A Quote by Charlie Brooker
When it comes to something like Brexit, I am part of the liberal-media London bubble, and so, to me, voting to leave was madness. My perspective was that it was cutting off your nose to spite your face.
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Everything is connected, so you can't just live in a Trumpian world and be an isolationist when you're managing government by congressional district or by city. The mentality that you can cut off one area to punish a policy just doesn't work in the real world... it's cutting off your nose to spite your face.
I have always maintained that paradigm shift away from signing Rock and Metal acts is part of the decline in sales the major labels have talked about for years. I mean, to me, that should be so obvious. For decades, literally, as long as Rock N' Roll has existed, a large swath of major label income came from Rock, and later, Metal bands. So if you essentially stop signing the thing that brought in a significant portion of your income, how are you confused when you don't sell as much? It's like cutting off your nose to spite your face. I still don't get it.
You don't want to bite your nose off to spite your face
You can’t bite your nose off to spite your face.
Listen, if you were with me on a plane? I'm embarrassed for the people who sit next to me. I have such a regimen! I, like, pound on the face cream because your face will dry out, I get the stuff you put in your nose so no nose germs come in, I take elderberry for immunity, I wear a scarf.
Leave everything. Leave Dada. Leave your wife. Leave your mistress. Leave your hopes and fears. Leave your children in the woods. Leave the substance for the shadow. Leave your easy life, leave what you are given for the future. Set off on the roads.
There is something so tender about this to me, about being willing to have your makeup wash off, your eyes tear up, your nose start to run. Its tender partly because it harkens back to infancy, to your mother washing your face with love and lots or water, tending to you, making you clean all over again.
Don't bite off your head to spite your nose.
There's always going to be someone out there who doesn't like what you do, doesn't like your style, your face. That's part of life. But I feed off that. I don't think I'd be where I am today if it wasn't for that. It puts a little fire in the belly, keeps me going so I can prove so many people wrong.
Remember something, if you will, about voting: Voting is not a horse race, you're not going there thinking "Gee, I gotta pick the winner so I can brag to my friends 'Oh, I picked so-and-so and he or she won'". Voting is voting your heart and voting your conscience and when you've done that, don't ever, EVER let a Democrat or Republican tell you that you've wasted your vote because the fact is, if you DON'T vote your heart and conscience then you HAVE wasted your vote.
My Aunt Sheila was terrifying! She would put a napkin in her mouth and say, 'You've got something on your face, dear. Let me just scratch that off your face. Let me sand your cheek.'
It is the obvious which is so difficult to see most of the time. People say 'It's as plain as the nose on your face.' But how much of the nose on your face can you see, unless someone holds a mirror up to you?
When I moved to London, you could park your motorcycle in the pavement, on the sidewalk. We would stay here and just leave it and go about your business. But now something was sort of encroaching in London. There's cameras everywhere. You can't do anything. You're not allowed to be in a group.
Sometimes it takes you two or three seconds to get your head round a joke and laugh at it. With a snot-bubble laugh, it comes instinctively - almost in spite of yourself. It's caused by something silly - like when a little kid says something unexpectedly bizarre.
More and more I feel like the boy who cut off his nose to spite his face.
It is their nature, beautiful and simple. That you would destroy such beings, Mr. Lincoln, such superior creatures, seems madness to me.” “That you speak of them with such reverence, Mr. Poe, seems madness to me.” "Can you imagine it? Can you imagine seeing the universe through such eyes? Laughing in the face of time and death—the world your Garden of Eden? Your library? Your harem?
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