Art may varnish and gild, but it can do no more.
Culture is one thing and varnish is another.
Civilization is hideously fragile. . . there's not much between us and the Horrors underneath, just about a coat of varnish.
I shall strip away layer after layer of grime -- the toffee-colored varnish and caked soot left by a lifetime of dissembling -- until I come to the very thing itself and know it for what it is. My soul. My self.
Mom spent the time that she was supposed to be a kid actully raising children, her younger brother and younger sister. She was tough as nails and did not suffer fools at all. And the truth was she could not afford to. She spoke the truth, bluntly, directly, and without much varnish. I am her son.