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Pic of the Day: “Come to Los Angeles! The sun shines bright, the beaches are wide and inviting, and the orange groves stretch as far as the eye can see. There are jobs aplenty, and land is cheap. Every workingman can have his own house, and inside every house, a happy, all-American family. You can have all this, and who knows… you could even be discovered, become a movie star… or at least see one. Life is good in Los Angeles… it’s paradise on Earth.” Ha ha ha ha. That’s what they tell you, anyway.”
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Pic of the Day: “Maycomb was a tired old town, even in 1932 when I first knew it. Somehow, it was hotter then. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning; ladies bathed before noon, after their 3 o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frosting from sweating and sweet talcum. The day was twenty-four hours long, but it seemed longer. There was no hurry, for there was nowhere to go and nothing to buy… and no money to buy it with. Although Maycomb County had recently been told that it had nothing to fear but fear itself… That summer, I was six years old.”
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Pic of the Day: “Did you know there are more people with genius IQs living in China than there are people of any kind living in the United States?”
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Pic of the Day: “I never knew the old Vienna before the war with its Strauss music, its glamour and easy charm. Constantinople suited me better. I really got to know it in the classic period of the black market. We’d run anything if people wanted it enough and had the money to pay.”
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Pic of the Day: “We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold.”
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Pic of the Day: “What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?”
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Pic of the Day: “Slave in the magic mirror, come from the farthest space, through wind and darkness I summon thee. Speak! Let me see thy face.”
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Pic of the Day: “If the party gets rough, duck.” “I’m practically under the table now, but not the way I like to be.”
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Pic of the Day: “A couple of weeks on this cider and I’ll be a new man.” “I sort of like the old one.” “Why, darling, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since the time I got my head caught in that cuspidor at the Waldorf.”
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Pic of the Day: “Ma’am, did he hear that or did he smell it?” “That’s Mr. Charles, isn’t it?” “Yes’m.” “This is a cocktail, isn’t it?” “Yes’m.” “They’ll get together.”
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Pic of the Day: “I got rid of all those reporters.” “What did you tell them?” “We’re out of scotch.” “What a gruesome idea.”
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Pic of the Day: “You got a pistol permit?” “No.” “Ever heard of the Sullivan Act?” “Oh, that’s all right, we’re married.”
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Pic of the Day: “There are only bad options. It’s about finding the best one.” “You don’t have a better bad idea than this?” “This is the best bad idea we have, sir. By far.”
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Pic of the Day: “My husband’s work involves a great deal of public speaking.” “Then he should change jobs.” “He can’t.” “What is he, an indentured servant?” “Something like that.”
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Pic of the Day: “The rush of battle is often a potent and lethal addiction, for war is a drug.”
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Pic of the Day: “So are you ready for the final question for 20 million rupees?” “No, but maybe it’s written, no?”
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Pic of the Day: “When you decide to be something, you can be it. That’s what they don’t tell you in the church. When I was your age they would say, ‘You can become cops, or criminals.’ Today, what I’m saying to you is this: when you’re facing a loaded gun, what’s the difference?”
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Pic of the Day: “It’s the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”
