The final act opens; colors, shades, tones, intonations, unreal hues plucked from some dream, some summer night. Along for the ride, willing or less so. A great view for the fireworks, I hear they're alleged to be good this year. The unspoken crescendo and unremarked whimper in the backroom with highballs rolling a pair of dice between them to determine who gets bumped. So where all were we thinking to stroll when this shindig is over?
"If you leave your art, the world will beat you back to it. The world has not an ambition worth sharing, or a prize worth handling. Corrupt successes, disgraceful failures, or sheeplike vegetation are all it has to offer. I prefer Art, which gives me a sixth sense of beauty, with self-respect: perhaps also an immortal reputation in return for honest endeavour in a labour of love."
"The way to deal with worldly people is to frighten them by repeating their scandalous whisperings aloud."
G. B. Shaw