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The pattern of a newspaperman's life is like the plot of 'Black Beauty.' Sometimes he finds a kind master who gives him a dry stall and an occasional bran mash in the form of a Christmas bonus, sometimes he falls into the hands of a mean owner who drives him in spite of spavins and expects him to live on potato peelings.
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Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
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The hand is no different from what it creates.
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I was singing in a mall, and I picked a girl to come up onstage with me. As I was grabbing her hand, I fell off the stage. It felt like I was in the air forever, flying like Superman.
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We cannot take one step in geology without drawing upon the fathomless stores of by-gone time.
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I had drawings that were the first time that mathematics was put into visual form.
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Iwas a sculptor.Butthat'sreallydrawinga drawing you fall over in the dark, a three-dimensional drawing.
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The activities of drawing, eating and drinking, all involve assimilations by the self of desirable elements from the world, a transfer of goodness from without to within.
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When I make my drawings... the path traced by my pencil on the sheet of paper is, to some extent, analogous to the gesture of a man groping his way in the darkness.
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I've been fifty thousand times to the Louvre. I have copied everything in drawing, trying to understand.
