To his dog, every man is Napoleon; hence the constant popularity of dogs.
Aldous HuxleyRead
"But that's the price we have to pay for stability. You've got to choose between happiness and what people used to call high art. We've sacrificed the high art.
Interpretation
This quote suggests that the pursuit of stability often comes at the cost of genuine happiness and artistic expression.
Aldous Huxley reflects on the trade-offs society makes in the name of stability, indicating that personal happiness may be sacrificed for the sake of adhering to high art standards, which can feel unattainable or irrelevant in pursuit of a stable life. This prompts a critical examination of what we value more—our emotional well-being or the complexities and challenges of artistic achievement.
In practice
In a discussion about the sacrifices artists make, this quote illuminates the balance between stability and creative expression.
To his dog, every man is Napoleon; hence the constant popularity of dogs.
Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.
In the course of history many more people have died for their drink and their dope than have died for their religion or their country.
On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.
No man ever dared to manifest his boredom so insolently as does a Siamese tomcat when he yawns in the face of his amorously importunate wife.
The leech's kiss, the squid's embrace, The prurient ape's defiling touch: And do you like the human race? No, not much.
Poetry is a process of getting back to the unconscious. Hence, I am always writing-even when I'm not facing the white space. I feel writers are like reservoirs of images. We take in what is around us.
'Art or anti-art?' was the question I asked when I returned from Munich in 1912 and decided to abandon pure painting or painting for its own sake. I thought of introducing elements alien to painting as the only way out of a pictorial and chromatic dead end.
Good actors I've worked with all started out making faces in a mirror, and you keep making faces all your life.
As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book.
Good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright.
I enjoy cooking with wine, sometimes I even put it in the food I'm cooking.
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