Raquel Welch Quotes

You can't fake listening. It shows.

My body is the shape I live in and it shapes the way I live.

Latinos are here to stay. As citizen Raquel, I'm proud to be Latina.

There aren't any hard women, only soft men.

We all have a childhood dream that when there is love, everything goes like silk, but the reality is that marriage requires a lot of compromise.

Raquel Welch, whom I’ve met but never kissed, once called the brain an erogenous zone.

Once you get rid of the idea that you must please other people before you please yourself, and you begin to follow your own instincts — only then can you be successful.

He never developed the walk that men get when the day is over and they are going back to their cells for another endless night—that flat-footed, hump-shouldered walk. Andy walked with his shoulders squared, and his step was always light, as if he were heading home to a good home-cooked meal and a good woman instead of to a tasteless mess of soggy vegetables, lumpy mashed potato, and a slice or two of that fatty, gristly stuff most of the cons called mystery meat . . . that, and a picture of Raquel Welch on the wall. But for those four years, although he never became exactly like the others, he did become silent, introspective, and brooding.

Le había dicho que se paseaba por el patio como si estuviera en una fiesta. Yo no lo habría expresado así, pero entiendo lo que quería decir. Tiene relación con lo que dije de que Andy llevaba su libertad como un abrigo invisible y con lo que dije de que nunca llegó a tener en realidad una mentalidad carcelaria. Nunca llegó a tener esa mirada obtusa. Nunca llegó a caminar como caminan los hombres cuando termina la jornada y han de volver a sus celdas para otra noche interminable... encorvados, aturdidos. Andy caminaba erguido y con paso vivo siempre, como quien se dirige a casa, donde le aguardan una buena cena hogareña y una buena mujer, y no la bazofia insípida de verduras pastosas, puré de patatas grumoso y una o dos tajadas de ese material cartilaginoso y grasiento que casi todos los presos llaman «carne de enigma»... eso y una foto de Raquel Welch en la pared.

I asked him once what the posters meant to him, and he gave me a peculiar, surprised sort of look. “Why, they mean the same thing to me as they do to most cons, I guess,” he said. “Freedom. You look at those pretty women and you feel like you could almost . . . not quite but almost . . . step right through and be beside them. Be free. I guess that’s why I always liked Raquel Welch the best. It wasn’t just her; it was that beach she was standing on. Looked like she was down in Mexico somewhere. Someplace quiet, where a man would be able to hear himself think. Didn’t you ever feel that way about a picture, Red? That you could almost step right through it?” I said I’d never really thought of it that way. “Maybe someday you’ll see what I mean,” he said, and he was right. Years later I saw exactly what he meant . . . and when I did, the first thing I thought of was Normaden, and about how he’d said it was always cold in Andy’s cell.

Blaine: THE HAND-SCAN SPECTRUM MAGNIFIER IS A DIAGNOSTIC TOOL ALSO CAPABLE OF ADMINISTERING MINOR FIRST AID, SUCH AS I HAVE PERFORMED ON YOU. IT IS ALSO A NUTRIENT DELIVERY SYSTEM, A BRAIN-PATTERN RECORDING DEVICE, A STRESS-ANALYZER, AND AN EMOTION-ENHANCER WHICH CAN NATURALLY STIMULATE THE PRODUCTION OF ENDORPHINS. HAND-SCAN IS ALSO CAPABLE OF CREATING VERY BELIEVABLE ILLUSIONS AND HALLUCINATIONS. WOULD YOU CARE TO HAVE YOUR FIRST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE WITH A NOTED SEX-GODDESS FROM YOUR LEVEL OF THE TOWER, JAKE OF NEW YORK? PERHAPS MARILYN MONROE, RAQUEL WELCH, OR EDITH BUNKER? Jake: (laughter; guessing that laughing at Blaine might be risky, but this time he cannot help it) There IS no Edith Bunker. She's just a character on a TV show. The actress's name is, um, Jean Stapleton. Also, she looks like Mrs. Shaw. She's our housekeeper. Nice, but not--you know--a babe. Blaine: (silence) I CRY YOUR PARDON, JAKE OF NEW YORK. I ALSO WITHDRAW MY OFFER OF A SEXUAL EXPERIENCE. Jake: (sounding suitably humble hopefully) That's okay, Blaine. I think I'm still a little young for that, anyway.

If an aging sex symbol like me starts waving the red flag of caution over how low moral standards have plummeted, you know it's gotta be pretty bad.

Her face was the best of Raquel Welch and Christy Brinkley combined. All atop a curvaceous body that would make Rubens drop his paintbrush." -Adam W. Jones, Fate Ball

Right in front of us on a screen that looks to be at least twenty feet high and twice as wide, the extremely awful movie Myra Breckinridge is being shown in very lurid living color. As Raquel Welch, Mae West, and John Houston cavort before us like overblown figures from a fever dream by Hieronymus Bosch, Gram and I look at one another in horror. Both of us know we have entered another dimension. Gram Parsons and I are now in the twilight zone.