Menu
I feel sympathy for the working class lad. I’ve always championed about ticket prices and try to equate that to people’s salaries.
But what you could perhaps do with in these days is a word of most sincere sympathy. Your movement is carried internally by so strong a truth and necessity that victory in one form or another cannot elude you for long.
According to your sympathy, you will take pleasure in your own happiness or in the happiness of other people but it is always your own happiness you seek.
I don’t care about sympathy. I care about playing a character who’s understandable and clear.
I’m not going to give a courtesy gift to a person who’s going to win, and I’m not going to give a sympathy gift to a person who’s going to lose.
My mother listened to all the news from the camp during the strike. She said little, especially when my father or the men who worked for him were about I remember her instinctive and unhesitating sympathy for the miners.
I didn’t go to university. Didn’t even finish A-levels. But I have sympathy for those who did.
Sympathy for victims is always counter-balanced by an equal and opposite feeling of resentment towards them.
Since this war began our sympathy has gone out to all the suffering people who have been dragged into it. Further hundreds of millions have become involved since I spoke at Limerick fortnight ago.
It is by a wise economy of nature that those who suffer without change, and whom no one can help, become uninteresting. Yet so it may happen that those who need sympathy the most often attract it the least.