Lloyd Richards: There comes a time that a piano realizes that it has not written a concerto. Margo Channing: And you, I take it, are the Paderewski who plays his concerto on me, the piano?
Llyod Richards: I understand that your understudy, Miss Harrington, has given her notice. Margo Channing: Too bad. Bill Sampson: I'm broken up about it.
Addison DeWitt: We all come into this world with our little egos equipped with individual horns. If we don't blow them, who else will?
Margo Channing: [to Bill] You be the host. It's your party. Happy birthday, welcome home, and we who are about to die salute you.
It was a beautiful, clear Southern California kind of Christmas Eve, the kind where Santa shows up in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and shades, flashing a peace sign with one hand and sipping a Corona with the other.
I get myself a gig somewhere, whether it's in a club, whether it's in a bar, it doesn't matter, and I just work on New Year's Eve because I always feel it's very symbolic for me for the next year, for the new year.
Love is as varied and unpredictable as the rain is: it comes in constant summer drizzles, or sudden, unforseen storms that make rivers burst their banks and Cornish fishing boats rock and spill and lose their crew in the Atlantic.
Most people don't want to die, but they don't want to live either. I am speaking about men now as much as women. They look for a third way, but there is no third way.
We lie on the blanket, our bare bodies basking in the sun like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Only our apples were bitten a long time ago, and we ate them too.
As she turned to concentrate on the portal, Eve tugged on Claire's shirt. "What?" "Ask him where he got the boots." "You ask." Personally, Claire wanted the vampire bunny slippers.
Shane kissed her one more time, lightly and softly, and fluffed her hair back from her face. “To be continued,” he said. “I hate cliff-hangers.” “Blame Eve.
I'm worried he's going to ... do something crazy." "He lives in a hole in the ground, dresses funny, and occasionally eats his assistants," Eve said. "Define crazy.
Do you imagine that they're going to issue me a citation...what was your name again?" "Still Eve." "No, I'm sure it's something else. That doesn't seem right.
From New Year's Eve through the third of January, the streets of Tokyo grew quiet, as if all the people had disappeared.
I hate New Year's Eve. One more chance to remember that you haven't yet done what you wanted. And to pretend it doesn't matter.
Go to hell and take that with you!” She shouted it right in Amelie’s face. Eve was an exotic blaze of color against Amelie’s white fury. And then she slapped the Founder in the face.
And about Shane, I swear, if he doesn't snap out of it, I'm going to punch him in the face. Well, punch him in the face and then run like hell." - Eve Rosser
The apple . . . came before Adam and Eve in the story of creation. It had to have been there at least three years because that's how long it takes for a new tree to bear fruit.
Within this new work of art a creature from beyond the reach of Humanity has insinuated herself and now lurks there at the heart of the mystery, a power unimagined before our time.
Dead voices, lost sounds, forgotten noises, vibrations lockstepping into the abyss and now too distant ever to be recaptured!...What sort of arrows would be able to transfix such birds?
You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve," said Aslan. "And that is both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. Be content.
