The government was to raise the duty on cheese to 83 percent, an unpopular move that would doubtless have the more militant citizens picketing cheese shops.

I have a very varied taste in music. Everything from rap to classical to Latino to Rat Pack to jazz.

Two minds with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.

Defiance through compliance.

Love is a wonderful thing, my dear, but it leaves you wide open for blackmail.

The cucumber and the tomato are both fruit; the avocado is a nut. To assist with the dietary requirements of vegetarians, on the first Tuesday of the month a chicken is officially a vegetable.

Books may look like nothing more than words on a page, but they are actually an infinitely complex imaginotransference technology that translates odd, inky squiggles into pictures inside your head.

If the real world were a book, it would never find a publisher. Overlong, detailed to the point of distraction-and ultimately, without a major resolution.

I collect ex-boyfriends -- and more than five, at last count.

If the real world were a book, it would never find a publisher.

Have you ever wondered how nostalgia isn"t what it used to be?

You know, everybody's ignorant, just on different subjects.

I can't imagine it if beauty was the only currency I used as an actress. It just doesn't interest me.

When you're on the subway in New York, people literally could be 11-inches away from you, and you can't just stare at them.

All of my brothers and sisters are very talented. They all sang all right.

I hope everyone that is reading this is having a really good day

A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory.

The problem with architecture is it goes with the territory, because it's an applied art and because you're messing about with people and their environment.

Socially smart people have always mocked the threateningly mobile, and anti-branding is a central strand of high-end status conflict now.

There's so much fear running our lives that we forget to be human when it really counts.

Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy? Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?