“I have always disbelieved that Sicilian saying about revenge being a dish best served cold. I feel that—don’t you?—when I see blinking, quivering octogenarian Nazi war criminals being led away in chains. Why not then? It’s too late now. I want to see them taken back in time and punished then […] Blame, certainly, is a dish only edible when served fresh and warm. Old blames, grudges and scores congeal and curdle and cause the most terrible indigestion.” — Moab Is My Washpot

 posted 1 year ago · 120 notes
#Moab Is My Washpot

“While on the subject of intelligence, I have to say that I have never found it an appealing quality in anyone and therefore have never expected anyone to find it appealing in me. It grieves me deeply that many people who think me intelligent or believe that I fancy myself intelligent or have read somewhere that some journalist has described me as such, expect me to judge others by intelligence. The number of times strangers have opened conversations with me in this manner…
‘Of course, I’m no brain-box like you…’
‘I know I’m only stupid, but…’
Or worse still, ‘Don’t you ever find it rather dull being surrounded by actors for so much of the time? I mean let’s face it, most of them are thick as two short planks.’
I just don’t know where to begin with this kind of talk.
Even were it true that most actors are stupid, and it isn’t, the idea that I might project myself as the kind of person who looks for intelligence in others as an index of value sends the creepiest of shivers down my spine. I might use long words from time to time and talk rapidly or name-drop culturally here and there and display any number of other silly donnish affectations, but if this gives the impression that I might admire a similar manner,or nature in others, then it makes me just want to go ‘bibbly-bobbly-bubbly-snibbly wib-wib floppit’ for the rest of my life, read nothing but Georgette Heyer, watch nothing but Emmerdale, do nothing but play snooker, take coke and get drunk and use no words longer than ‘wanker’ and ‘cunt’.” — Moab Is My Washpot

“I never quite understood the “though.” It is hard to parse. I suppose it serves the office of what the Germans call a flick word. It does something to the sentence, but it is hard to tell precisely what. I do know that Mrs. Croote could no more say, “Isn’t nature wonderful?” without adding a “though” on the end than Tony Blair, bless him, could reply to a journalistic question without prefacing his answer with the word “Look.”” — Moab is My Washpot

“Come on, let’s just turn on our heels and leave this place. What does it hold for you? There’s nothing here for me. We’ll walk along the road to the end of town and, in the end, someone will give us a lift to London. We will survive there. Whom else do we need but each other? Me with my quick wits, you with your quick body. We could find work doing something. Painting, decorating, stacking shelves. Enough to buy a flat. I could write poetry in my spare time and you would make pots and play the piano in bars. In the evenings we could lie by each other’s side on a sofa and just be. I would stroke your hair with my fingers, and maybe our lips would touch in a kiss. Why not? Why not?” — Moab is My Washpot

“People who can change and change again are so much more reliable and happier than those who can’t.” — Moab Is My Washpot

“Nowadays a lot of what was wrong with me would no doubt be ascribed to Attention Deficit Disorder, tartrazine food colouring, dairy produce and air pollution. A few hundred years earlier it would have been demons, still the best analogy I think, but not much help when it comes to a cure” — Moab Is My Washpot

“I don’t know if you have ever taken LSD, but when you do so the doors of perception, as Aldous Huxley, Jim Morrison and their adherents ceaselessly remind us, swing open wide. That is actually the sort of phrase, unless you are William Blake, that only makes sense when there is some LSD actually swimming about inside you. In the cold light of the cup of coffee and banana sandwich that are beside me now it appears to be nonsense, but I expect you know what it is taken to mean. LSD reveals the whatness of things, their quiddity, their essence. The wateriness of water is suddenly revealed to you, the carpetness of carpets, the woodness of wood, the yellowness of yellow, the fingernailness of fingernails, the allness of all, the nothingness of all, the allness of nothing. For me music gives access to every one of these essences of existence, but at a fraction of the social or financial cost of a drug and without the need to cry “Wow!” all the time, which is one of LSD’s most distressing and least endearing side-effects.” — Moab is My Washpot

“No adolescent ever wants to be understood, which is why they complain about being misunderstood all the time.” — Moab Is My Washpot

“I used many times to touch my own chest and feel, under its asthmatic quiver, the engine of the heart and lungs and blood and feel amazed at what I sensed was the enormity of the power I possessed. Not magical power, but real power. The power simply to go on, the power to endure, that is power enough, but I felt I had also the power to create, to add, to delight, to amaze and to transform.” — Moab Is My Washpot

Moab is My Washpot

Moab is My Washpot

 posted 2 years ago · 247 notes
#Moab is My Washpot