Hay dos indicaciones muy claras de la ciencia real y el arte real: el primer signo interno es que un erudito o un artista no trabaja con fines de lucro, sino para el sacrificio, para su vocación; el segundo signo externo es que sus obras son comprensibles para todas las personas. La ciencia real estudia y hace accesible ese conocimiento que la gente de ese período de la historia considera importante, y el arte real transfiere esta verdad del dominio del conocimiento al dominio de los sentimientos.
Crear arte no es algo tan elevado como muchas personas creen, pero ciertamente es algo útil y amable de hacer, especialmente si une a las personas y despierta sentimientos amables en ellos.
""El deseo sexual, si es recíproco, origina un complot de dos personas que hace frente al resto de los complots que hay en el mundo. Es una conspiración de dos. El plan es ofrecer al otro un respiro ante el dolor del mundo. No la felicidad sino un descanso físico ante la enorme responsabilidad de los cuerpos hacia el dolor.
En todo deseo hay tanta compasión como apetito. Sea cual sea la proporción, las dos cosas se ensartan juntas. El deseo es inconcebible sin una herida. Si hubiera alguien sin heridas en este mundo, viviría sin deseo.
El deseo anhela proteger al cuerpo deseado de la tragedia que encarna y, lo que es más, se cree capaz. La conspiración consiste en crear juntos un espacio, un lugar, necesariamente temporal, para eximirse de la herida incurable de la carne. Ese lugar es el interior del otro cuerpo. La conspiración consiste en deslizarse al interior del otro, allí donde no se les pueda encontrar. El deseo es un intercambio de escondites”".
Words in papers, words in books Words on TV, words for crooks Words of comfort, words of peace Words to make the fighting cease Words to tell you what to do Words are working hard for you Eat your words but don't go hungry Words have always nearly hung me
What are words worth? What are words worth? Words
Words of nuance, words of skill And words of romance are a thrill Words are stupid, words are fun Words can put you on the run Mots pressez, mots sensez Mots qui disent la vit? Mots maudits, mots mentis Mots qui manquent le fruit d'ésprit
What are words worth? What are words worth? Words
Its a rap race, with a fast pace Concrete words, abstract words Crazy words and lying words Hazy words and dying words Words of faith, tell me straight Rare words and swear words Good words and bad words
What are words worth? What are words worth? Words
What are words worth? What are words worth? Words
Words can make you pay and pay Four-letter words I cannot say Panty, toilet, dirty devil Words are trouble, words are subtle Words of anger, words of hate Words over here, words out there In the air and everywhere Words of wisdom, words of strife Words that write the book I like
Words won't find a right solution To the planet Earth's pollution Say the right word, make a million Words are like a certain person Who can't say what they mean Don't mean what they say
A rap rap here and a rap rap there Here rap, there rap Everywhere a rap rap Rap it up for the common good Let us enlist the neighborhood It's okay, I've over stood This is a wordy rapping hood, okay, bye What are words worth? What are words worth? Words What are words worth? What are words worth? Words He don't stop He don't stop He don't stop Don't stop
On lead-poisoned wings -- you try to sing Freak beak shrieks are thrown -- at your confusing hue The peacock screaming eyes -- show no mercy no mercy Painted bird -- it's absurd Just a tainted bird -- hurting their twisted nerve Painted bird -- it's absurd Just a tainted bird -- hurting their twisted nerve The flock will make you choke -- on this sadistic joke And the whippoorwills -- they make a din In laughing unison -- you're hitchcock carrion In laughing unison -- you're hitchcock carrion Carry on Painted bird -- it's absurd Just a tainted bird -- hurting their twisted nerve Painted bird -- it's absurd Just a tainted bird -- hurting their twisted nerve I hear your sorrow -- maybe tomorrow You'll lose your sorrow When a fated weather will cleanse away That painted feather -- and all that sorrow, sorrow, sorrow A coquette in fur purr for the painted bird Confound that dowdy flock -- with a sharp-honed nerve Because we're painted birds by our own design By our own design And there's no more sorrow Have you heard -- about the painted bird Just a tainted bird -- hurting their twisted nerve We've lost our sorrow -- now it's tomorrow No need to hide your feather until a fated weather No more sorrow, sorrow, we've lost our sorrow Now we're painted birds -- mocking that twisted nerve It's absurd...
