Now Beppe Grillo exalts the internet's democracy with the same passion with which ten years ago he would crash a computer on stage with a bat to take position against the new modern slavery created by Gates. People applauded enraptured then as they applaud enraptured now. One applauds emphasis.
All that one should know about modern life is where the Duchesses are; anything else is quite demoralising.
Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.
It is strange how science which in the old days seemed unoffensive has become a nightmare that makes all tremble.
Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal.
The t9 is the invention of 21st the century. It saves you a lot of time and gives you lot of laughter, because when you want to write a word it understands another, that sometimes is the opposite one. For example when I must write "excuse", the word that appears is "fear". It's a singular coincidence, because when I must say sorry for something I have always a great fear.
The one thing we're all waiting for is peace on earth - an end to war It's a miracle we need. The miracle, the miracle we're all waiting for today.
Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand where we had left them, and beside them lies the half-cut book that we had been studying, or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or the letter that we had been afraid to read, or that we had read too often. Nothing seems to us changed. Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain.
Because there are tens of thousands of Osama Bin Ladens by now, and they're not only in Afghanistan or in other Arabic countries. They're everywhere, and the most hardened ones are right in the Western world. In our cities, in our roads, in our universities, in the ganglions of technology. That technology that any dolt can handle. The Crusade has been in progress for some time. It works like a Swiss watch, sustained by a faith and a malice comparable only to the faith and malice of Torquemada when he led the Inquisition. The fact is that dealing with them is impossible. Reasoning, unthinkable. Treating them with indulgence, tolerance or hope, suicide. Whoever thinks differently is deluded.
The basis of all social life here is that it is founded on the premise that man doesn't think.