Laughter springs from the lawless part of our nature.
You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself.
He stared dully at the desolate, cold road and the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder or more dead than his heart. He had loved an angel and now he despised a woman.
why do you condemn a man whom you have never met, whom no one knows and about whom even you yourself know nothing?
Look!You want to see? See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness! Look at Erik's face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like? Oh, you women are so inquisitive! Well, are you satisfied? I'm a good-looking fellow, eh?. . . When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me forever! I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!. . . Look at me! I am Don Juan Triumphant! -Erik in The Phantom of the Opera
Sometimes, the Angel [of Music] leans over the cradle. . . and that is how there are little prodigies who play the fiddle at six better than men of fifty, which, you must admit is very wonderful. Sometimes, the Angel comes much later, because the children are naughty and won't learn their lessons or practice their scales. And sometimes, he does not come at all, because the children have a wicked heart or a bad conscience.
She's singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!
The art of medicine cannot be inherited, nor can it be copied from books
But my relief that David Auburn's Proof is less about its ballyhooed higher mathematics than the fragility of life and love was matched by my delight in his fine and tender play. (. . . ) Proof surprises us with its aliveness and intelligent modesty, and we have not met these characters before.
The most part of men, though they have the use of reasoning a little way, as in numbering to some degree; yet it serves them to little use in common life; in which they govern themselves, some better, some worse, according to their differences of experience, quickness of memory, and inclinations to several ends; but specially according to good or evil fortune, and the errors of one another.
For my part. . . I am a realist but, somehow, optimism always keeps breaking out.