John Olsen Quotes

He said to the big fellow with the taffy hair, “Before we finish off this operation, I need to hit you up with some ideas.” At that moment, Cade noticed how physically similar Preston was to Merlin Olsen, the NFL great, actor, and all-round good man. He marveled at Preston, the man who couldn’t be happier, as he twirled his head from monitor to monitor, adjusting joysticks and pressing buttons in this claustrophobic workspace.

For Guy Davenport--whom he told me John Barth once called the last modernist--modernism is 'a renaissance of the archaic'.

I'd tell my mother to, you know, go you-know-what herself and I would go help those children. They're in an orphanage and they've got family! That's sickening. What does John do? Nothing. His kids are in an orphanage... and he does nothing. ~ Michelle Jarvis

If we cannot now end our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity. —John F. Kennedy

As the Libyan engagement has shown, “Western” air power can be a most appropriate and useful instrument in the context of so-called asymmetric conflicts. Yet it succeeded (and even then only after six months) only because NATO nations decided to arm the insurgents and sent in special forces to teach the untrained rebels how to become a skilled military force that could exploit favorable air situations on the ground.

I give you a riddle,’ Olsen said suddenly. ‘It is black. It has eight wheels. But it is no vehicle. What is it?’ His penetrating, slightly protuberant eyes surveyed them as they shook their heads. ‘What is it?’ he repeated. ‘We shall not find that,’ Josef said. Olsen gave a short laugh. ‘A priest, on roller skates. I give you another riddle. It is greater than the universe. It is less than a grain of sand. The dead eat it. If we eat it, we too shall be dead.

Greater than the universe,’ said Olsen, ‘and smaller than a grain of sand. The dead eat it. If we eat it, we die too. What is it?’ He waited for some moments, looking at them with the self-containing uncompromising amusement of a small boy. ‘Nothing!’ he said at last. ‘Nothing is greater than the universe.

Might it not be best,’ Mary said, ‘if we stayed behind on the ship? Then when you get to the settlement, you could have them send help.’ ‘No,’ Olsen said, ‘we go together. That is the best way.

Weapons, Captain,’ Josef said, ‘– have we weapons?’ Olsen smiled. ‘We go for a little walk, not to fight a war.’ ‘Maybe we kill a seal.

They struggled on. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon again it had become, as Olsen had prophesied, a little easier: there were stretches of as much as a hundred yards where the sledges could be pulled without having to be lifted or coaxed up or down slopes. But it was hard enough; their muscles were unaccustomed to the tasks they now had, and as the day wore on they were tiring.

To find Katerina, and the polar bear. We will get two good skins.’ ‘By now,’ Olsen said, ‘they will have been torn to shreds. Even here there are plenty of scavengers.

It was decaffeinated jazz he sent to WJZ via Western Union lines from the Hotel Pennsylvania. A distant echo of New Orleans, yet it spoke to listeners.” The ’20s style was lively, rich with saxophone and violin and well-sprinkled with novelty tunes. Lopez was instantly identified by his theme, Nola, given a dexterous workout on the Lopez keyboard. Whiteman had Gershwin: his Rhapsody in Blue concert at Aeolian Hall on Feb. 12, 1924, established his reputation. And though Whiteman was slow to find his way into radio, he was a major force in band music of the ’20s. George Olsen was a master of popular music: his 1925 recording Who was a bestseller, followed by such period hits as The Varsity Drag, Because My Baby Don’t Mean Maybe Now, and Doin’ the Raccoon, a testament to the national passion for fur coats.

For NBC’s grand opening on Nov. 15, 1926, the network was able to pull in the bands of George Olsen, Vincent Lopez, Ben Bernie, B. A. Rolfe, and Fred Waring from various locations. All were then nationally known. Bernie had been on the air intermittently in 1923. He was actually a “front man,” a showman whose success was rooted more in personal charm than musicianship. His trademarks were the glib tongue, the cigar, and the nonsense phrase, widely imitated, “yowsah, yowsah, yowsah.