119 ordspråk av William S. Burroughs
William S. Burroughs
Love? What is it? Most natural painkiller. What there is . . . LOVE.
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Madness is confusion of levels of fact. . . . Madness is not seeing visions but confusing levels.
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Man has sold his soul for time, language, tools, weapons, and dominance.
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Man is an artifact designed for space travel. He is not designed to remain in his present biologic state any more than a tadpole is designed to remain a tadpole.
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Most of the trouble in this world has been caused by folks who can't mind their own business, because they have no business of their own to mind, any more than a smallpox virus has.
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My experience as an addict was very useful to me as writer: the whole syndrome of addiction and withdrawal and the extensions of that and other forms of addiction. It gave me a great deal of material. A writer can profit by something that someone else may not be able to profit from at all. Yet they were very disagreeable experiences. Very boring experiences.
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My general theory since 1971 has been that the word is literally a virus, and that it has not been recognized as such because it has achieved a state of relatively stable symbiosis with its human host; that is to say, the word virus (the Other Half) has established itself so firmly as an accepted part of the human organism that it can now sneer at gangster viruses like smallpox and turn them in to the Pasteur Institute.
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My purpose in writing has always been to express human potentials and purposes relevant to the Space Age.
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NAKED Lunch -- a frozen moment when everyone sees what is on the end of every fork.
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Never give succor to the mentally ill; it is a bottomless pit.
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No atomic physicist has to worry, people will always want to kill other people on a mass scale. Sure, he's got the fridge full of sausages and spring water.
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No job too dirty for the scientists.
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No worse fate can befall a man than to be surrounded by traitor souls.
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Nothing exists until or unless it is observed. An artist is making something exist by observing it. And his hope for other people is that they will also make it exist by observing it. I call it 'creative observation.' Creative viewing.
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Now what sort of man or woman or monster would stroke a centipede I have ever seen? ''And here is my good big centipede!'' If such a man exists, I say kill him without more ado. He is a traitor to the human race.
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