Paul Keating Quotes

He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up.

At some point you have to set aside snobbery and what you think is culture and recognize that any random episode of Friends is probably better, more uplifting for the human spirit, than ninety-nine percent of the poetry or drama or fiction or history every published. Think of that. Of course yes, Tolstoy and of course yes Keats and blah blah and yes indeed of course yes. But we're living in an age that has a tremendous richness of invention. And some of the most inventive people get no recognition at all. They get tons of money but not recognition as artists. Which is probably much healthier for them and better for their art.

We are aware that a civilization has the same fragility as a life. The circumstances that could send the works of Keats and Baudelaire to join the works of Menander are no longer inconceivable; they are in the newspapers.

The good news is I've already outlived two Brontës, Keats, and Stephen Crane. The bad news is that I haven't written anything.

Are you saved?” asks the fundamentalist. “I am redeemed,” answers the Catholic, “and like the apostle Paul I am working out my salvation in fear and trembling, with hopeful confidence—but not with a false assurance—and I do all this as the Church has taught, unchanged, from the time of Christ.

The Theory of Intuition in Husserl’s Phenomenology. Books still came with their leaves uncut. Sartre tore the edges of Levinas’ book open without waiting to use a paperknife, and began reading as he walked down the street. He could have been Keats, encountering Chapman’s translation of Homer: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies, When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star’d at the Pacific — and all his men Look’d at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Australia, as its most viciously eloquent prime minister, Paul Keating, once pointed out, “is the arse end of the world”. So what inspired Great Britain to select distant Botany Bay as the outhouse of its empire? Let’s start with tea.

If one takes pride in one's craft, you won't let a good thing die. Risking it through not pushing hard enough is not a humility.

…he wrote, ‘The good news is I’ve already outlived two Brontës, Keats, and Stephen Crane. The bad news is that I haven’t written anything.

John Hewson: "I ask the Prime Minister: [...] why will you not call an early election?" Paul Keating: "The answer is, mate, because I want to do you slowly.

If Tony Abbott ends up the prime minister of Australia, you've got to say, god help us. [He is] truly an intellectual nobody [and has] no policy ambition.

John Howard always pops up at these occasions - he's at every national, international catastrophe, sort of representative of White Lady Funerals.

Whenever you put your hand in your pocket, Dr Hewson's hand will be there, too.

[He's] the cherry on top of a compost heap ... The great risk for Malcolm is that he doesn't remain a cherry but turns into a sultana.

His focus on this transcended economics into a kind of spiritualism. The exchange rate was a spirit in a waterhole; to lay the spirit required acolytes to teach it, and priests to pray over it.

Neville Wran said it was 'the equivalent of stealing the holy water from the church ... but they got away with it.

On 8 June, Hawke told the conference that the party needed to remind itself of 'its fundamental and historic rule' as 'the party of progress and reform'. He urged Labor to remain contemporary and relevant. He said 'the meaning of reform' was 'not about soft options' and 'not a matter of invoking some dogmatic formula'.

Outside half a dozen youthful demonstrators chanted about the rights of the ‘young unemployed’. The Prime Minister excepted, they were the best dressed people in West Torrens. There is no disguising a Young Liberal’s haircut.

The verb is present tense, “I do not know a man.” The passage does not say “I have pledged never to know a man” or “I will never know a man”; and (3) Even Roman Catholic theologian Ludwig Ott recognizes that the idea of a vow of virginity, made popular by Augustine (four centuries after the time of Christ), cannot be made to fit the context. “However, the subsequent espousals can hardly be reconciled with this” is his comment.[8] Ott is correct: the idea of a “married virgin” as Keating puts it is an oxymoron. Matthew speaks of the time “before they came together,” which is what would really make no sense if there was no intention of entering into a real marital relationship. The idea of a married virgin is simply out of harmony with the Bible’s teaching concerning the nature of marriage (let alone Jewish custom of the day). As Paul taught (1 Cor. 7), there is a marital debt involved (v. 3)[9] that would preclude the idea of a married virgin: the man’s body is not his own, but is his wife’s, and vice-versa. Sexual relations are completely natural in the married state, and, in fact, are assumed if a true marriage exists. If a person wishes to be a virgin, she should remain unmarried.[10] The idea of a virgin entering into an engagement with a man, even though she intends to remain celibate, is simply an attempt to make the biblical evidence support a doctrine created long after the apostles had finished writing Scripture.

limits their role by stating what they are appointed to accomplish: to commend those who do good and punish those who do evil. We are indeed called here to good citizenship and proper deference to governing authorities, but at the same time to recognize the limited authority of these governors (see Rom 13:1–7 for Paul’s statement of subordination to governing authorities).

or “have communion in,” Christ’s sufferings (as Paul also does: Rom 8:17; 2 Cor 1:5; Phil 3:10; Col 1:24). Notably there is both a present and a future expectation of rejoicing here. Peter calls us to rejoice even now in the midst of their sufferings, but prepares us for an even greater cause for rejoicing when Christ returns: so that when his glory is revealed you may also rejoice exultantly.

Accomplished military veteran-writer Tom Keating’s new book, Elephants, Secrets and Submarines: Stories & Essays (76 pp. Stratford Publishing) is a collection of fifteen short stories. Some are related as memoirs, while the rest are described as fiction. The stories all come together to form the truth of the story Keating has to tell and continues to do so since his acclaimed book, Yesterday’s Soldier. These stories have previously appeared in such places as MicroLit and the Wrath Bearing Tree. The stories begin to come alive immediately in the fascinating names of some of the characters. There’s Mr. Filteau, Mrs. Heffernan, and Mr. Pugliese. Then there’s Paul Chu, Officer Cronin, Sister Helena, and the Hunyadi’s. We read about growing up during a time when you hoped to be invited over by a neighborhood family who actually owned a television set. Early on Keating mentions one of his first jobs, saying, “I loved every minute of it.” There are memories of playing Wiffle ball in the back yard before moving on to actual baseball, of which Keating, a switch hitter, recalls, “I loved the game.” There’s a marvelous story about what happens when a young Keating, while helping clean out the convent’s basement at his Catholic school, uncovers “the treasure.” In one story, a woman you’ll have trouble getting out of your mind, and why would you want to, is the one known as ”The Little Black Rose.” Other stories feature such people as “JoAnn the bar maid,” or Vietnamese hooch-maids, or American nurses serving in Vietnam who look like Doris Day. Once he gets to Vietnam, Keating (or his alter-ego Tim Kearney) discovers he has guilt feelings about being on a large safe base. Despite that, there is intense combat action within these tales. The collection, being chronological in nature, wraps up with visits to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. These short stories contain worlds within them. They are suggestive of so much more going on than what is described. You can easily find yourself lost, in a good way, within them. They are also stories that hold up well upon rereading. Tom Keating has a really natural, smooth, writing style that makes his stories go down easily. This book is made up of some of the stories that he has to tell. Stories that he seems to take an obvious delight in telling. They’re his stories, but they can also become yours to appreciate and enjoy. I hope you make that happen.

Paul McCartney’s solo career, Willie Mays’ last season with the New York Mets, Robert De Niro in Cape Fear, William Jennings Bryan at the Scopes Monkey Trial, John Ashbery’s Flowchart, Georgia O’Keeffe’s last 10 years of paintings, T.S. Eliot’s plays, & John Glenn’s last flight as an astronaut. The Beatles’ Long and Winding Road, Jim Brown’s last season, Keats’ Odes, Mozart’s concertos, Sylvia Plath’s Ariel, Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, Wilfred Owen’s lyrics, & Marie Curie in her laboratory. The former set we recall- if at all- because all of the folk were past their prime- way past. Almost embarrassing were their quests &/or achievements. The latter we recall- & will most likely always do so with fondness & fervor- because they left their respective quests at the height of their powers. It’s how we all hope to be recalled. When we think of an afterlife we always envision ourselves at the prime of our life. Who would want to inhabit a realm filled with yipping old yentas & crusty altacockers? It’s one of the oldest stereotypes there is about the creationary impulse: The fires of youth. One of the great sources of woe for a lot of artists is that just as they get enough time & experience under their belts to gain technical skill in their field, the impulse to do so wanes. There seems to be a brief nexus where the 2- skill & desire- meet & are sustaining. Too young & a lot of crap- with potential- is produced. Too old & little work is made- & what is is skilled but dull, repetitive, & uninteresting. Thus most artists, &/or scientists, have similar careers which graphed would form a nice slowly rising & falling horizontal arc whose rounded apex is between the years 35 & 50. But is it necessarily so? There are examples of such who defy the conventional wisdom in poetry. The 2 best examples in the English language are Wallace Stevens & William Butler Yeats- in fact their poetry probably kept improving with age. But for every Stevens & Yeats there’s the last 20 years of Whitman’s bloated poetry & terrible prose, Hardy’s verse, Pound’s Cantos, Ginsberg’s last 30 years, Ashbery, James Merrill, W.S. Merwin, Muriel Rukeyser, Gwendolyn Brooks, Robert Bly, Quincy Troupe, & on & on.