All truly great art is optimistic. The individual artist is happy in his creative work. The fact that practically all great art is tragic does not in any way change the above thesis.
UPTON SINCLAIRIt is the music which makes it what it is; it is the music which changes the place from the rear room of a saloon in back of the yards to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little comer of the high mansions of the sky.
More Upton Sinclair Quotes
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Through fasting. . .I have found a perfect health, a new state of existence, a feeling of purity and happiness, something unknown to humans.
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I am sustained by a sense of the worthwhileness of what I am doing; a trust in the good faith of the process which created and sustains me. That process I call God.
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It is the music which makes it what it is; it is the music which changes the place from the rear room of a saloon in back of the yards to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little comer of the high mansions of the sky.
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They use everything about the hog except the squeal.
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It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.
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Turn over the pages of history and read the damning record of the church’s opposition to every advance in every field of science. . . .
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Dad, as a good American, believed his newspapers.
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You don’t have to be satisfied with America as you find it. You can change it. I didn’t like the way I found America some sixty years ago, and I’ve been trying to change it ever since.
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One of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a democracy is political corruption.
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In the twilight, it was a vision of power.
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American journalism is a class institution, serving the rich and spurning the poor.
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In a society dominated by the fact of commercial competition, money is necessarily the test of prowess, and wastefulness the sole criterion of power.
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Human beings suffer agonies, and their sad fates become legends; poets write verses about them and playwrights compose dramas, and the remembrance of past grief becomes a source of present pleasure – such is the strange alchemy of the spirit.
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The proletarian writer is a writer with a purpose; he thinks no more of art for art’s sake than a man on a sinking ship thinks of painting a beautiful picture in the cabin; he thinks of getting ashore – and then there will be time enough for art.
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Can you blame me if I am pursued by the thought of how much we could do to remedy social evils, if only we had an honest and disinterested press?
UPTON SINCLAIR