A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.
I'll make him an offer he can't refuse.
Classic art was the art of necessity: modern romantic art bears the stamp of caprice and chance.
Definition of a classic: a book everyone is assumed to have read and often thinks they have.
When you reread a classic, you do not see more in the book than you did before; you see more in you than there was before.
Classic Rock radio gave us our longevity.
This is the precept by which I have lived: Prepare for the worst; expect the best; and take what comes.
I just signed to do my next book with Ecco Press, a new primer or encyclopedia. This will be my take on what classic Italian cooking is.
I was fired from my television job, simple as that. Well, downsized, really, a classic 1990s situation.
In kindergarten that used to be my job, to tell them fairytales. I liked Hans Christian Andersen, and the Grimm fairy tales, all the classic fairy tales.
Instead of stubbornly attempting to use surrealism for purposes of subversion, it is necessary to try to make of surrealism something as solid, complete and classic as the works of museums.
That's what I like about film-it can be bizarre, classic, normal, romantic. Cinema is to me the most versatile thing.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
I absolutely love Oscar. So classic. So timeless.
Conductors' careers are made for the most part with 'Romantic' music. 'Classic' music eliminates the conductor; we do not remember him in it.
Much as I cared for Joseph Kennedy, he was a classic example of that person in the arts with lots of brains and drive but little taste or talent.
'Classic.' A book which people praise and don't read.
Man is the only animal that blushes - or needs to.
New York lost a classic. Carmine was an old school New Yorker.
Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.
To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.
I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.
I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti
I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
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