G C Lichtenberg: “It is as if our languages were confounded: when we want a thought, they bring us a word; when we ask for a word, they give us a dash; and when we expect a dash, there comes a piece of bawdy.”
W H Auden: "But in my arms till break of day / Let the living creature lie. / Mortal, guilty, but to me/ The entirely beautiful."
Werner Herzog: “We are surrounded by worn-out, banal, useless and exhausted images, limping and dragging themselves behind the rest of our cultural evolution.”
John Gray: "Unlike Schopenhauer, who lamented the human lot, Leopardi believed that the best response to life is laughter. What fascinated Schopenhauer, along with many later writers, was Leopardi’s insistence that illusion is necessary to human happiness."
Art Spiegelman: "You know words in a way are hitting you on the left side of your brain, music and visual arts hit on the right side of the brain, so the idea is to pummel you, to send you from left brain to right brain and back until you're as unbalanced as I am."
विलास सारंग: "संदर्भ कुठलेही असोत, संस्कृत, इंग्रजी, बुद्धिवादी, तांत्रिक, इतिहासाचे, खगोलशास्त्राचे, आधुनिक पदार्थविज्ञानाचे, शिवकालीन व पेशवाईतील बखरीचे, अगणित ज्ञानक्षेत्रांचे, अशा वैविध्यपूर्ण ज्ञानावर लेखन- विशेषत: कवितालेखन- उभं राहत."
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I am grateful to him for the entertainment he provided. He probably was not in the same league as Johny Walker, Om Prakash, Mehmood and Kishore Kumar but was close second.
Many times I have tried to walk like him, wearing the same “stupid” smile he wore doing it. No one laughed except my mother.
I have lost the count of number of films he acted in.
Only the other day, I saw him performing in Chhoti Si Baat (1975) where he played a cameo so well that my thirteen-year-old son burst into laughing
Talk of longevity of an actor.
Whenever I saw him, I knew my money was not entirely lost. He stood his ground in the company of likes of Dev Anand (Jab Pyar Kisi Se Hota Hai, 1961) and Shammi Kapoor (An Evening in Paris, 1967) quite effortlessly.
Thank you, Mr. Nath.
Artist: C W Anderson The New Yorker 21 June 1930