Anger I am often mad, but I would hate to be nothing but mad: and I think I would lose what little value I may have as a writer if I were to refuse, as a matter of principle, to accept the warming rays of the sun, and to report them, whenever, and if ever, they happen to strike me. E. B. White (1899–1985), U.S. author, editor. Interview in Writers at Work (Eighth Series, ed. by George Plimpton, 1988). +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Passion Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within. George Meredith (1828–1909), English author. Modern Love, Sonnet 43 (1862). +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Aesthetics I hate that aesthetic game of the eye and the mind, played by these connoisseurs, these mandarins who “appreciate” beauty. What is beauty, anyway? There’s no such thing. I never “appreciate,” any more than I “like.” I love or I hate. Pablo Picasso (1881–1973), Spanish artist. Quoted in: Françoise Gilot and Carlton Lake, Life with Picasso, pt
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