Harry Barton: Clever sod, aren't you? I expect they think the sun shines out of you down at Oxford. Nigel Barton. Up. Harry Barton: What? Nigel Barton. Up, dad. Up. Harry Barton: Aye, and up you, too! Nigel Barton: Everyone says 'Up at Oxford'. You come 'down' when you've finished there. Harry Barton: Well, what's this then? Does bloody Oxford move up and down the bloody map then?
Dennis PotterRelated topics
aye barton everyone expect move oxford sod sun think well nigelRelated quotes
Surely, Shakespeare is wicked and the map a bad example
With ships and sun and love tempting them to steal -
For lives that slyly turn in their cramped holes
From fog to endless night? On their slag heap, these children
Wear skins peeped through by bones and spectacles of steel
With mended glass, like bottle bits on stones.
All of their time and space are foggy slum.
So blot their maps with slums as big as doom.
Stephen Spender
In the bathtub. My dad came in and said, "Guess who they want to play Harry Potter?" I think I said the name of another actor, because I was sure it wasn't me. Then he said, "No, it's you," and I started to cry with joy. That night, I woke up at 2 in the morning and woke up mom and dad and asked, "Am I dreaming? Will I really play Harry Potter?"
Daniel Radcliffe
It may be expecting too much to expect most intellectuals to have common sense, when their whole life is based on their being uncommon -- that is, saying things that are different from what everyone else is saying. There is only so much genuine originality in anyone. After that, being uncommon means indulging in pointless eccentricities or clever attempts to mock or shock.
Thomas Sowell
Social media is itself as temporary as any social gathering, nightclub or party. It's the people that matter, not the venue. So when the trend leaders of one social niche or another decide the place everyone is socializing has lost its luster or, more important, its exclusivity, they move on to the next one, taking their followers with them.
Douglas Rushkoff
The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.
John Muir
