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The filming was interrupted at one point by an old man walking his dog, looking for driftwood. [David] Mallet asked him if he wouldn’t mind moving, and pointed out Bowie sitting outside the catering van. ‘Do you know who this is’ he asked? Sharp as a tack, the old man responded with, ‘Of course I do. It’s some cunt in a clown suit.’ Sometime later, Bowie remembered, ‘That was a huge moment for me. It put me back in my place and made me realise, “Yes, I’m just a cunt in a clown suit.”’ [Fra innspillingen av «Ashes to Ashes»-videoen.]

Steve Strange: I ran a very tight ship in terms of my door policy. I wanted creative-minded pioneers there who looked like a walking piece of art, not some drunken, beery lads. The best move I made was turning Mick Jagger away at the door. He was wearing trainers.

Malcolm McLaren: Rotten had terrible shoulders. Round and flabby Irish shoulders. And his body was the shape of a pear. But in the clothes that we gave him he always looked wonderful. He was a wonderful mannequin for the clothes that Vivienne [Westwood] and I designed for him. He complained about them, of course. I sold a lot of trousers off the back of Johnny Rotten.

Nå ser hun alt som hadde vært gjemt. Nå ser hun alt hun hadde glemt. Nå åpner alt seg for henne og gir henne en klem. Nå ser hun alt hun forsatt hadde igjen.

Much better such a hereafter than the harping and adoration of the Christian Heaven! And by and by we could descend, hand in hand, to the third level of the Underworld, where the ancients gossiped in Leva's House of a Thousand Posts; where Taro grew to maturity overnight and fish leaped from the sea to fill one's canoe; where the souls of dead children played on the grassy knolls; where there were places of love more inviting than the places of the upper world; and where the strange Godess Leva plaited in her mat figures symbolic of the earthly life of each spirit.

For det du føler inni deg, vil gjenspeiles i forholdene du har til andre.

Det gjør vondt å gi slipp men noen ganger gjør det faktisk vondere å holde fast.

Jeg har alltid vært jenta som faller hardt når jeg først faller. Faller, elsker og knuses hardt.

Men en av de viktigste leksene jeg har lært, er at selv på ditt absolutt beste vil du fremdeles ikke være god nok for personen som er feil for deg.

I see these distinctions in a way I was unable to twenty years back, because I was caught up in a narrow margin among people who read only a handful of books, and of a certain kind: Nelson Algren’s The Man with the Golden Arm, The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll, some Bukowski, some Burroughs, You Can’t Win by Jack Black, and [Denis] Johnson’s 1992 story collection Jesus’ Son. We were young bohemians who thought you were supposed to live like that.

It seemed like my parents were always trying to get me to care about money, but I didn't, really. Then again, it's easy to say you don't care about money when you have plenty of it.

Jeg vil da reflektere over de kulturelle forskjellenes natur, slik de blir konstruert i ulike diskurser, og jeg bør nok begynne med å advare om at jeg kommer til å bruke termen diskurs ad nauseam for noen.

Morfar sa att [Ingmar] Bergman var en borgerlig kverulant, orädd för avföring men feg för politik. Visst, sa pappa, det förstår sig mästerregissören på. Och pattar.

The biggest name to emerge from the New York scene was Moby, who in 1991 had reached No. 10 on the British chart with a rave-inspired dance track called “Go”. (This was a kind of triple crossover: a British hit by an American producer inspired by a British scene built on an American genre.)

But I can’t help but wince when people talk about hip-hop as the high-minded, Pulitzer Prize-winning genre they feel it should be, rather than the rowdy and messy genre it usually has been. And I wince partly because I’m not sure that a purely high-minded version of hip-hop would have lasted so long, or spread so far, or inspired so many. Kendrick Lamar’s rhymes are studied in school—quite rightly, too. But surely hip-hop benefits from the continuing existence of rappers whose music doesn’t sound remotely like homework.

But nowadays, rock history seems not linear, but cyclical. There is no grand evolution, just an endless process of rediscovery and reappraisal, as various styles and poses go in and out of fashion.

Elton John was also an exception in another respect: unlike most of the glitter-rock stars, he was not a traditional heartthrob. In 1974, he was described by NME as a ”balding, bespectacled plumpoid”.

In the 2010s, rock music in America—real, loud rock music, not some gentle or artsy variant of it, played by new or newish bands and not elderly veterans—was alive but relatively obscure, at least when compared to hip-hop or pop.

Jeg elsker dette stedet; for meg er det begynnelsen og slutten på alt, og alle andre steder føles som ingensteds.

Alle stader eg har vore, byar og tettstader eg har besøkt, er fulle av svarte flekkar. Fingeravtrykk, fotspor og skit. Eg har drege med meg sjukdommen inn i rørande møblerte heimar, med på familiebesøk og feriar. Det skitne og ekle har kravla inn i sofakrokar og gjestesengety, kor det ikkje høyrer heime, kor det aldri var min rett å plassere det. Overalt eg snur meg, ser eg skabb, infeksjon, galle, ei gul åre gjennom menneske og minne. Eg er så lei meg.