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Quote by Eric Gill

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Eric Gill
Eric Gill

Eric Gill, born on February 22, 1882, was a renowned typeface creator from the United Kingdom. His works have had a profound impact on modern typography, particularly his sans-serif fonts. Gill's contributions to typography have made him one of the most important type designers of the 20th century. more

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“P.S.2. During the day, they are drilling us on passwords we will need in the jungle in case we run into a Japanese spy dressed like a USMC. One of them was "Who lost game 4 of the 1941 W. Series?" Half the guys said "Brooklyn" and the other half said "Mickey Owen" and the third half said "Tommy Henrich". Then some fist fights happened so they scrapped the question. But I told you so.”

“Mon dieu! — George Mallory! When that’s been written, what more need be said? My hand trembles, my heart palpitates, my whole being swoons away at the words — oh heavens! heavens! I found of course that he’d been absurdly maligned — he’s six foot high, with the body of an athlete by Praxiteles, and a face — ah, incredible — the mystery of Botticelli, the refinement and delicacy of a Chinese print, the youth and piquancy of an unimaginable English boy . . . . For the rest, he’s going to be a schoolmaster, and his intelligence is not remarkable. What’s the need?”

“Have you been reading the letters of Rosa Luxemburg again, Donatella?’ Brunetti asked in a normal voice. She laughed her bright laugh, a sound he delighted in hearing because to be thought clever or amusing by this woman was, to Brunetti, a jewel of great price. ‘No dear, not recently. Besides, they’re very serious and filled with lofty thoughts about the inner contradictions of capitalism, and I’m too old to enjoy reading things like that.’ She gave him a level glance as though she were testing how far she could go – the same look he had sometimes been given by her daughter – and added, ‘And too rich.’ This time it was Brunetti who laughed.”

“In retrospect it is scarcely believable that insulting letters passing between obscure people in a small town should result in four assize trials and two Court of Criminal Appeal hearings, and claim the time of a distinguished Scotland Yard officer, the Director of Public Prosecutions, and the senior Treasury Counsel.”

“Go on, my dear," urges the snake. "Take one. Hear it? 'Pluck me,' it's saying. That big, shiny red one. 'Pluck me, pluck me now and pluck me hard.' You know you want to." "But God," quotes Eve, putting out feelers for an agent provacateur, clever girl, "expressly forbids us to eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge." "Ah yessssss, God ... But God gave us life, did He not? And God gave us desire, did He not? And God gave us taste, did He not? And who else but God made the damned apples in the first place? So what else is life for but to tassste the fruit we desire?" Eve folds her arms schoolgirlishly. "God expressly forbade it. Adam said." The snake grins through his fangs, admiring Eve's playacting. "God is a nice enough chap in His way. I daresay He means well. But between you and The Tree of Knowledge, He is terribly insecure." "Insecure? He made the entire bloody universe! He's omnipotent." "Exactly! Almost neurotic, isn't it? All this worshiping, morning, noon, and night. It's 'Oh Praise Him, Oh Praise Him, Oh Praise the Everlassssting Lord.' I don't call that omnipotent. I call it pathetic. Most independent authorities agree that God has never sufficiently credited the work of virtual particles in the creation of the universssse. He raises you and Adam on this diet of myths while all the really interesting information is locked up in these juicy apples. Seven days? Give me a break.”