The mill wheel turns, it turns forever, though what is uppermost remains not so.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the permanence of time and change, suggesting that while time continues to flow, the surface events may vary.
Bertolt Brecht's quote, 'The mill wheel turns, it turns forever, though what is uppermost remains not so,' highlights the relentless progression of time. The metaphor of a mill wheel indicates that while time constantly moves forward, the thoughts and concerns that occupy people's minds are often transient and subject to change, reflecting a deeper philosophical observation about the nature of reality and human perception.
In practice
During a graduation speech, to remind students about the ongoing process of life and change.
The shrill voices of those who give orders Are full of fear like the squeakings of Piglets awaiting the butcher's knife, as their fat arses Sweat with anxiety in their office chairs.... Fear rules not only those who are ruled, but The rulers too.
We need a type of theatre which not only releases the feelings, insights and impulses possible within the particular historical field of human relations in which the action takes place, but employs and encourages those thoughts and feelings which help transform the field itself.
We attacked a foreign people and treated them like rebels. As you know, it's all right to treat barbarians barbarically. It's the desire to be barbaric that makes governments call their enemies barbarians.
War is like love, it always finds a way.
Art is not a mirror held up to reality but a hammer with which to shape it.
Recently my fingers have developed a prejudice against comparatives. They all follow this pattern: a squirrel is smaller than a tree; a bird is more musical than a tree. Each of us is the strongest one in his or her own skin. Characteristics should take off their hats to one another, instead of spitting in each other's faces.
The only value of this world lay in its power - at certain times - to suggest another world.
The cause is hidden; the effect is visible to all.
Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning and Shame sits with us at night.
The letter kills the spirit. The written text is mute in the face of responding challenge. It does not admit of inward growth and correction. Text subverts the absolutely vital role of memory.
That we find a crystal or a poppy beautiful means that we are less alone, that we are more deeply inserted into existence than the course of a single life would lead us to believe.
I have firmly decided to bite the dust with a minimum of medical assistance when my time comes, and up to then to sin to my wicked heart's content.
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