Best 74 quotes of Johnny Rich on MyQuotes

Actors," he says, "should only be superficial on the surface.

Adam & Eve have been degraded, reduplicated forever, photocopies of photocopies, mistakes copied, magnified, augmented.

All life is preoccupied with death. Death is the only certain future. Yet in the face of reason, everyone holds out hope for the highly improbable.

A novel must be judged on its merits, not on how hard the journey was to write it.

An unpublished writer should doubt themselves. They should constantly wonder whether what they’re creating has merit. And then, having doubted, they should take up their pen and see if they can’t make it better.

Anyone can be a story. Everyone is.

As thoroughly as mankind has killed God, the reader has despatched the author.

A thrilling story can be dull if told badly, but even the most mundane event can be elevated into a tale of epic scale by a good storyteller.

Because he believed in himself, he believed what he did was important. Or maybe it was the other way around.

Being gay is not just what I do, but who I am. It is part of how I choose to live my life even if I never chose.

But why should he be open-minded when he thinks he’s right?

Can we say, in this case, that the cause of a cause is the relevant cause?

Doing nothing was as honourable as any available course of action. Think of Hamlet, think of Job, think of Jesus before Pilate.

Even Damocles developed a routine.

Everything has reasons, even if they’re not good ones. And the reasons have reasons.

For someone to be perfect, they must be real, however imperfect they are.

Genes do not make an individual homosexual. They play their part, but so does the rest of the universe.

Genes do not make you, any more than brain chemistry makes you hungry, food makes you breathe, breathing makes you die.

Good writing is more about graft and craft than inspiration and aspiration.

Grief denied will surface in borrowed clothes, the mad, sad clothes of paranoia, fear or loneliness

He did it because he could not help himself, which explains everything and nothing

He’s a typical existentialist. And that’s a contradiction in terms if ever there was one.

He showed videotape of himself committing acts of self-violence and informing news crews that he had been assaulted by a marauding mob of irate art historians.

He thought of hanging himself, to pass the time.

His suffering was no more real than he was.

I don’t see big subjects as separate from little ones. Yes, you could trudge through life with great human tragedies played out before your eyes without ever taking notice. Or you could see a universe in the smallest thing. The way a person takes their coffee, for example, might say something profound and important about that person, about all humanity, about existence itself.

I feel underslept but overjoyed. Nothing feels so good as this.

I guarantee it will change your life, but only because everything does, however small.

I know everything must be a lie, but I believe it anyway.

I’m a bit-part actor in my own life

I may not be free, but I’m not about to surrender the illusion of choice.

In every cell in every body in every living thing, strings of words make sentences, meanings locked together

Inhumanity is part of humanity as much as suffering is a part of stories. Cruelty is written in the human script.

In the chain of events, it is arbitrary to be sentimental about the passing of any one link.

Is cruelty still cruel if it is necessary? Is cruelty still cruel if it is part of a lie?

Is it murder to kill a man if the man never existed? To the man it is.

I stare out at the real world projected on the windows

Is the writer cruel that makes his characters suffer only to bring them to triumph or tragedy in the end?

It is a matter of mere coincidence that there is often a real individual who corresponds with a celebrity, signifies them.

It would be both an identical work of art only by virtue of its difference. The same but different, he suggested, like twins.

Nothing is over our heads if we hold them high enough.

Nothing’s random. Even if it looks that way, it’s just because you don’t know the causes.

One thing, however, is certain in life. No one survives it.

Publishers are businesses and I don’t blame them for that. If they didn’t make money by publishing books, there wouldn’t be any books.

Read the book of life or a life in a book: it’s all epigraphs and anagrams.

Reality, it seems, is not a flat plane, but has as many veils as an onion has skins.

Rejection is no badge of honour.

Silent is an anagram of listen.

Sometimes a butterfly flaps its wings and the weather turns out fine.

So, my sweet, did it put the fun into funeral?