Neil Simon Quotes

Suppose neutral angels were able to talk, Yahweh and Lucifer – God and Satan, to use their popular titles – into settling out of court. What would be the terms of the compromise? Specifically, how would they divide the assets of their early kingdom? Would God be satisfied the loaves and fishes and itty-bitty thimbles of Communion wine, while Satan to have the red-eye gravy, eighteen-ounce New York Stakes, and buckets of chilled champagne? Would God really accept twice-a-month lovemaking for procreative purposes and give Satan the all night, no-holds-barred, nasty “can’t-get-enough-of-you” hot-as-hell-fucks? Think about it. Would Satan get New Orleans, Bangkok, and the French Riviera and God get Salt Lake City? Satan get ice hockey, God get horseshoes? God get bingo, Satan get stud poker? Satan get LSD; God, Prozac? God get Neil Simon; Satan Oscar Wilde?

I LOVE living, I have some problems with my LIFE, but living is the best thing they've come up with so far.

Never underestimate the stimulation of eccentricity.

When its 100 degrees in New York, it's 72 in Los Angeles. When its 30 degrees in New York, in Los Angeles it's still 72. However, there are 6 million interesting people in New York, and only 72 in Los Angeles.

If you can go through life without experiencing pain you probably haven't been born yet.

Don't listen to those who say, you are taking too big a chance. Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor, and it would surely be rubbed out by today. Most important, don't listen when the little voice of fear inside you rears its ugly head and says "They are all smarter than you out there. They're more talented, they're taller, blonder, prettier, luckier, and they have connections." I firmly believe that if you follow a path that interests you, not to the exclusion of love, sensitivity, and cooperation with others, but with the strength of conviction that you can move others by your own efforts, and do not make success or failure the criteria by which you live, the chances are you'll be a person worthy of your own respects.

I’m just a soul whose intentions are good,’“ he sang to the crabs and the spiders and the palmetto beetles and the lizards and the night. ‘“Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.

Never have so many given so much for so long for so little for so few for so seldom.

The first thing I saw was blue. Blue sweater, blue eyes. Blue. Beautifully blue. Then I saw red as I recognized who belonged to the blue. “Fucking Wallbanger,” I hissed, frozen on the spot. His grin slid off as well as he played place-the-face for a moment. “Fucking Pink Nightie Girl,” he finally concluded. He grimaced. We stared, seething as the air literally turned electric between us, snapping and crackling. The four behind us had fallen silent, listening to this little interchange. Then they caught up. “That’s Wallbanger?” Sophia screeched. “Wait a minute, that’s Pink Nightie Girl?” Neil laughed, and Mimi and Ryan snorted. My face flamed bright red as I processed this information, and Simon’s sneer became that damnable smirk I’d seen that night in the hallway—when I’d banged on his door and made him quit giving it to the Giggler and yelled at him. When I’d been wearing… “Pink Nightie Girl. Pink Nightie Girl!” I choked out, beyond pissed. Beyond angry. Well into Furious Town. I stared at him, pouring all of my tension into that one look. All of the sleepless nights and lost Os and cold showers and banana thrusting and merciless wet dreams went into that one look. I wanted to level him with my eyes, make him beg for mercy. But no…Not Simon, Director of the International House Of Orgasms. He Was Still Smirking.

Writing is an escape from a world that crowds me. I like being alone in a room. It's almost a form of medication- an investigation of my own life. It has nothing to do with "I've got to get another play

I got brown sandwiches and green sandwiches. It's either very new cheese or very old meat. - Oscar Madison, from The Odd Couple

Sure it hurts, but if you love someone, you forgive them." Blanche Somethings you forgive, somethings you never forgive." Kate

[Y]ou're young. Young takes care of everything.

A writer without confidence is like a metaphor without something to compare itself to.

I'm getting chest pains...You give me chest pains Uncle Willie. It's my fault you get excited. Yes, it's your fault! I only get chest pains on Wednesdays. So come on Tuesdays.

I don't like to see Shakespeare in a theater. I like to see Shakespeare in the park.

There's no good reason to change a Neil Simon line. The day that I'm funnier than Neil Simon, Hell will be a very chilly place.

Writing is an escape from a world that crowds me. I like being alone in a room. It's almost a form of medication- an investugation of my own life. It has nothing to do with "I've got to get another play2

You're a witness. You're always standing around watching what's happening, scribbling in your book what other people do. You have to get in the middle of it. You have to take sides. Make a contribution to the fight. Any fight. The one you believe in. Until you do, you'll never be a writer, Eugene.

Evan Handler's new book is simply wonderful. He pulls you inside his life, and you come out his very close friend.

Wow, this is so great. Snow in New York, isn't it romantic? Only if you love empty theaters.

It was a limited engagement. When they stop coming, I limit the engagement.

Don't listen to those who say, you are taking too big a chance. Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor, and it would surely be rubbed out by today. Most important, don't listen when the little voice of fear inside you rears its ugly head ...

You like a cracker? What kind of cracker? Graham, chocolate, cocoanut, whatever you want. Maybe just a plain cracker. I don't have plain crackers. I got graham, chocolate and cocoanut. Alright, a graham cracker. They're in the kitchen, in the closet. Maybe later.

Nothin’ sweeter than danger, boys, am I right?

Oh, well this month we're sold out. Completely. You could go all over town, you won't find a ticket to the show... Unless you go to the box office. He's got racks of seats.

Is it awful to join in this planning? Is it trying to sell one’s sister? But surely Rose can manage to fall in love with them — I mean, with whichever one will fall in love with her. I hope it will be Neil, because I really do think Simon is a little frightening — only it is Neil who thinks England is a joke.

OSCAR. (Sitting at table.) My friend Murray the Cop is right. Let's just play cards. And please hold them up, I can't see where I marked them.

Number 2 son: "I don't hear nothin. What do you hear?" Inspector Wang: "Double negative and dog.

America will aim no higher than the creation and aggressive marketing of minor consumer products that replace similar, and perfectly satisfactory, consumer products. “America may be losing a competitive edge in many enterprises, from cars to space,” riffed National Public Radio host Scott Simon in the summer of 2010, “but as long as we can devise a five-bladed, mineral-oil-saturated razor, we face the future well-shaved.

I find that the writing of a memoir has two functions. One is to pass on, as much as you’re willing to tell, the fact’s and deeds of your life to those who might be at all interested. The other function is to discover a truth about yourself that you never had either the time or the courage to face before. You will never investigate yourself as vehemently as you do when you put one word after another, one thought after another, one revelation after another, in the pages that make up your memoirs, and you will suddenly realize the person you are instead of the person you thought you were. To force memory is to open yourself up to that which you have chosen to forget. It’s your RASHOMON. You begin to see all the different sides of your own story.

But you'll see producers and theatre owners with a billion dollars worth of theaters come in here for lunch and you know why? Because it's cheap. You see those pictures on the wall? All young actors and actresses who you will never hear about in your life... And when 'dis place is gone, the entire Broadway will slide into the East River.

FELIX. I can’t stand it, Oscar. I hate me. Oh, boy, do I hate me. OSCAR. You don’t hate you. You love you. You think no one has problems like you. FELIX. Don’t give me that analyst jazz. I happen to know I hate my guts. OSCAR. Come on, Felix; I’ve never seen anyone so in love. FELIX. (Hurt) I thought you were my friend. OSCAR. That’s why I can talk to you like this. Because I love you almost as much as you do.

OSCAR. (With a pointing finger.) I'm warning you. You want to live here, I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear you and I don't want to smell your cooking. Now get this spaghetti off my poker table. FELIX. Ha! Haha! OSCAR. What the hell's so funny? FELIX. It's not spaghetti. It's linguini! (OSCAR picks up the plate of linguini, crosses to the doorway, and hurls it into the kitchen.) OSCAR. Now it's garbage!

Neil hated idiots like these two. There could be flashing lights and a wailing siren that warned the perpetually offended a movie was extreme, and still they would be drawn to it like flies to an unwashed buttplug. They’d then complain and leave a one-star review because their mummies weren’t there to cuddle them reassuringly when they got triggered. Fucktards. Utter cunts. They really deserved to die as slowly and as painfully as possible.

24. The Rutles, “Cheese and Onions” (1978) A legend to last a lunchtime. The Rutles were the perfect Beatle parody, starring Monty Python’s Eric Idle and the Bonzos’ Neil Innes in their classic mock-doc All You Need Is Cash, with scene-stealing turns by George Harrison, Mick Jagger, and Paul Simon. (Interviewer: “Did the Rutles influence you at all?” Simon: “No.” Interviewer: “Did they influence Art Garfunkel?” Simon: “Who?”) “Cheese and Onions” is a psychedelic ersatz Lennon piano ballad so gorgeous, it eventually got bootlegged as a purported Beatle rarity. Innes captures that tone of benignly befuddled pomposity—“I have always thought in the back of my mind / Cheese and onions”—along with the boyish vulnerability that makes it moving. Hell, he even chews gum exactly like John. The Beatles’ psychedelic phase has always been ripe for parody. Witness the 1967 single “The L.S. Bumble Bee,” by the genius Brit comedy duo Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, from Beyond the Fringe and the BBC series Not Only . . . ​But Also, starring John Lennon in a cameo as a men’s room attendant. “The L.S. Bumble Bee” sounds like the ultimate Pepper parody—“Freak out, baby, the Bee is coming!”—but it came out months before Pepper, as if the comedy team was reeling from Pet Sounds and wondering how the Beatles might respond. Cook and Moore are a secret presence in Pepper—when the audience laughs in the theme song, it’s taken from a live recording of Beyond the Fringe, produced by George Martin.

America may be losing a competitive edge in many enterprises, from cars to space, riffed National Public Radio host Scott Simon in the summer of 2010, "but as long as we can devise a five-bladed, mineral-oil-saturated razor, we face the future well-shaved.

Ma knew what was goin' on. She could tell if there was salt missin' from a pretzel.

Food used to be so good. I used to love food. I haven't eaten food since I was thirteen years old...I haven't had a real piece of bread in thirty years. If I knew what was going to happen, I would have saved some rolls when I was a kid.

It's amazing how flabby you get when you're happy.

VINNIE. They were such a happy couple. MURRAY. Twelve years doesn't mean you're a happy couple. It just means you're a long couple. SPEED. Go figure it. Felix and Frances. ROY. What are you surprised at? He used to sit there every Friday night and tell us how they were fighting. SPEED. I know. But who believes Felix? VINNIE. What happened? OSCAR. She wants out, that's all. MURRAY. He'll go to pieces. I know Felix. He's going to try something crazy. SPEED. That's all he ever used to talk about. "My beautiful wife. My wonderful wife." What happened? OSCAR. His beautiful, wonderful wife can't stand him, that's what happened. MURRAY. He'll kill himself. You hear what I'm saying? He's going to go out and try to kill himself. SPEED. (To MURRAY.) Will you shut up, Murray? Stop being a cop for two minutes. (To OSCAR.) Where'd he go, Oscar? OSCAR. He went out to kill himself.

FELIX. I can't help myself. I drive everyone crazy. A marriage counselor once kicked me out of his office. He wrote on my chart, Lunatic!...I don't blame her. It's impossible to be married to me. OSCAR. It takes two to make a rotten marriage. (Lies back down on the couch.) FELIX. You don't know what I was like at home. I bought her a book and made her write down every penny we spent. Thirty-eight cents for cigarettes, ten cents for a paper. Everything had to go in the book. And then we had a big fight because I said she forgot to write down how much the book was...Who could live with anyone like that?

OSCAR. Don't you know what's happening to the old gang? It's breaking up. Everyone's getting divorced....I swear, we used to have better games when we couldn't get out at night.

Simon Helberg: Mayim and I had this unspoken connection, and I know how rare that is. And you better believe I listened to Neil Diamond in the car on the way to work every day that week. Anytime I had anything like that, I just drilled it into my head; sometimes to an unhealthy extent, but I tried to be 100 percent fully immersed.

Decades before Sergey Brin and Larry Page were born, authors like George Orwell and Aldous Huxley painted scenes of technology-driven dystopias in books like 1984 and Brave New World. “Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression,” wrote media theorist Neil Postman. “But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity, and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.

that. I wriggle into my trackies and toss my gym bag onto the back seat. My vest top barely covers the bits that matter but that doesn’t account for the shivers that are currently rippling up and down my spine. Turns out, six weeks playing a fifty quid prozzy delivered unexpected consequences. I made new friends, despite Fuller’s advice not to get too close. Friends who thought I was one of them, women whose pitiful no-hope lives made mine seem almost bearable. Girls who now rest in a jumbled heap on a mortuary slab because I thought I’d caught a break, thought I knew better than the whole of serious crimes unit put together – and DS Neil Fuller believed me. Like I said, God takes the good ones and leaves the rest of us to fight among ourselves. The

Around eighteen, Dinah suddenly became interested in acting. I worked with her on This Property Is Condemned, a Tennessee Williams one-act, for her audition for the Actors Studio. Then came Marty Maraschino in Grease, then a running part in Soap, a hot TV series. Then the lead in Neil Simon’s play I Ought to Be in Pictures. She was accepted by the Studio and quickly hired by Robert Redford as the girl in Ordinary People who commits suicide.

Well, for what's good, you have to go somewhere else. But for what Mother used to make, dis is da place...

Friendly reminder, Gail Simone is not your bitch and neither is Neil Gaiman!

([FELIX] suddenly stands up and cocks his arm back, about to hurl the cup angrily against the front door. Then he thinks better of it, puts the cup down and sits) OSCAR. (Watching this) Why didn’t you throw it? FELIX. I almost did. I get so insane with myself sometimes. OSCAR. Then why don’t you throw the cup? FELIX. Because I’m trying to control myself. OSCAR. Why? FELIX. What do you mean, why? OSCAR. Why do you have to control yourself? You’re angry, you felt like throwing the cup, why don’t you throw it? FELIX. Because there’s no point to it. I’d still be angry and I’d have a broken cup. OSCAR. How do you know how you’d feel? Maybe you’d feel wonderful. Why do you have to control every single thought in your head? Why don’t you let loose once in your life? Do something that you feel like doing—and not what you think you’re supposed to do. Stop keeping books, Felix. Relax. Get drunk. Get angry. C’mon, break the goddamned cup!

CONNIE: You don’t even have to say you love me. And when you get bored, just kick me out and give me a letter of recommendation.

EUGENE. I admire what you did back there, Arnold. You remind me of my brother, sometimes. He was always standing up for his principles too. ARNOLD. Principles are okay. But sometimes they get in the way of reason. EUGENE. Then how do you know which one is the right one? ARNOLD. You have to get involved. You don't get involved enough, Eugene EUGENE. What do you mean? ARNOLD. You're a witness. You're always standing around watching what's happening. Scribbling in your book what other people do. You have to get in the middle of it. You have to take sides. Make a contribution to the fight. EUGENE. What fight? ARNOLD. Any fight. The one you believe in. EUGENE. Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible. Like The Shadow. I can see everyone else, but they can’t see me. That’s what I think writers are. Sort of invisible. EPSTEIN. Not Tolstoy. Not Dostoyevsky. Not Herman Melville. EUGENE. Yeah. I have to read those guys.

Did you ever see Pearl's family album? There are no pictures of me as a boy. I skipped right over it. Thousands of pictures of you on bicycles, on ponies, in barber chairs...one picture of me in a 1938 Buick. I looked like Herbert Hoover.

I mean, if you give in when you're eighteen and a half, you'll give in for the rest of your life, don't you think?

Sid had a cerebral band of writers, Mel Brooks, Larry Gelbart, Mel Tolkin, Lucille Kallen, Mike Stuart, Shelly Keller, Neil Simon, not to mention contributors like Carl Reiner, Howie Morris, and Sid himself.

(The phone rings. He jumps up) PEGGY: Are you expecting anyone? BUDDY: Me? No! No! (It rings again, angrily) No, I’ll get it. I’ll get it. (He crosses to phone quickly and picks it up. Into phone) Hello!. . . Dad!!!. . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. . . What? . . . now? . . . Look, Dad, I’ll come downstairs, okay? . . . Dad? . . . Dad? . . . Oh, boy! (He hangs up) PEGGY: Is anything wrong? BUDDY: What? Oh, yeah... It’s... it’s someone I don’t want to see... A writer. . . PEGGY: Dad? It sounded like it was your father. BUDDY: Oh! Oh, no. That’s just a nickname. Dad. You know, like Ernest Hemingway is Poppa.

We all listened to and loved the Stones, the Beatles, Cat Stevens, Nina Simone, Neil Young, Bonnie Raitt, Aretha, sixties Motown, Andreas

MOTHER. [...] Mr. Velasco . . . Where are my clothes? VELASCO. Your clothes . . . ? Oh, yes . . . (He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket) Here. (He gives it to her) MOTHER. I’m sure I wore more than that. VELASCO. It’s a cleaning ticket. They’re sending them up at six o’clock. MOTHER. (Taking the ticket) Oh, they’re at the cleaner’s. . . (After a moment’s hesitation) When did I take them off? VELASCO. You didn’t . . . You were drenched and out cold. Gonzales took them off. MOTHER. (Shocked) Mr. Gonzales?? VELASCO. Not Mister! . . . Doctor Gonzales! MOTHER. (Relieved) Doctor . . . Oh, Doctor Gonzales. . . Well, I suppose that’s all right. How convenient to have an M.D. in the building. VELASCO. (Laughing) He’s not an M.D. He’s a Doctor of Philosophy.