Eurovision Song Contest Quotes

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But in the Petit Palais, which Daphne had not visited in thirty years, Roland had what she liked to call ‘a moment’. He retired early from the paintings and waited in the main hall. After she had joined him and they were walking away he let rip. He said that if he ever had to look at one more Madonna and Child, Crucifixion, Assumption, Annunciation and all the rest he would ‘throw up’. Historically, he announced, Christianity had been the cold dead hand on the European imagination. What a gift, that its tyranny had expired. What looked like piety was enforced conformity within a totalitarian mind-state. To question or defy it in the sixteenth century would have been to take your life in your hands. Like protesting against Socialist Realism in Stalin’s Soviet Union. It was not only science that Christianity had obstructed for fifty generations, it was nearly all of culture, nearly all of free expression and enquiry. It buried the open-minded philosophies of classical antiquity for an age, it sent thousands of brilliant minds down irrelevant rabbit holes of pettifogging theology. It had spread its so-called Word by horrific violence and it maintained itself by torture, persecution and death. Gentle Jesus, ha! Within the totality of human experience of the world there was an infinity of subject matter and yet all over Europe the big museums were stuffed with the same lurid trash. Worse than pop music. It was the Eurovision Song Contest in oils and gilt frames. Even as he spoke he was amazed by the strength of his feelings and the pleasure of release. He was talking – exploding – about something else. What a relief it was, he said as he began to cool down, to see a representation of a bourgeois interior, of a loaf of bread on a board beside a knife, of a couple skating on a frozen canal hand in hand, trying to seize a moment of fun ‘while the fucking priest wasn’t looking. Thank God for the Dutch!
Ian McEwan (Lessons)
What a disaster that was. I was utterly dismayed at the thought that I might take a wrong decision and perhaps miss out on marrying the one and only unique person in the cosmos that God had selected for me, who might be a mustachioed Christian goat-herd called Brawn Hilda living on the windswept hills of Estonia. If I messed up, not only would I be condemned to a ‘second choice’ marriage, but poor old Brawn Hilda would be consigned to a dull life watching goats swanning around (maybe that should be goating around) and reading Leviticus for slaughtering tips, her only joy the sight of her country occasionally winning the Eurovision Song Contest.
Adrian Plass (Seriously Funny: Life, Love & God...Musings Between Two Good Friends)