Loewe Quotes

Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.

Yo con pinta de adolescente común (adolescentus comunus) y ella con pinta de mear colonia de Loewe (pijus adorablus)

Every universe, our own included, begins in conversation. Every golem in the history of the world, from Rabbi Hanina's delectable goat to the river-clay Frankenstein of Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, was summoned into existence through language, through murmuring, recital, and kabbalistic chitchat -- was, literally, talked into life.

One should find wholeness in marriage, Gabriel, but it should not be a prison for either party,” said Rabbi Loew.

I have scars on my hand from touching certain people. Once, in the park, when Frannie was still in the carriage, I put my hand on the downy pate of her head and left it there too long. Another time, at Loew's Seventy-second Street, with Zooey during a spooky movie. He was about six or seven, and he went under the seat to avoid watching a scary scene. I put my hand on his head. Certain heads, certain colors and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me. Other things, too. Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her. I still have a lemon-yellow mark on the palm of my right hand.

<"To bewitch" is to me always slightly artificial as it is always put on -- whereas witchery is a form of naturalness that some people can't help, and the world judges that they don't create it ...> November 15 1967 memo to Mrs. Loew Gross re "THE ROMANTIC POINT OF VIEW

I don't think you have enough "new" words - and speaking of languor I would speak of it as 'a touch of languor' which comes from the depths of well-rested people who enjoy their life..." November 15 1967 memo to Mrs. Loew Gross re "THE ROMANTIC POINT OF VIEW

What are you doing tonight?" "I don't know, what are you doing?" Burlesque! Loew's Paradise! Miserable and lonely! Miserable and lonely and stupid! What am I, crazy or something?! I got something good! What am I hanging around with you guys for?!

Rabbi Loew of sixteenth-century Prague. He is supposed to have formed an artificial human being—a robot—out of clay, just as God had formed Adam out of clay. A clay object, however much it might resemble a human being, is “an unformed substance” (the Hebrew word for it is “golem”), since it lacks the attributes of life. Rabbi Loew, however, gave his golem the attributes of life by making use of the sacred name of God, and set the robot to work protecting the lives of Jews against their persecutors.

I mean that certain fictions, chiefly Conan Doyle, Stevenson, but many others also, laid out a template that was more powerful than any local documentary account - the presences that they created, or "figures" if you prefer it, like Rabbi Loew's Golem, became too much and too fast to be contained within the conventional limits of that fiction. They got out into the stream of time, the ether; they escaped into the labyrinth. They achieved an independent existence. The writers were mediums; they articulated, they gave a shape to some pattern of energy that was already present. They got in on the curve of time, so that by writing, by holding off the inhibiting reflex of the rational mind, they were able to propose a text that was prophetic.

February 5: Marilyn is photographed in a two-shot with Carson McCullers, kissing her at McCullers’s home in Nyack, New York, and later with McCullers and Isak Dinesen, with the threesome seated and looking over a manuscript in Dinesen’s hands. In another shot, Miller is at the table with Marilyn and McCullers. He toasts Dinesen. They dine on oysters, white grapes, champagne, and a soufflé. Marilyn attends a screening of Some Like It Hot at Loews on Lexington Avenue in New York. The capacity audience laughs with approval. Arthur Miller loves the picture, but Marilyn is upset because she looks like a “fat pig.” She is photographed in the audience putting her hands to her face.

The town is buzzing with reports that Meshuggener Edward was flying around Malá Strana with the devil. Naturally, I assumed you were involved.” This time Rabbi Loew’s tone held a note of gentle reproof. “Gabriel, Gabriel. What will your father say?” “That I should have dropped him, no doubt. My father has little patience with creatures like Edward Kelley.

rabino Loew de la Praga del siglo XVI. Se supone que formó un ser humano artificial —un robot— partiendo del barro, de la misma forma que Dios formó a Adán del barro. Un objeto de barro, por mucho que se parezca a un ser humano, es «una sustancia informe» (la palabra hebrea es «golem»),

Está tan lindo co seu traxe de Loewe. Qué mágoa que un desalmado da leva dos orfos do Estado, que tamén o recoñeceu, non poida conter as ganas de dicirlle aquilo: ¡A ver se dunha vez comezades a facer algo! Qué mágoa que faga o comento plantándolle de paso as mans enriba. Qué mágoa, sobre todo, que ese sinal de camadería chegue antes de ter pasado polo tren de limpeza, o castrón do mariñeiro lixado coma un cocho (p. 67).

The Lusty Month of May” continues to develop Guenevere as a heroine of operetta in a lighthearted song, which is both naïve and highly suggestive. With the abundance of “tra-las” and an up-tempo chorus joining in the fun, Knapp’s parallels to operetta are more than apt. The clarity, wide range, and versatility of Andrews’s voice only enhance the effect. Andrews never sacrifices vocal precision or tone despite the focus on clever wordplay and a bouncy, allegretto tune. This tune is more virtuosic than “Simple Joys” with additional melodic leaps and the possibility for displays in a higher range. Loewe uses a C♯ diminished chord to denote Guenevere’s lustful feelings, often punctuating lyrics such as “lusty” or “libelous,” in the otherwise carefree milieu of C major. The generally light orchestration favors the string section, similar to “Simple Joys,” and also features a harp. When woodwinds enter, clarinets tend to dominate. At this point, this instrumentation characterizes Guenevere’s musical self and augments her connection to operetta as it reinforces the sense of frivolity. The call-and-response with the chorus further heightens the sense of abandon, which increases throughout the song. Guenevere has not lost her youthful taste for ribaldry during her marriage with Arthur.

Der höchste Zweck nun, den der Gesang im Allgemeinen, und insbesondere in den Schulen zu erreichen sich bestreben muss, ist die Entwickelung und Erhöhung religiöser Empfindungen.

Lerner had never been happy with the 1951 stage show, his and Loewe’s entry between Brigadoon and My Fair Lady. He revised it a bit for the national tour, and now decided to give it a completely different storyline and some new numbers to match. The results might, at least, have been a bargain, as the whole thing takes place in and around a single spot, a gold-rush town in more or less everyday (if period) clothes. As opposed to the castles in Spain where Camelot did much of its filming, not to mention the gargoyles and falconry. However, anticipating the disaster-film cycle, Lerner wanted Paint Your Wagon’s mining town (“No-Name City. Population: Male”) to sink into the earth in a catastrophe finale. Worse, production built the place from scratch in the wilds of Oregon, with no nearby living quarters for cast and crew; they had to be trucked and helicoptered in and out each day in a long and pricey commute, greatly protracting the shooting schedule. Back as director again after Camelot, Joshua Logan fretted about all this, but Lerner didn’t care how much of Paramount’s money he spent. He even hired Camelot’s spendthrift designer, John Truscott. In the end, it would appear that no one knows exactly how much Paint Your Wagon cost, but there is no doubt that it lost a vast fortune. It deserved to. Cynically, Lerner took note of changing times and filled the film with a “youth now!” attitude and sexual freedom—refreshing if they didn’t feel so commercially opportunistic. But after all, Hair (1967) had happened. Was Broadway urging Hollywood to go hippie, too, or would Lerner have done this anyway?

Having settled on the Shavian style of Higgins’s songs, Lerner and Loewe weave two other levels of musical style into the score—just as Rodgers and Loesser wove multiple musical styles into mirrors of class and character. Eliza, the lowly flower seller whom Higgins turns into a lady, could sing with the conventional fire and passion of operetta and musical heroines. The passionate, full-throated sound of her songs—the longing of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” the anger of “Just You Wait, ’Enry ‘lggins,” the joy of “I Could Have Danced All Night,” the insistence of “Show Me”—contrasts with the dry wit of Higgins’s talk-songs. This contrast not only gives the score musical variety and color but embodies the essential dramatic conflict between intellect and emotion. The third musical style belongs to Alfred Doolittle, Eliza’s working-class dad, who, like Higgins, is an unconventional moralist—resisting such constraints of middle-class morality as work, sobriety, thrift, and marriage. Lerner and Loewe saw Doolittle as a refugee from the English music hall—literally, since the veteran music-hall performer, Stanley Holloway, created the role. Doolittle’s “With a Little Bit of Luck” and “Get Me to the Church on Time” are bouncy, raucous music-hall numbers, oom-pah marches with conventional major harmonies and not a trace of American syncopation.

I was powerless in the face of those evil grins and those smart-ass comments. All she had to do was smile and tell me to go to hell, and I was fucked.

Don’t overthink,” she said, “even though I know it’s your superpower. Whatever this is, we just have to let it happen. It’s better that way, okay? We don’t have to know what comes next. We don’t have to control it.

I wanted to be content. I wanted to stop fixing things for five fucking minutes and stay anywhere long enough to let myself be content. Right now, it was the only thing in the world that mattered to me.

Here I am now, in a place where I am forced to accept I do like you,” she continued, ignoring me completely. “I like your scowls and your moods, mostly because I’ve found all your buttons and it’s a lot of fun to push them.” … “And I find you attractive,” she went on. “Distractingly so. It’s actually a problem for me and I don’t know what to do about that, especially considering that you don’t like me.

It’s always you,” I said, “and you know that.

She glared at me, her gaze viciously cold. God, this girl hated me. Which was excellent, considering my immediate reaction to her was complete depravity.

There has never been a moment when I didn’t notice you. I can’t stop noticing you – and I should. You know I should stop and yet you make it impossible. Fuck, I’ve tried.

There is no such thing as healthy adjustment anymore. We’re all carrying around reusable grocery bags of trauma simply as a product of being alive in this world and pretending everything is fine … And that’s just the basics of existing. It doesn’t even figure in the junk we pick up all on our own.

I was falling for him. And I didn’t know what would happen if he wasn’t there to catch me.

I like you. A lot . It’s very uncomfortable for me.

I want to take you out. I want to look forward to it. I want to obsess a little bit about where we’ll go and whether you’ll like it. Maybe I want to obsess a lot. But I still want to pick you up, bring you flowers, lose my fucking mind because you’re unbelievably gorgeous but we can’t be late so I’ll have to fuck you up against the door later—which you’ll love, I promise. I want to choose a special place to eat that has things you’ll like and I want to talk to you for hours. I want to hear about everywhere you’ve been and everything you’ve done, and all the places you want to go and things you want to do. I want to sit across from you knowing that everyone else in the world wants to be near you, wants your attention, and I was the one who got it for these short hours. And I want to bring you home and walk the dogs with you and take you to bed. And I don’t want it to be something you tolerate. I want to do better than that.

There is no such thing as healthy adjustment anymore. We’re all carrying around reusable grocery bags of trauma simply as a product of being alive in this world and pretending everything is fine.

The headwaiter told Mal that Mr. Loew and another gentleman were waiting for him in the Gold Rush Room—a private nook favored by the downtown legal crowd. Mal walked back and rapped on the door; it was opened a split second later, and the “other gentleman” stood there beaming. “Knock, knock, who’s there? Dudley Smith, so Reds beware. Please come in, Lieutenant. This is an auspicious assemblage of police brain power, and we should mark the occasion with proper amenities.

We spent the few days in Prague enjoying this historic city, with its unusual sights from the Middle Ages: the oldest synagogue in Europe called the Alt- Neu Synagogue (Old-New Synagogue), with the cemetery in back of the house of worship. The legend of the Golem of Prague originated from there. Rabbi Loew, known in Jewish scholarship as Rabbi Judah, the Maharal, wrote a famous commentary to Rashi. Among the legends told about him is the creation of the Golem, who on instruction from the Rabbi saved the Jewish community from persecution. As soon as the Golem had fulfilled his mission, the rabbi returned him to his lifeless state.

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I was coming down Seventh Avenue one morning. It must have been in December or January. I had just come from the little church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and from Communion, and was going to get some breakfast at a lunch wagon near Loew's Sheridan Theater. I don't know what I was thinking of, but as I walked along I nearly bumped into Mark who was on his way to the subway, going to Columbia for his morning classes. 'Where are you going?' he said. The question surprised me, as there did not seem to be any reason to ask where I was going, and all I could answer was: 'To breakfast.' Later on, Mark referred again to the meeting and said: 'What made you look so happy, on the street, there?' So that was what had impressed him, and that was why he had asked me where I was going. It was not where I was going that made me happy, but where I was coming from. Yet, as I say, this surprised me too, because I had not really paid any attention to the fact that I was happy - which indeed I was.