O, to bring back the great Homeric time, The simple manners and the deed sublime: When the wise Wanderer, often foiled by Fate, Through the long furrow drave the ploughshare straight.
On the first night it was on telly, Channel 4 had 17 complaints.
Coo. . . coo. . . here comes the dove from above!
D'you know, I put so much petrol in me car the other day, I couldn't get in!
. . . so now, Mrs. Ramsay thought, she could return to that dream land, that unreal but fascinating place, the Manning's drawing-room at Marlow twenty years ago; where one moved about without haste or anxiety, for there was no future to worry about. She knew what had happened to them, what to her. It was like reading a good book again, for she knew the end of that story, since it had happened twenty years ago, and life, which shot down even from this dining-room table in cascades, heaven knows where, was sealed up there, and lay, like a lake, placidly between its banks.
I was with PolyGram; that was the big label that I was with for the longest, like 12 years.
Well, the past is gone, I know that. The future isn't here yet, whatever it's going to be. So, all there is, is this. The present. That's it.
We hate most in others what we dislike in ourselves.