“Who killed Davey Moore, Why an’ what’s the reason for? ”Not me, “ says the boxing writer, Pounding print on his old typewriter, Sayin’, “Boxing ain’t to blame, There’s just as much danger in a football game.” Sayin’, “Fist fighting is here to stay, It’s just the old American way. It wasn’t me that made him fall. No, you can’t blame me at all.” Who killed Davey Moore, Why an’ what’s the reason for?”
— Bob Dylan
“You can play with all the toys of cinema, spend millions and millions of dollars of other people’s money, have all the agencies and studios lick your balls, all the likes and views your ego can possibly consume, but unless you reach an emotional place within the viewer of your work, you have not succeeded in your craft.”
— Anonymous
“Although I spent hours each day, alone and silent, attached to a laptop, it felt as if I were in a constant cacophonous crowd of words and images, sounds and ideas, emotions and tirades — a wind tunnel of deafening, deadening noise. So much of it was irresistible, as I fully understood. So much of the technology was irreversible, as I also knew. But I’d begun to fear that this new way of living was actually becoming a way of not-living.”
