The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks.
Oscar WildeAbout author
- Author's profession: Playwright, Writer, Poet
- Nationality: irish
- Born: October 16, 1854
- Died: November 30, 1900
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Ponyboy, listen, don't get tough. You're not like the rest of us and don't try to be..."What was the matter with Two-Bit? I knew as well as he did that if you got tough you didn't get hurt. Get smart and nothing can touch you..."What in the world are you doing?" Two-Bit's voice broke into my thoughts. I looked up at him. "Picking up the glass."He stared at me for a second, then grinned. "You little sonofagun," he said in a relieved voice. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I just...
S. E. Hinton
Nothing can make self-immolation proper. Nothing can give them the right to turn men into sacrificial animals. Nothing can make it moral to destroy the best. One can't be punished for being good. One can't be penalized for ability. If that is right, then we'd better start slaughtering one another, because there isn't any right at all in the world!
Ayn Rand