Percy Wyndham Lewis (November 18, 1882 – March 7, 1957) was an English painter and author (he dropped the name 'Percy', which he disliked). He was a co-founder of the Vorticist movement in art, and edited the literary magazine of the Vorticists, BLAST. His novels include his pre-World War I-era novel Tarr (set in Paris), and The Human Age, a trilogy comprising The Childermass (1928), Monstre Gai and Malign Fiesta (both 1955), set in the afterworld. A fourth volume of The Human Age, The Trial of Man, was begun by Lewis but left in a fragmentary state at the time of his death. He also wrote two autobiographical volumes, Blasting and Bombardiering (1937) and Rude Assignment: A Narrative of my Career Up-to-Date (1950). (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
A hundred things are done today in the divine name of Youth, that if they showed their true colors would be seen by rights to belong rather to old age.
A sort of war of revenge on the intellect is what, for some reason, thrives in the contemporary social atmosphere.
All orthodox opinion- that is, today, 'revolutionary' opinion either of the pure or the impure variety- is anti-man.
Almost anything that can be praised or advocated has been put to some disgusting use. There is no principle, however immaculate, that has not had its compromising manipulator.
As a result of the feminist revolution, 'feminine' becomes an abusive epithet.
Feminism was recognized by the average man as a conflict in which it was impossible for a man, as a chivalrous gentleman, as a respecter of the rights of little nations (like little Belgium), as a highly evolved citizen of a highly civilized community, to refuse the claim of this better half to self-determination.
I feel most at home in the United States, not because it is intrinsically a more interesting country, but because no one really belongs there any more than I do. We are all there together in its wholly excellent vacuum.
If the world would only build temples to Machinery in the abstract then everything would be perfect. The painter and sculptor would have plenty to do, and could, in complete peace and suitably honored, pursue their trade without further trouble.
If you do not regard feminism with an uplifting sense of the gloriousness of woman's industrial destiny, or in the way, in short, that it is prescribed, by the rules of the political publicist, that you should, that will be interpreted by your opponents as an attack on woman.
In the democratic western countries so-called capitalism leads a saturnalia of 'freedom,' like a bastard brother of reform.
It is more comfortable for me, in the long run, to be rude than polite.
Men were only made into 'men' with great difficulty even in primitive society: the male is not naturally 'a man' any more than the woman. He has to be propped up into that position with some ingenuity, and is always likely to collapse.
No American worth his salt should go around looking for a root. I advance this in all modesty, as a not unreasonable opinion.
Prostration is our natural position. A worm-like movement from a spot of sunlight to a spot of shade, and back, is the type of movement that is natural to men.
'Revolution' today is taken for granted, and in consequence becomes rather dull.
Revolutionary politics, revolutionary art, and oh, the revolutionary mind, is the dullest thing on earth. When we open a 'revolutionary' review, or read a 'revolutionary' speech, we yawn our heads off. It is true, there is nothing else. Everything is correctly, monotonously, dishearteningly 'revolutionary.' What a stupid word! What a stale fuss!
So-called 'austerity,' the stoic injunction, is the path towards universal destruction. It is the old, the fatal, competitive path. 'Pull in your belt' is a slogan closely related to 'gird up your loins,' or the guns-butter metaphor.
The art of advertisement, after the American manner, has introduced into all our life such a lavish use of superlatives, that no standard of value whatever is intact.
The ideas of a time are like the clothes of a season: they are as arbitrary, as much imposed by some superior will which is seldom explicit. They are utilitarian and political, the instruments of smooth-running government.
The intelligence suffers today automatically in consequence of the attack on all authority, advantage, or privilege. These things are not done away with, it is needless to say, but numerous scapegoats are made of the less politically powerful, to satisfy the egalitarian rage awakened.