"I don't like working in a studio, at all. I just prefer to be on location, rather than hearing the bells of the studio going off. It's like being in Las Vegas, where no one knows the time and there are no windows."

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Man preys on man; and you mourn for the idle tapestry that decorated a gothic pillar, and the dronish bell that summoned the fat priest to prayer. You mourn for the empty pageant of a name, when slavery flaps her wing, ... Why is our fancy to be appalled by terrific perspectives of a hell beyond the grave? - Hell stalks abroad; - the lash resounds on the slave's naked sides; and the sick wretch, who can no longer earn the sour bread of unremitting labour, steals to a ditch to bid the world a long good night.

— Mary Wollstonecraft