while upon the shaded top of the box, drawn in perspective, the artist had pictured a plate with the beautifully executed, twin-lobed, brainlike, halved kernel of a walnut.

[…] I believe that it is mistaken to maintain that the language of ideology is a discrete ‘sociolect’, a sort of meta-language which draws upon but remains distinct from the language of everyday life.

The cases of Telemann, Mozart, and Mendelssohn, who, in their befrocked childhood, threw off sonatas and fugues to the amazement of those who best knew the depth and breadth of the faculty required for their production, are full of curious psychological interest […]

By turning in that one assignment, you may have won the battle, but you never turned anything else in, so in the end you lost the war.