martes, 20 de mayo de 2008

John Lennon Quotes

A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.

All we are saying is give peace a chance.

As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot.

Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground.

Everything is clearer when you're in love.

Guilt for being rich, and guilt thinking that perhaps love and peace isn't enough and you have to go and get shot or something.

He didn't come out of my belly, but my God, I've made his bones, because I've attended to every meal, and how he sleeps, and the fact that he swims like a fish because I took him to the ocean. I'm so proud of all those things. But he is my biggest pride.

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?

I don't believe in killing whatever the reason!

I'm not going to change the way I look or the way I feel to conform to anything. I've always been a freak. So I've been a freak all my life and I have to live with that, you know. I'm one of those people.

If being an egomaniac means I believe in what I do and in my art or music, then in that respect you can call me that... I believe in what I do, and I'll say it.

If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set, then there'd be peace.

If someone thinks that love and peace is a cliche that must have been left behind in the Sixties, that's his problem. Love and peace are eternal.

Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will be as one.

It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. You'd wake up in a concert and think, Wow, how did I get here?

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.

Love is the answer, and you know that for sure; Love is a flower, you've got to let it grow.

Music is everybody's possession. It's only publishers who think that people own it.

My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.

Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we're being run by maniacs for maniacal ends and I think I'm liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That's what's insane about it.

Possession isn't nine-tenths of the law. It's nine-tenths of the problem.

Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.

Surrealism had a great effect on me because then I realised that the imagery in my mind wasn't insanity. Surrealism to me is reality.

The basic thing nobody asks is why do people take drugs of any sort? Why do we have these accessories to normal living to live? I mean, is there something wrong with society that's making us so pressurized, that we cannot live without guarding ourselves against it?

The more I see the less I know for sure.

The postman wants an autograph. The cab driver wants a picture. The waitress wants a handshake. Everyone wants a piece of you.

The thing the sixties did was to show us the possibilities and the responsibility that we all had. It wasn't the answer. It just gave us a glimpse of the possibility.

There's nothing you can know that isn't known.

Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted.

We were all on this ship in the sixties, our generation, a ship going to discover the New World. And the Beatles were in the crow's nest of that ship.

We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it's going to get on by itself. You've got to keep watering it. You've got to really look after it and nurture it.

When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream.

Will the people in the cheaper seats clap your hands? And the rest of you, if you'll just rattle your jewelry.

Yeah we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun.

You don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. You are what you are!

You either get tired fighting for peace, or you die.

You have to be a bastard to make it, and that's a fact. And the Beatles are the biggest bastards on earth.

Apuntes para una "Elegía de Beethoven sordo"

Ese pan de su Arte
con que luego comulgan los siglos,
entre piedras de amargos dolores
salió de su alma cribado y molido.
Porque el Arte es amor, ante todo,
y, ante todo, el Amor, sacrificio...
Por eso aquel pobre organista sublime
supo de tristezas y supo de olvidos,
y de la tortura de unos lindos ojos
amados y esquivos;
y de la vergüenza de escuchar al paso
un rumor de risas tras los abanicos...
¡Por su ceño corvo, su levita vieja
y sus recios cabellos ariscos!
Pero, sobre todo, supo la amargura
de vivir prisionero de sí mismo.
¡Qué tortura aquel hambre insaciable
de armonías, cadencias y ritmos!...
¡Y no oír ni el trinar de los pájaros,
ni el gemir de las brisas, ni el rumor de los tilos!
Calle de amargura fue su vida toda,
con la cruz a cuestas hacia el sacrificio
Y estaba su alma triste
purificada ya por el martirio,
y era ya su melena altiva y bronca
de plata, como un nimbo,
cuando iba junto al Rhin, azul y manso,
a solas con su espíritu,
mirando atardecer entre los troncos
de los sauces llorones y los tilos.
Se le veía a veces detenerse
y aguzar el oído,
con desesperado y loco anhelo
de escuchar el rumor manso y continuo
que formaban las hojas de los árboles
y las aguas del río.
Inmóvil, silencioso,
en un arrobo místico,
escuchaba, escuchaba, y sonreía...
¿Acaso adivinaba aquel zumbido
del agua y de las hojas, en su alma,
que era hermana del río?
Se volvía después tarareando
un aire destemplado y sin sentido.
Y su sombra, largada en el Poniente,
con su alta "copa" y su inmenso abrigo,
cruzaba entre las sombras de los troncos
que orlaban el camino.
Y llegando a su celda miserable,
como apresado de un furor divino,
con sus manos hercúleas
golpeaba el teclado amarillo...
¡Y brotaba un rumor de agua mansa, del clave
y un murmullo de brisas entre sauces y tilos!
Todo el alma del Rhin, armonioso,
le vibraba en su alma, que era hermana del río.
José María Pemán.-