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Critics? Don’t talk to me of critics! You think some jackanapes journalist, his soul eaten away by the maggots of jealousy and failure, has anything worthwhile to say of art? I don’t.
That is ever the way. Tis all jealousy to the bride and good wishes to the corpse.
I don’t get jealousy, I don’t get how people hate each other – I never did.
What we used to say was whoever had the bow tie got to lead the band. There was never any jealousy.
I do a lot of sexy publicity, but I have yet to have any bad experiences regarding jealousy.
The jealousy and resentment that animate the terrorists also affect many of our former cold war allies.
There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.
The surest route to breeding jealousy is to compare. Since jealousy comes from feeling less than another, comparisons only fan the fires.
Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight.
In my experience lust only ever leads to misery. All that suspicion and jealousy and anguish it unleashes. I don’t want those things in my life.