have succumbed to it. So the wise in Wall Street are nearly always silent. The foolish thus have the field to themselves. None rebukes them.
What counts is art. painting, a kind of painting that is quite different from what everyone makes it out to be. But what kind? Will God or someone else give me the strength to breathe the breath of prayer and mourning into my paintings, the breath of prayer for redemption and resurrection?
After writing several Nutbrown Hare stories, I thought: what might happen when a little hare begins to explore the space around him? (Think of rivers, mountains, fields and trees!) Will there be fun? Oh yes. Will there be trouble ahead? Could be. For you, here are some of the adventures of Little Nutbrown Hare.