We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.
J. B. PriestleyRead
A novelist who writes nothing for 10 years finds his reputation rising. Because I keep on producing books they say there must be something wrong with this fellow.
Interpretation
Reputation can be paradoxical; inactivity might enhance it, while consistent output may lead to scrutiny.
This quote highlights the irony of how public perception works in the literary world. J. B. Priestley suggests that a novelist's lack of productivity can create an air of mystery and intrigue, leading to a rising reputation, whereas an active writer may face doubts about the quality or merit of their work. It reflects on society's tendency to value scarcity and the perception of uniqueness over consistent creation.
In practice
In a discussion about artistic integrity, this quote could illustrate how society values mystery over constant output.
We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.
But some of us are beginning to pull well away, in our irritation, from...the exquisite tasters, the vintage snobs, the three-star Michelin gourmets. There is, we feel, a decent area somewhere between boiled carrots and Beluga caviare, sour plonk and Chateau Lafitte, where we can take care of our gullets and bellies without worshipping them.
Much of writing might be described as mental pregnancy with successive difficult deliveries.
There is romance, the genuine glinting stuff, in typewriters, and not merely in their development from clumsy giants into agile dwarfs, but in the history of their manufacture, which is filled with raids, battles, lonely pioneers, great gambles, hope, fear, despair, triumph. If some of our novels could be written by the typewriters instead of on them, how much better they would be.
We plan, we toil, we suffer - in the hope of what? A camel-load of idol's eyes? The title deeds of Radio City? The empire of Asia? A trip to the moon? No, no, no, no. Simply to wake just in time to smell coffee and bacon and eggs.
No matter how piercing and appalling his insights, the desolation_x000D_ creeping over his outer world, the lurid lights and shadows of his inner_x000D_ world, the writer must live with hope, work in faith
Everything might scatter. You might be right. I suppose it's something we can't easily get away from. People need to feel they belong. To a nation, to a race. Otherwise, who knows what might happen? This civilisation of ours, perhaps it'll just collapse. And everything scatter, as you put it.
I've tried to believe, but I don't, I can't, and there's no use pretending.
Not one of them who took up in his youth with this opinion that there are no gods ever continued until old age faithful to his conviction.
The dogma of woman's complete historical subjection to men must be rated as one of the most fantastic myths ever created by the human mind.
For one who is indifferent, life itself is a prison. Any sense of community is external or, even worse, nonexistent. Thus, indifference means solitude. Those who are indifferent do not see others. They feel nothing for others and are unconcerned with what might happen to them. They are surrounded by a great emptiness. Filled by it, in fact. They are devoid of all hope as well as imagination. In other words, devoid of any future.
A constitution is not the act of a government, but of a people constituting a government; and government without a constitution is power without a right. All power exercised over a nation, must have some beginning. It must be either delegated, or assumed. There are not other sources. All delegated power is trust, and all assumed power is usurpation. Time does not alter the nature and quality of either.
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