For him there is no present; there is only the past of what has been formulated and seen and the future of what has been formulated and not seen. The present is surrendered to the past and the future.

A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.

They treat us the way we treat each other.

I bet Maurice Gibb&#39;s heart monitor was singing the tune of Stayin&#39; Alive.

Written By Graham Norton

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