Famous quotes containing the words terminal, avenue, eighth, bus, authority, port, street and/or line:
“All sin tends to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is what is called damnation.”
—W.H. (Wystan Hugh)
“Has anyone ever told you that you overplay your various roles rather severely, Mr. Kaplan? First you’re the outraged Madison Avenue man who claims he’s been mistaken for someone else. Then you play the fugitive from justice, supposedly trying to clear his name of a crime he knows he didn’t commit. And now you play the peevish lover stung by jealously and betrayal. It seems to me you fellows could stand a little less training from the FBI and a little more from the Actors Studio.”
—Ernest Lehman (b.1920)
“We do not weary of eating and sleeping every day, for hunger and sleepiness recur. Without that we should weary of them. So, without the hunger for spiritual things, we weary of them. Hunger after righteousness—the eighth beatitude.”
—Blaise Pascal (1623–1662)
“David: All the reporters are on the bus.
Lucas: Okay, start the bus then. And drive them over a cliff.”
—Jeremy Larner, U.S. screenwriter, and Michael Ritchie. David (Chris Prey)
“... each of them is inhabited by a bland demon, as the German metaphysicians used to call that which gets into a man and makes him creative, not so forcibly that it turns them away from criticism, but valid enough to give them the right to speak with the authority of artists.”
—Rebecca West (1892–1983)
“Through the port comes the moon-shine astray!
It tips the guard’s cutlass and silvers this nook;
But ‘twill die in the dawning of Billy’s last day.
A jewel-block they’ll make of me to-morrow,
Pendant pearl from the yard-arm-end
Like the ear-drop I gave to Bristol Molly—
O, ‘tis me, not the sentence they’ll suspend.”
—Herman Melville (1819–1891)
“The last time I saw Paris
Her heart was warm and gay,
I heard the laughter of her heart in every street café.”
—Oscar Hammerstein II (1895–1960)
“This wild night, gathering the washing as if it were flowers
animal vines twisting over the line and
slapping my face lightly, soundless merriment
in the gesticulations of shirtsleeves ...”
—Denise Levertov (b. 1923)