Quotes from John Cleese

Only a few things in life matter a little. The rest don't matter at all.

His persona seemed very odd to me: it was as though he'd once seen an intellectual, and had spent the rest of his life impersonating him.

Most adults, by contrast, find it hard to be playful Ã¢â'¬â€ no doubt because they have to take care of all the responsibilities that come with an adult's life. Creative adults, however, have not forgotten how to play.

Self-confidence seemed to me more mimicry than anything else and I suggested visiting Clifton Zoo to watch the leaders in a group of baboons, and learn from them: make your gestures slow and deliberate; cultivate a deeper voice; appear casual at all times; eschew all rapid movements. That was all you had to do to look confident.

Genuinely good manners are, after all, essentially a way of moderating one's own egotism, often in the service of considering the egos of others. Even if it's done mainly for show, it's still a start.

Mother told me once that some Westonians privately criticised Dad for retreating so soon. They apparently felt it would have been more dignified to have waited a week or so before running away. I think this view misses the essential point of running away, which is to do it the moment the idea has occurred to you. Only an obsessional procrastinator would cry, "Let's run for our lives, but not till Wednesday afternoon.

So, creatively, I was doubly blessed: constant relocation and parental disharmony. Add to these two gifts the well-established fact that many of the world's greatest geniuses, both artistic and scientific, have been the product of serious maternal deprivation, and I am forced to the conclusion that if only my mother had been just a little more emotionally inadequate, I could have been HUGE.

True, there was a vague assumption that doing so would bring me closer to God, but then who was God when he was at home? And why did he keep losing it with his chosen people, when he could easily have changed his mind, and picked a more co-operative bunch?

This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! This is a late parrot! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies! It's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot!

It was not fair and therefore unworthy of my respect. It was as simple as that.

Only an obsessional procrastinator would cry, 'Let's run for our lives, but not till Wednesday afternoon.' Back

One minute, I was saying, "Hello, Mr. Bunny!" and smiling at its sweet little face and funny floppy ears. The next, the fucker savaged me.

Creativity is not a talent; it's a way of operating.

The neurologist and psychologist Maurice Nicoll told how he had once asked his headmaster about a passage in the Bible, and after he had listened to the answer for some time, he realized that the man had no idea what he was talking about. What I admire about Nicoll is that he made this discovery when he was only ten. It took me another forty-five years before the penny dropped: very, very few people have any idea what they are talking about.

Whose fault is it, then? Dennis Compton's (Basil Fawlty)

But once it's been agreed when that real-world decision has to happen, why make it before the deadline arrives? Why Well, it would be foolish, because if you can wait longer, two incredibly important things may happen.: You may get new information. You may get new ideas. So why would you make a decision when you don't need to?

I now see, was the fact that there were so many areas of my emotional life where I was muddled and unresolved and therefore ripe for horrendous embarrassment that I was pointlessly guarded about everything. The lurking fear that I might accidentally give away something I did not want to reveal resulted in blanket self-censorship.

This is the extraordinary thing about creativity: If you just keep your mind resting against the subject in a friendly but persistent way, sooner or later you will get a reward from your unconscious.

The problem was that I carried around with me a tendency to feel that other people's respect for me would vanish if what I did was second rate. And while I accept that this "perfectionism" is likely to stimulate the production of better work, it doesn't, unfortunately, go hand in hand with a relaxed and happy attitude to life.

New ideas are rather like small creatures. They're easily strangled.

The French have so many civil wars, they can win one now and again.

I could see (though not as clearly as I do now) that one of my biggest problems was me. Because I wanted everyone to like me and to approve of me, I tried to be nice to everyone all the time and this proved a remarkably efficient way of losing control over my life.

And it was this location that provides my second memory. (It must come after the first because in it I am now standing up.) I was bitten by a rabbit. Or rather, I was nibbled by a rabbit, but, because I was such a weedy, namby-pamby little pansy, I reacted as though I'd lost a limb.

It is terrifying how much of this deeply unkind, utterly pointless, in fact, mind-bogglingly COUNTERPRODUCTIVE kind of behaviour was meted out to children over the centuries by half-witted, power-crazed zombies like this heinous old bat—a large proportion of such psychopaths allegedly acting in the name of an all-loving God.