opera

Theatres are curious places, magician's trick-boxes where the golden memories of dramtic triumphs linger like nostalgic ghosts, and where the unexplainable, the fantastic, the tragic, the comic and the absurd are routine occurences on and off the stage. Murders, mayhem, politcal intrigue, lucrative business, secret assignations, and of course, dinner.

(Referring to the piano's natural shape) Isn't it a shame when those big fat opera singers lean against the pianos and bend them?

Opera? Just what the world needs: more fat women screaming.

Opera, next to Gothic architecture, is one of the strangest inventions of Western man. It could not have been foreseen by any logical process.

When the music and the characters are flawlessly synchronized, the opera develops an emotional force that movies and plays cannot match.

I became a set designer for opera. I'm a great opera buff, I love classical music, and I needed a time-out.

The opera is to music what a bawdy house is to a cathedral.

I like your opera - I think I will set it to music

I ended my statement to the colored soldiers by saying: "Now, I shall be very sorry to hurt you, and you don't know whether or not I will keep my word, but my men can tell you that I always do;" whereupon my cow-punchers, hunters, and miners solemnly nodded their heads and commented in chorus, exactly as if in a comic opera, "He always does; he always does!

... My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never... let me kiss her... She used to run away... and throw me my mask!... Nor any other woman... ever, ever!... Ah, you can understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And fell at her feet, crying... and I kissed her feet... her little feet... crying. You're crying, too, daroga... and she cried also... the angel cried!...

The dictatorship is like an aria that never becomes an opera.

You can learn more by going to the opera than you ever can by reading Emerson. Like that there are two sexes.

He appears close to my age. The left half of his face stands out beneath the hood: one side of plump lips, one squared angle of a chin. Two coppery-colored eyes look back at me _ bright and metallic. The sight makes me do a double take. As far as he is from the car, I shouldn__ be able to make out the color, yet they glimmer in the shadow of his cape, like pennies catching a flashlight__ glare in a deep well.

He__ walked as a ghost in the gloomy bowels of this opera house for so long, darkness had become his brother, which was fitting, since his father was the night, and sunlight their forgotten friend.

I don__ want to blend,_ Etalon whispered. __ want to belong.

I love opera. Si. But I am old. No passion in my life, you know? I work, I walk slowly now through my years...but opera! I see, I hear that passion, Eva. Is like the passion of youth. And I live again. I feel something.

Off this fucking predictable soap opera, this will happen now, then that, then that and you say that you are christian and you start watching series of Turkey people which believe in a very different god so far god of hell - Allah...

Ironically, the first time he played it, he experienced his first dream vision with his own __lame jumelle_, Rune _ and saved her from drowning. Thereafter he decided that must be the magic the instrument held: the ability to bring two souls together when they needed each other the most.