"[He has] steel finegrs, steel wrists, steel biceps and triceps. He is a tonal steel thrust."
--An American music critic, in 1918, about a performance by Sergei Prokofiev
"Partisan politics [is still] what it needs to be, a constant tug-o-war anchored by the fattest white asses on each side. So as Newt Gingrich, Trent Lott, and Dick Armey dig their tassel-loafered heels into the muck and strain with all their might to move the weight of public opinion in their favor, old Bill Clinton's got his end tied up to the hitch of a Mardi Gras float and he's sitting in a La-Z-Boy with a corn dog, waving to people while Miss Nude America rubs blueberry hot lube into his fleshy shoulders..."
--From one of Dennis Miller's "Rants"
"...On the drive home, I couldn't find a McDonald's anywhere. Finally I passed a Marie Callender's. I went inside and ordered a chili burger and french fries and a Coke and a piece of pie... But when the food came, it seemed rich and heavy. I didn't finish it. It wasn't what I wanted, after all. Back home, I was shocked to see how beautiful my house was. I lived on the beach at Malibu, but I had long ago stopped looking at the view, and instead complained about the traffic. Now I was astonished that I lived in such a breathtakingly beautiful place... At the office, I turned on my word processor, and the letters on the screen flashed on and off, like a neon sign. At first I thought the computer was broken. Then I realized I was seeing the screen refresh itself. That happens all the time, but normally we're not aware of it, as we're not aware that light bulbs blink on and off sixty times each second. I looked at the screen and thought: This is a remarkable perception, but I don't know if I can work like this"...
--From "Cactus Teachings", an essay on meditation in Travels, by Michael Crichton
"Acting is simple... I just do what they tell me to do."
--James Arness
"I'd be interested to know how many people who say they're going to try to write a hit song actually do. I've never done it.... Short People was the worst kind of hit anyone could have. It was like having Purple People Eater. I'd try to watch a ball game and the band would play the song and the announcers would make jokes about it. It was too noisy. I prefer quiet money."
--Randy Newman
"My mother meets me at the door to her downstairs flat, and we exchange pecks on the cheek. 'Henry', she says, looking me over briefly the way you notice the passing of a bright city bus you're not trying to catch -- both she and my father were the most detached of parents..."
--Excerpt from Straight Man, by Richard Russo
"Detroit, city of lost industrial dreams, floats out around us like a mirage of some sane and glaciated life. Skies are gray as a tarn, the winds up and gusting. Flying papers and cellophane skirmish over the Ford Expressway and whap the sides of our rental car like flak as we lug our way toward Center City. Flat, dormered houses and new, brick-mansard condos run side-by-side in the complicated urban-industrial mix. And, as always, there is the expectation of 'new' weather around the corner. Batten down the hatches. A useful pessimism abounds here, and awaits."
--Excerpt from The Sportswriter, by Richard Ford
"Acting -- or anything else -- is simply a matter of controlling your mind and body."
--Lorne Greene
"So there is a fourth dimension!"
--The Professor, in Devil Girl From Mars (1954)
"Here it is, a nice quiet Sunday evening in January... and we're about to listen to some beautiful music... Immediately this suggests a pattern: low lights, your favorite chair, a glass of beer, a cigarette, those warm bunny slippers... in short, relaxation... And now, the music... (The orchestra plays a frenetic excerpt from Stravinsky's "Song Of The Nightingale")... Now, don't run away screaming: 'Crazy modern music!'... it won't bite you, it's only music. But what makes it modern? And why do so many of you hate what it is that makes it modern? Maybe after you know what it is that you hate, you may hate it less, or at least hate it more intelligently. Or, conceivably, you may grow to like it, or you can just go on hating it as before, which is your democratic right..."
--from Omnibus, written and hosted by Leonard Bernstein, January 13, 1957
"Another good cowpuncher has gone to meet his fate
I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden-gate
Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T
Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he
The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave
While Charlie Rutlage makes the third to be sent to his grave
Caused by a cow-horse falling while running after stock
Twas on the spring roundup, a place where ''death men'' mock
He went forward one morning on a circle through the hills
He was gay and full of glee and free from earthly ills
But when it came to finish up the work on which he went
Nothing came back from him, his time on earth was spent
Twas as he rode the roundup, a' X I T turned back to the herd
Poor Charlie shoved him in again, his cutting horse he spurred
Another turned, at that moment his horse the creature spied
And turned and fell with him, beneath poor Charlie died
His relations in Texas his face never more will see
But I hope he'll meet his loved ones beyond in eternity
I hope he'll meet his parents, will meet them face to face
And that they'll grasp him by the right hand
At the shining throne, the shining throne of grace."
--From the cowboy ode "Charlie Rutlage", set to music by Charles Ives in 1921
"We sailed from Baltimore on this ship, the Unicorn, in the middle of the night. The cabin walls vibrated, as if shimmying on the teeth of a buzz saw. My bunk grumbled and nudged me awake. I put my face against the porthole and saw the sloshings on swells, like whitewash hosed over black ice. I heard a foghorn moan, a bell buoy's clang, and a spray like pebbles hitting a tin pail. The steel door rattled, but none of the other kids woke up. In the morning, we were in the open sea.
--An excerpt from Chapter 6 of Paul Theroux's 1982 novel, The Mosquito Coast
