Harold And Maude Quotes

No man can see himself unless he borrows the eyes of a friend

You see, Harold, I feel that much of the world's sorrow comes from people who are *this*, [she points to a daisy] Maude: yet allow themselves be treated as *that*. [she gestures to a field of daisies]

How the world so dearly loves a cage.

Harold: This is real nice. Makes me want to do somersaults. Maude: Well, why don't you? Harold: I'd feel stupid. Maude: Harold, everyone has the right to make an ass out of themselves. You just can't let the world judge you too much.

Vice, Virtue. It's best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much *life*. Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you're bound to live life fully.

And the main thing in life, my dear Harold, is not to be afraid to be human.

I remember it was frowned upon. Considered frivolous, or dangerous, or unbecoming—one of those terms that the moribund use to keep the adventurous in tow.

I heard a story once in the Orient about two architects who went to see the Buddha. They had run out of money on their projects and hoped the Buddha could do something about it. 'Well, I'll do what I can,' said the Buddha, and he went off to see their work. The first architect was building a bridge, and the Buddha was very impressed. 'That's a very good bridge,' he said, and he began to pray. Suddenly a great white bull appeared, carrying on its back enough gold to finish construction. 'Take it,' said the Buddha, 'and build even more bridges.' And so the first architect went away very happy. The second architect was building a wall, and when the Buddha saw it he was equally impressed. 'That's a very good wall,' he said solemnly, and began to pray. Suddenly the sacred bull appeared, walked over to the second architect, and sat on him.

Eloise, look, you’ll be disappointed, okay? Love disappoints. It can’t help itself. That’s why … I don’t know, that’s why Ingrid Bergman gets on the plane and leaves Casablanca, or Maude takes all those sleeping pills at the end of Harold and Maude. But what are we supposed to do? Stop trying? Preemptively say fuck it because we know everything invariably ends? That’s bullshit. You hear me? Bullshit. Love may disappoint, but that doesn’t absolve us from the duty of loving. Of trying to love.

A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead, really. They're just backing away from life. *Reach* out. Take a *chance*. Get *hurt* even. But play as well as you can. Go team, go! Give me an L. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. L-I-V-E. LIVE! Otherwise, you got nothing to talk about in the locker room.

I missed it all, over a century of the best of New York, thanks to two uncontrollable facts of my birth: its year and geographic location. But we cannot choose our time or place, and i hurried to the city as soon as I could, unaware that the early 1990s was quite possibly the worst moment to get attached to New York. It was like falling crazily in love with a ninety-three year-old, too blind to see that she was fading. I was Harold and New York my Maude.

FUCK THE WARNERS! Eloise, look, you’ll be disappointed, okay? Love disappoints. It can’t help itself. That’s why … I don’t know, that’s why Ingrid Bergman gets on the plane and leaves Casablanca, or Maude takes all those sleeping pills at the end of Harold and Maude. But what are we supposed to do? Stop trying? Preemptively say fuck it because we know everything invariably ends? That’s bullshit. You hear me? Bullshit. Love may disappoint, but that doesn’t absolve us from the duty of loving. Of trying to love.

No man can see himself unless he borrows the eyes of a friend.

Lincoln felt a surge of something like strength. He set down Harold and Maude, surreptitiously, and picked up something else, Hairspray.

HE DIDN’T RENT Hairspray or Harold and Maude. A few minutes after Sam left, after standing dumbly for a while in the Hs, Lincoln decided he didn’t feel like going home anymore. He didn’t feel like sitting still or being quiet. He left the Blockbuster empty-handed and stopped just outside to toss Sam’s business card into the trash.

Mark Hensley Jr. And Flore Barbu refuse to watch These Charming Men, a seemingly odd decision when you consider they each paid thirty dollars to attend a convention where that band was performing twice. These are the prototypical "weird white kids": Hensley appears to be auditioning for Bud Cort's role in a remake of Harold and Maude, and Barbu seems like the kind of woman who thinks Sylvia Plath was an underrated humorist. Both are wearing neckties for no apparent reason. These are the people you remember as being Smiths fans. And heaven knows they're miserable now.

No answer.

Up top, we saw a party on the verge of a breakout. The three respectful men were, in fact, security guards. On the far edge of the plot, four scraggly dudes were fiddling around with a PA. A guitar and a drum set lay in the grass behind them. A stand-up bass had been propped up against a gravestone. Surrounding a folding table stocked with handles of Costco booze were six or seven men with fuck-you-Dad piercings—septa, cheeks, foreheads—and tribal facial tattoos. I counted seven, maybe fifteen dogs running around, yapping at one another, and at least twenty or so old hippies, each one dressed in his or her referential, Harold and Maude best, smiling and drinking out of red plastic cups.

The zoos are full and the prisons overflowing. My, my. How the world so dearly loves a cage.” She

It’s best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much life. Aim above morality.

well', he said. 'most people aren't like you. They're locked up in themselves. They live in their castles - all alone. They're like me.' 'Well, everyone lives in his own castle', said Maude. 'But that's no reason not to lower the drawbridge and go out on visits.

Vice? Virtue? It’s best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much life. Aim above morality. As Confucius says, ‘Don’t simply be good. Make good things happen.

A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they’re not dead, really. They’re just backing away from life. They’re players, but they think life is a practice game and they’ll save themselves for later. So they sit on the bench, and the only championship they’ll ever see goes on before them. The clock ticks away the quarters. At any moment they can join in.

Still, I believe that much of the world’s sorrow comes from people who know they are this”—she held the daisy in her hand—“yet let themselves be treated as that

Thanks partly to his wife—who had grown up in Bath and was welcomed back warmly by people who had known her as a girl—the Kehoes quickly became integrated into the community social life. Nellie joined the Ladies’ Friday Afternoon Club, whose members took turns hosting weekly meetings. One typical session, held at the Kehoes’ home, began with Mrs. Lida Cushman delivering a talk on “Our Government Buildings.” She was followed by Mrs. Maude Detluff, who read a paper on “The Iron Industry.” Mrs. Edna Schoals then spoke on “The Effects of Strikes upon Mining,” after which Mrs. Shirley Harte “gave a description of Annapolis Military Academy and of Mt. Vernon.”3 Once a year, the club suspended its high-minded activities for the far more lighthearted event known as “Gentlemen’s Night,” attended by the members’ spouses and held at the community hall. At one of these, Andrew distinguished himself with his witty response to the humorous toast offered to “our husbands” by Mrs. Frank G. Smith, after which “the guests were invited to the upper floor of the hall, where they were treated to a very amusing play given by members of the club.”4