Opera Funny Quotes

Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings.

What is a quote? A quote (cognate with quota) is a cut, a section, a slice of someone's orange. You suck the slice, toss the rind, skate away.

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.

St. Clair gets a crush on Anna. He's torn between her and Ellie, and he spends so much time running between them that he hardly has time left for Josh. And the more time that Josh spends alone, the more he realizes how alone he actually is. All of his friends will be gone the next year. Josh grows increasingly antagonistic toward school, which makes Rashmi increasingly antagonistic toward him, which makes him increasingly antagonistic toward her. And she's upset because Elie dropped her as a friend, and Meredith is upset because now St. Clair likes two girls who aren't her, and Anna is upset because St. Clair is leading her on, and then St. Clair's mom gets cancer. It's a freaking soap opera.

(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?

Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined black opera cloak with pockets for all his gear, his shiny black shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least, his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on who he was talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the joke was on other people.

I was shown into a room. A red room. Red wallpaper, red curtains, red carpet. They said it was a sitting-room, but I don’t know why they’d decided to confine its purpose just to sitting. Obviously, sitting was one of the things you could do in a room this size; but you could also stage operas, hold cycling races, and have an absolutely cracking game of frisbee, all at the same time, without having to move any of the furniture. It could rain in a room this big.

Norway...looked to Roosevelt "as funny a kingdom as was ever imagined outside of opera bouffe....It is much as if Vermont should offhand try the experiment of having a king.

That´s the problem with planning a late night supper after the opera, not only does the hero or the heroine die singing, but you end up famished after the last notes of the finale.

And there’s no synthetic owners manual?” His lips twitched, smile threatening to break into a grin. A joke. He wasn’t funny. “Do you come with an owners’ manual, Captain? Because I’d like to study your troubleshooting section.” “Would you like to strip me down to my nuts and bolts, and figure out what makes me tick?” “I knew what made you tick from the moment we first met. That’s why I punched you between the legs.” ~ #1001 & Caleb

Well blow me down with a solar flare.

I don't see where you get off fretting about whether or not the end of the world is family-friendly.

Artemis hooked the speaker over one ear, adjusting the mike stem so it wound across his mouth. 'Foaly? Are you listening?' 'Are you kidding?' came the reply. 'This is better than human soap operas.

So, reader, should you ever find yourself writing about the world, take care not to nibble at the many tempting symbols she sets squarely in your path, or you'll be baited into saying things you don't really mean, and offending the people you want most to entertain. Develop, if you can, the technique of the pall bearers and myself: smile, to be sure -- for fucking dogs are truly funny -- but walk on and say nothing, as though you hadn't noticed.

Manners,” I say. “It ain't polite to taste people. Shit.

I say, `Woe to them that have a nose, a real nose, and come to look round the torture-chamber! Aha, aha, aha!

Finally, after a glance at Notre Dame and a brisk trot through the Louvre, we sat down at a cafe on the Place de l'Opera and watched the people. They were amazing -- never had we seen such costumes, such make-up, such wigs; and, strangest of all, the wearers didn't seem in the least conscious of how funny they looked. Many of them even stared at us and smiled, as though we had been the oddities, and not they. Mr. Holmes no doubt found it amusing to see the pageant of prostitution, poverty and fashion reflected in our callow faces and wide-open eyes.

Don't go thinking poetry's just for sissies. There's mushy love poems, for sure, but there's also funny ones, lots about nature, war even. Whole point of it --they make ya feel something." His dad told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what's necessary to defend a woman.

Don’t go thinking poetry’s just for sissies. There’s mushy love poems, for sure, but there’s also funny ones, lots about nature, war even. Whole point of it—they make ya feel something.” His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what’s necessary to defend a woman.

Scupper went on. “Don’t go thinking poetry’s just for sissies. There’s mushy love poems, for sure, but there’s also funny ones, lots about nature, war even. Whole point of it—they make ya feel something.” His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what’s necessary to defend a woman.

Don’t go thinking poetry’s just for sissies. There’s mushy love poems, for sure, but there’s also funny ones, lots about nature, war even. Whole point of it—they make ya feel something.” His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what’s necessary to defend a woman. Scupper walked to the sitting room, calling back,

My first impression of him was that he was free spirited, clever, funny. That proved to be completely inaccurate. We left the party together and walked around for hours, lied to each other about our happy lives, ate pizza at midnight, took the Staten Island Ferry back and forth and watched the sun rise. I gave him my phone number at the dorm. By the time he finally called me, two weeks later, I’d become obsessed with him. He kept me on a long, tight leash for months—expensive meals, the occasional opera or ballet. He took my virginity at a ski lodge in Vermont on Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t a pleasurable experience, but I trusted he knew more about sex than I did, so when he rolled off and said, “That was amazing,” I believed him. He was thirty-three, worked for Fuji Bank at the World Trade Center, wore tailored suits, sent cars to pick me up at my dorm, then the sorority house sophomore year, wined and dined me, and asked for head with no shame in the back of cabs he charged to the company account. I took this as proof of his masculine value. My “sisters” all agreed; he was “suave.” And I was impressed by how much he liked talking about his emotions, something I’d never seen a man do. “My mom’s a pothead now, and that’s why I have this deep sadness.” He took frequent trips to Tokyo for work and to San Francisco to visit his twin sister. I suspected she discouraged him from dating me.

Her mother stared at him. “You? In space? Where it’s cold, and there’s no air?” Sarah’s father said, “I wasn’t planning to go in my underwear.

The money in the chorus isn’t very good, is it?!” she said. “No.” It was less than you’d get for scrubbing floors. The reason was that, when you advertised a dirty floor, hundreds of hopefuls didn’t turn up.

She knows what matters and what doesn't,' she answered, choosing her words carefully. 'She remembers what she receives, but never what she gives. She doesn't hold grudges, and if she thinks something is funny she will laugh, whether it is the "done thing" or not. She loves the opera, and gorgeous clothes. She is honest when it is fashionable not to be, but she is never unnecessarily unkind. And she will fight to the death for a cause she believes in.

It was weird, ’cause there we were in Italy listening to people singing in German. The music was nice, though, and there was this guy dressed up like a parrot. If you’d asked me a year ago to guess what opera was like, I’d never have guessed it had guys dressed as parrots. I might’ve wanted to go and see some sooner if I’d known. It was a sweet story, ’cause he met this girl who was dressed as a parrot too, and they got off together.

There I saw Chloe, freshly bathed, wrapped in a towel, eating fun-size butterfingers one after another like a chain smoker and watching me like I was her soap opera.

In a funny way, you could say he taught me how to write super-hero comics. He said, “What you do is you take a soap opera, and you take out all the sex scenes and replace them with people punching each other. That’s it. It’s the same structure.

Don't go thinking poetry's just for sissies. There's mushy love poems, for sure, but there's also funny ones, lots about nature, war even. Whole point of it - they make ya feel something.' His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what's necessary to defend a woman. (...) The words made him think of Kya, Jodie's little sister. She'd seemed so small and alone in the mash's big sweep. He imagines his own sister lost out there. His dad was right - poems made you feel something.

You‟re your own opera, your own sad mime Laugh at yourself-you‟re funny Smile at yourself-your life is sunny Cry when you hurt-only you can feel it Snivel and mope-you‟ll deaden it Be your own hospital, your therapist Your own developer, your industrialist No one will stretch out and save You‟re the best you are, you‟re all you have.

27. Where do opera singers like to sit? On the So Fa!

This was my first class, but I thought it was very interesting.” “And you’re the only one who knew La Cenerentola. How did you know?” Maude didn’t want to admit that the story hit very close to home, so she just said, “I think it’s a beautiful opera. Cinderella is very spirited in it. She isn’t at all like Cinderella in the Disney version who just waits for her Prince Charming. She has a wry sense of humor, and the opera is actually very funny. Even Prince Charming is different. His character is more developed, more active. He disguises himself as a valet to see how women actually behave around him when they think he is just a servant.” “Would

Jeremiah lowered himself into his chair, turned to the first page of The Phantom of the Opera, and started to read aloud. “The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as long believed, a creature of the imagination . . .” He read to himself the next few lines and expressed the following. “Yes, he existed in flesh and blood, although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to say of a spectral shade.” Jeremiah thought for a moment. It’s rather like me. It could have been an apt description of him before Miss Herman walked into his life with a plate of strawberry scones and a jug of lemonade. He had walked around like a phantom. Yes, he had been alive, but it had been a grim, lonely sort of life where he had shut people out. Funny what a little kindness can do, he told himself and went back to reading.

It was funny that Big Ma loved her soap operas during the day, television dramas at night, and supermarket gossip magazines when Uncle Darnell brought them in for her, but she wouldn’t talk about our own family. “Our family is a regular nighttime soap opera.” “You got that right,” JimmyTrotter said.