When Asked Whether He Minded

Madam, You Have Between Your Legs An Instrument Capable Of Giving Pleasure To Thousands And All You Can Do Is Scratch It.

The Function Of Music Is To Release Us From The Tyranny Of Conscious Thought.

Her Singing Reminds Me Of A Cart Coming Downhill With The Brake On.

A Soprano In Massenet's Don Quixote Complained That She Had Missed Her Entry In The Aria, "because Mr. Challiapin Always Dies Too Soon." "madam, You Must Be Profoundly In Error," Said Sir Thomas, "no Operatic Star Has Yet Died Half Soon Enough For Me."

No Woman Is Worth The Loss Of A Night's Sleep.