Stephen Sondheim Quotes

If I cannot fly, let me sing.

I prefer neurotic people. I like to hear rumblings beneath the surface.

Art, in itself, is an attempt to bring order out of chaos.

You're so nice. You're not good, you're not bad, You're just nice. I'm not good, I'm not nice, I'm just right. I'm the witch. You're the world.

Oh if life were made of moments Even now and then a bad one--! But if life were only moments, Then you'd never know you had one.

There's a hole in the world like a big black pit who are filled with people who are filled with shit.

Sometimes people leave you Halfway through the wood Others may decieve you You decide what's good You decide alone But no one is alone

At last, my arm is complete again

The worst thing you can do is censor yourself as the pencil hits the paper. You must not edit until you get it all on paper. If you can put everything down, stream-of-consciousness, you'll do yourself a service.

Work is what you do for others, liebchen. Art is what you do for yourself.

They all deserve to die. Even you, Mrs. Lovett Even I. Because the lives of the wicked should be made brief For the rest of us death would be relief.

The difference between a cow and a bean is a bean can begin an adventure.

One difference between poetry and lyrics is that lyrics sort of fade into the background. They fade on the page and live on the stage when set to music.

Nice is different than good.

I read to see myself in other people's lives.

Anything you do, let it come from you. Then it will be new. Give us more to see...

I chose and my world was shaken, so what? The choice may have been mistaken, the choosing was not.

Careful the things you say, Children will listen. Careful the things you do, Children will see. And learn. Children may not obey But children will listen. Children will look to you For which way to turn, To learn what to be. Careful before you say, "Listen to me." Children will listen.

Best to take the moment present As a present for the moment

The dumbing down of the country reflects itself on Broadway. The shows get dumber, and the public gets used to them.

There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit and it goes by the name of London. At the top of the hole sit the privileged few Making mock of the vermin in the lonely zoo turning beauty to filth and greed... I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders, for the cruelty of men is as wonderous as Peru but there's no place like London!

Music blows lyrics up very quickly, and suddenly they become more than art. They become pompous and they become self-conscious ... I firmly believe that lyrics have to breathe and give the audience's ear a chance to understand what's going on. Particularly in the theater, where you not only have the music, but you've got costume, story, acting, orchestra. There's a lot to take in.

It's not so much do what you like as it is that you like what you do.

Slotted spoons don't hold much soup...

Music straightjackets a poem and prevents it from breathing on its own, whereas it liberates a lyric. Poetry doesn't need music; lyrics do.

Stephen Sondheim said : " If you know where you're going, you've gone. Move on.

Now, this one might be a little stringy, but then again, it's fiddle player." That isn't fiddle player, it's piccolo player." How can you tell?" It's PIPING hot!" Then blow on it first!

Bit by bit, putting it together... Piece by piece, only way to make a work of art. Every moment makes a contribution, Every little detail plays a part. Having just the vision's no solution, Everything depends on execution, Putting it together, that's what counts.

No one has ever loved me As deeply as you. No one has truly shown me What love could be like until now: Not pretty or safe or easy But more than I ever knew. Love within reason - That isn't love. And I've learned that from you..

Swing your razor wide! Sweeney, hold it to the skies!

Having just the vision's no solution, everything depends on execution

I was raised to be charming, not sincere. I didn’t ask to be born a King, and I am not perfect. I am only human.

Children can only grow from something you love to something you lose.

The nice thing about doing a crossword puzzle is, you know there is a solution.

There are only two worthwhile things to leave behind when you depart this world of ours: children and art.

Let Pirelli's / Miracle Elixir / Activate your roots, sir... Keep it off your boots, sir- / Eats right through. Yes, get Pirelli's! / Use a bottle of it! / Ladies seem to love it... Flies do, too!

There was a barber and his wife. And he was beautiful. A proper artist with a knife but they transported him for life. And he was beautiful

The man i'll never be, Who remembers him?

TODD: The history of the world, my love -- LOVETT: Save a lot of graves, Do a lot of relatives favors! TODD: Is those below serving those up above! LOVETT: Ev'rybody shaves, So there should be plenty of flavors! TODD: How gratifying for once to know BOTH: That those above will serve those down below!

Alright! You sir, you sir, how about a shave? Come and visit your good friend Sweeney. You sir, too sir? Welcome to the grave. I will have vengenance. I will have salvation. Who sir, you sir? No ones in the chair, Come on! Come on! Sweeney's. waiting. I want you bleeders. You sir! Anybody! Gentlemen now don't be shy! Not one man, no, nor ten men. Nor a hundred can assuage me. I will have you! And I will get him back even as he gloats In the meantime I'll practice on less honorable throats. And my Lucy lies in ashes And I'll never see my girl again. But the work waits! I'm alive at last! And I'm full of joy!

I was watching him crawl, Back over the wall-! Then bang! Crash! And the lightning flash! And- well, that's another story, Never mind- Anyway...

It's your father's fault that the curse got placed and the place got cursed in the first place.

How many times do you get to be 35? Eleven

Writing is a form of mischief.

They hear drums, we hear music.

Somebody, crowd me with love. Somebody, force me to care. Somebody, make me come through, I'll always be there, as frightened as you, to help us survive being alive!

I chose and my world was shaken. So what. The choice might have been mistaken, but choosing was not.

A folktale without a moral is merely a whimsy.

Must it all be either less or more, Either plain or grand? Is it always “or”? Is it never “and”?

Unless the object of the singer’s affection is a vampire, surely what Hart means is unphotogenic. Only vampires are unphotographable, but affectionate ‘-enic’ rhymes are hard to come by.

Because in all of the whole human race Mrs. Lovett, there are two kinds of men and only two There's the one staying put in his proper place And the one with his foot in the other one's face

Was that me? Yes it was. Was that him? No it wasn't.. Just a trick of the woods! Just a moment, One peculiar passing moment. Must it all be either less or more, Either plain or grand? Is it always 'or'? Is it never 'and'? That's what woods are for: For those moments in the woods... Oh, if life were made of moments, Even now and then a bad one--! But if life were only moments, Then you'd never know you had one. First a witch, then a child, then a Prince, then a moment-- Who can live in the woods? And to get what you wish, only just for a moment-- These are dangerous woods.. Let the moment go.. Don't forget it for a moment, though. Just remembering you had an 'and,' when you're back to 'or,' Makes the 'or' mean more than is did before. Now I understand-- And it's time to leave the woods.

Stop worrying where you're going. Move on. If you can know where you're going, you've gone. Just keep moving on.

Some of us don't like the way you've been telling it.

Loving you is not a choice, It's who I am. Loving you is not a choice And not much reason to rejoice, But it gives me purpose Gives me voice to say to the world: This is why I live You are why I live. Loving you is why I do The things I do Loving you is not in my control. But loving you, I have a goal For what's left of my life... I would live, And I would die for you.

Must it all be either less or more, Either plain or grand? Is it always 'or'? Is it never 'and'? That's what woods are for: For those moments in the woods... Oh, if life were made of moments, Even now and then a bad one--! But if life were only moments, Then you'd never know you had one. ...to get what you wish, only just for a moment-- These are dangerous woods! Let the moment go... Don't forget it for a moment, though. Just remembering you had an 'and,' when you're back to 'or,' Makes the 'or' mean more than is did before. Now I understand-- And it's time to leave the woods.

Hey, old friend. What do you say, old friend? Make it okay, old friend, Give an old friendship a break. Why so grim? We’re going on forever. You, me, him—too many lives are at stake… —STEPHEN SONDHEIM, “OLD FRIENDS

We lose things. And then we choose things. And there are Louis's And there are Georges- Well, Louis's And George.

It takes almost as much imagination to justify what you write as it does to write it.

Although how can you know                   Who you are till you know                   What you want, which you don’t?                   So then which do you pick:

They all deserve to die. Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why. Because in all of the whole human race Mrs Lovett, there are two kinds of men and only two There's the one they put in his proper place And the one with his foot in the other one's face Look at me, Mrs Lovett, look at you. Now we all deserve to die Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why. Because the lives of the wicked should be made brief For the rest of us death will be a relief We all deserve to die.

People make mistakes,                   Holding to their own,                   Thinking they’re alone.

Music is a foreign language which everyone knows but only musicians can speak.

Lots of madmen have had their say But only for a day.

I chose and my world was shaken. So what? The choice may have been mistaken; the choosing was not. You have to move on.” ~Stephen Sondheim

Oh, if life were made of moments,                   Even now and then a bad one—!                   But if life were only moments,                   Then you’d never know you had one.

Well, there are worse things Than staring at the water on a Sunday. There are worse things Than staring at the water As you're posing for a picture After sleeping on the ferry After getting up at seven To came over to an island In the middle of a river Half an hour from the city On a Sunday. On a Sunday in the park with-

Because in all of the whole human race Mrs. Lovett, there are two kinds of men and only two There's the one staying put in his proper place And the one with his foot in the other one's face Look at me, Mrs Lovett, look at you. No, we all deserve to die Even you, Mrs Lovett, even I! Because the lives of the wicked should be made brief For the rest of us death will be a relief

You taught me about concentration. At first I thought that meant just being still, but I was to understand it meant much more. You meant to tell me to be where I was, not some place in the past or future. I worried too much about tomorrow.

Is it always “or”? Is it never “and”? —STEPHEN SONDHEIM, INTO THE WOODS Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) —WALT WHITMAN, “SONG OF MYSELF

Show tunes are great. Stephen Sondheim. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Wicked. Rent. The Music Man. Almost any musical will do. Except Cats.” “Why? Doesn’t it shut out the voices?” “No, it shuts them out fine. But it’s a terrible musical.

Sing out, Louise!

I have successfully avoided enjoying opera all my life. -quoted in Entertainment Weeky, http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20548...

Automobile in America, Chromium steel in America, Wire-spoke wheel in America, Very big deal in America! Immigrant goes to America, Many hellos in America, Nobody knows in America, Puerto Rico's in America! I like the shores of America! Comfort is yours in America! Knobs on the doors in America! Wall-to-wall floors in America!

Stop worrying where you're going Move on If you can know where you're going You've gone Just keep moving on I chose, and my world was shaken So what? The choice may have been mistaken The choosing was not You have to move on

And when the woman that you wanted goes, You can say to yourself, “Well, I give what I give.” But the woman who wonʼt wait for you knows That, however you live, Thereʼs a part of you always standing by, Mapping out the sky, Finishing a hat . . .

Into the Woods, then Out of the Woods..and home before dark!

Must it all be either less or more,                   Either plain or grand?

It’s also hard to trust yourself when you know you’re that person that might run out the door.

Musicals continue to be the only art form, popular or otherwise, that is publically criticized by illiterates.

Take me to a world where I can be alive

Is it always "or"? Is it never "and"?

Joss’s stories are often centered on moments just like this. He shares a conversation that he had with Stephen Sondheim, in which they were discussing the stories each of them tells. Joss said he was always going to write about adolescent girls with superpowers. Sondheim replied, “And I will always write about yearning.” “Goddammit, his answer was so much cooler than mine!” Joss says— but Sondheim’s answer pushed him to break down his own tales and figure out what his driving impetus was, what he was really writing about. “Helplessness was what I realized was sort of the basic thing,” Joss explains. “All of these empowerment stories come from my fear and hatred of the idea of somebody who is really helpless, who is a non-being.

Someone tell the story, Someone sing the song. Every now and then the country Goes a little wrong. Every now and then A madman's bound to come along. Doesn't stop the story Story's pretty strong.

There was a barber and his wife and she was beautiful... a foolish barber and his wife. She was his reason for his life... and she was beautiful, and she was virtuous. And he was naive. There was another man who saw that she was beautiful... A biased vulture of the law who, with a gesture of his claw removed the barber from his plate! And there was nothing but to wait! And she would fall! So soft! So young! So lost and oh so beautiful! Antony (spoken) The lady, sir...did she succumb? Sweeney Todd (sung) Ah, that was many years ago... I doubt if anyone would know. (spoken) Now leave me, Antony. There is somewhere I must go, something i must find out. Now, and alone. Antony (spoken) But surely we will meet again before I am off to Plymouth? Sweeney Todd (spoken) If you want you may well find me around Fleet Street. I wouldn't wander. (sung) There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and it's filled with people who are filled with shit! And the vermin of the world inhabit it!

Outside of the dreary rubbish that is churned out by god knows how many hacks of varying degrees of talent, the novel is, it seems to me, a very special and rarefied kind of literary form, and was, for a brief moment only, wide-ranging in its sociocultural influence. For the most part, it has always been an acquired taste and it asks a good deal from its audience. Our great contemporary problem is in separating that which is really serious from that which is either frivolously and fashionably "radical" and that which is a kind of literary analogy to the Letterman show. It's not that there is pop culture around, it's that so few people can see the difference between it and high culture, if you will. Morton Feldman is not Stephen Sondheim. The latter is a wonderful what-he-is, but he is not what-he-is-not. To pretend that he is is to insult Feldman and embarrass Sondheim, to enact a process of homogenization that is something like pretending that David Mamet, say, breathes the same air as Samuel Beckett. People used to understand that there is, at any given time, a handful of superb writers or painters or whatever--and then there are all the rest. Nothing wrong with that. But it now makes people very uncomfortable, very edgy, as if the very idea of a Matisse or a Charles Ives or a Thelonious Monk is an affront to the notion of "ain't everything just great!" We have the spectacle of perfectly nice, respectable, harmless writers, etc., being accorded the status of important artists...Essentially the serious novelist should do what s/he can do and simply forgo the idea of a substantial audience.

God, it's hot up here Well, there are worse things Than staring at the water on a Sunday There are worse things Than staring at the water As you're posing for a picture Being painted by your lover In the middle of the summer On an island in the river on a Sunday

Todd:I had him! His throat was there beneath my hand. No, I had him! His throat was there and now he'll never come again. Mrs. Lovett: Easy now, hush love hush I keep telling you, Whats your rush? Todd: When? Why did I wait? You told me to wait - Now he'll never come again. There's a hole in the world like a great black pit And it's filled with people who are filled with shit And the vermin of the world inhabit it. But not for long... They all deserve to die. Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why. Because in all of the whole human race Mrs. Lovett, there are two kinds of men and only two There's the one staying put in his proper place And the one with his foot in the other one's face Look at me, Mrs Lovett, look at you. No, we all deserve to die Even you, Mrs Lovett, even I! Because the lives of the wicked should be made brief For the rest of us death will be a relief We all deserve to die. And I'll never see Johanna No I'll never hug my girl to me - finished! Alright! You sir, how about a shave? Come and visit your good friend Sweeney. You sir, too sir? Welcome to the grave. I will have vengenance. I will have salvation. Who sir, you sir? No ones in the chair, Come on! Come on! Sweeney's. waiting. I want you bleeders. You sir! Anybody! Gentlemen now don't be shy! Not one man, no, nor ten men. Nor a hundred can assuage me. I will have you! And I will get him back even as he gloats In the meantime I'll practice on less honorable throats. And my Lucy lies in ashes And I'll never see my girl again. But the work waits! I'm alive at last! And I'm full of joy! ps. love the movie the performance that Johnny Depp did was amazing and he sang amazing.

TOBIAS: Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around. Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around. Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays, I'll send 'em howling, I don't care, I got ways. No one's gonna hurt you, No one's gonna dare. Others can desert you, Not to worry, whistle, I'll be there. Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while, But in time... Nothing can harm you Not while I'm around... Not to worry, not to worry I may not be smart, but I ain't dumb I can do it, put me to it Show me something, I can overcome. Not to worry, mum. Being close and being clever Ain't like being true I don't need to, I would never hide a thing from you, Like some... MRS. LOVETT: Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around. Nothing's gonna harm you, darling, not while I'm around. TOBIAS: Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while, But in time... Nothing's gonna harm you Not while I'm around...

First take a play that you like and musicalize it. Then take a play that you like but you feel has flaws and try to improve them, and musicalize it,” Sondheim recalled him saying. “Then he said, ‘Take something that is not a play but that somebody else has written, a novel or a short story, so that you don’t have to invent the characters or plot, and musicalize that, make it into a play. Dramatize it. And then finally write an original, your own story, and dramatize that.

I chose, and my world was shaken So what? The choice may have been mistaken The choosing was not

A matinee, a Pinter play, Perhaps a piece of Mahler's.

Likewise a poet.

Look, I made a hat... Where there never was a hat

I Read by Stephen Sondheim from "Passion" Fosca: I do not read to think. I do not read to learn. I do not read to search for truth I know the truth, the truth is hardly what I need. I read to dream. I read to live. In other people's lives. I read about the joys, the world Dispenses to the fortunate, And listen for the echoes. I read to live, To get away from life! No, captain, I have no illusions. I recognize the limits of my dreams. I know how painful dreams can be Unless you know they're merely dreams. There is a flower which offers nectar at the top, Delicious nectar at the top and bitter poison underneath. The butterfly that stays too long and drinks too deep Is doomed to die. I read to fly, to skim - I do not read to swim. I do not dwell on dreams. I know how soon a dream becomes an expectation How can I have expectations? Look at me. No, captain, look at me - Look at me! I do not hope for what I cannot have! I do not cling to things I cannot keep! The more you cling to things, the more you love them, The more the pain you suffer when they're taken from you... Ah, but if you have no expectations, You can never have a disappointment.

My Friend Todd: These are my friends See how they glisten See this one shine How he smiles In the light My friend! My faithful friend! Speak to me, friend Whisper, I'll listen I know, I know You've been locked Out of sight All these years! Like me, my friend! Well, I've come home To find you waiting Home And we're together And we'll do wonders Won't we? You there, my friend Mrs. Lovett: I'm your friend too, Mr. Todd Todd: Come, let me hold you Mrs. Lovett: If you only knew, Mr. Todd Todd: Now, with a sigh Mrs. Lovett: Ooh, Mr. Todd! Todd: You grow warm in my hand Mrs. Lovett: You're warm in my hand Todd: My friend! Mrs. Lovett: You've come home! Todd: My clever friend! Mrs. Lovett: Always had a fondness for you, I did Todd: Rest now, my friend Mrs. Lovett: Never you fear, Mr. Todd Todd: Soon I'll unfold you Mrs. Lovett: You can move in here, Mr. Todd Todd: Soon you'll know Todd and Mrs. Lovett: Splendours you'd never have dreamed all your days Mrs. Lovett: Will be yours! Todd: My lucky friend! Mrs. Lovett: I'm your friend! And you're mine! Todd: Till now your shine Mrs. Lovett: Don't they shine beautiful? Todd: Was merely silver! Mrs. Lovett: Silver's good enough for me, Mr. T Todd: Friend You shall drip rubies You'll soon drip precious Rubies At last, my arm is complete again!

the disappearance of an audience that had supported experimentation and made such works financial, as well as critical, successes. The decline of liberal-arts teaching in schools and colleges meant that the new audience was less cultured and intellectually oriented; wedded to television and movies, it wanted to be entertained rather than challenged.

ANTHONY: I feel you, Johanna, I feel you Do they think that walls can hide you? Even now I'm at your window I am in the dark beside you, Buried sweetly in your yellow hair, Johanna… SWEENEY TODD: And are you beautiful and pale, With yellow hair, like her I'd want you beautiful and pale, The way I've dreamed you were, Johanna... ANTHONY: Johanna... SWEENEY TODD: And if you're beautiful, what then, With yellow hair, like wheat? I think we shall not meet again — My little dove, my sweet Johanna… ANTHONY: I'll steal you, Johanna… SWEENEY TODD: Goodbye, Johanna. You're gone, and yet you're mine. I'm fine, Johanna, I'm fine! ANTHONY: Johanna… BEGGAR WOMAN: Smoke! Smoke! Sign of the devil! Sign of the devil! City on fire! Witch! Witch! Smell it, sir! An evil smell! Every night at the vespers bell — Smoke that comes from the mouth of hell — City on fire! City on fire! Mischief! Mischief! Mischief... SWEENEY TODD: And if I never hear your voice, My turtledove, my dear, I still have reason to rejoice: The way ahead is clear, Johanna... JOHANNA: I'll marry Anthony Sunday Anthony…Sunday… ANTHONY: I feel you… SWEENEY TODD: And in that darkness when I'm blind With what I can't forget — ANTHONY: Johanna… SWEENEY TODD: It's always morning in my mind, My little lamb, my pet, Johanna… JOHANNA: I knew you'd come for me one day… Come for me…one day… SWEENEY TODD/ANTHONY: You stay, Johanna — Johanna… SWEENEY TODD: The way I've dreamed you are Oh look, Johanna — a star! ANTHONY: Buried sweetly in your yellow hair… SWEENEY TODD: A shooting star! BEGGAR WOMAN: There! There! Somebody, somebody look up there! Didn't I tell you? Smell that air! City on fire! Quick, sir! Run and tell! Warn 'em all of the witch's spell! There it is, there it is, the unholy smell! Tell it to the Beadle and the police as well! Tell 'em! Tell 'em! Help! Fiend! City on fire! City on fire! Mischief! Mischief! Mischief...Fiend . . . Alms…alms...for a miserable woman… SWEENEY TODD: And though I'll think of you, I guess, until the day I die, I think I miss you less and less as every day goes by, Johanna... ANTHONY: Johanna... JOHANNA: With you beside me on Sunday, Married on…Sunday… SWEENEY TODD: And you'd be beautiful and pale, And look too much like her. If only angels could prevail, We'd be the way we were, Johanna... ANTHONY: I feel you...Johanna… JOHANNA'S VOICE: Married on Sunday…married on Sunday ... SWEENEY TODD: Wake up, Johanna! Another bright red day! We learn, Johanna, to say goodbye! ANTHONY: I’ll steal you!

If it were not for the thicket— RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   A thicket’s no trick.                   Is it thick? CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   It’s the thickest. RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   The quickest                   Is pick it                   Apart with a stick— CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   Yes, but even one prick—                   It’s my thing about blood. RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   Well, it’s sick! CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   It’s no sicker                   Than your thing with dwarves. RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   Dwarfs. CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   Dwarfs . . . RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   Dwarfs are very upsetting. BOTH:                   Not forgetting                   The tasks unachievable,                   Mountains unscalable—                   If it’s conceivable                   But unavailable,                   Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah—                   Agony!

No More lyrics BAKER No more questions, Please. No more tests. Comes the day you say, "What for?" Please- no more. MYSTERIOUS MAN They disappoint, They disappear, They die but they don't... BAKER What? MYSTERIOUS MAN They disappoint In turn, I fear. Forgive, though, they won't... BAKER No more riddles. No more jests. No more curses you can't undo, Left by fathers you never knew. No more quests. No more feelings. Time to shut the door. Just- no more. MYSTERIOUS MAN Running away- let's do it, Free from the ties that bind. No more depair Or burdens to bear Out there in the yonder. Running away- go to it. Where did you have in mind? Have to take care: Unless there's a "where," You'll only be wandering blind. Just more questions. Different kind. Where are we to go? Where are we ever to go? Running away- we'll do it. Why sit around, resugned? Trouble is, son, The farther you run, The more you feel undefined For what you've left undone And, nore, what you've left behind. We disappoint, We leave a mess, We die but we don't... BAKER We disappoint In turn, I guess. Forget, though, we won't... BOTH Like father, like son. BAKER No more giants Waging war. Can't we just pursue our lives With out children and our wives? 'Till that happy day arrives, How do you ignore All the witches, All the curses, All the wolves, all the lies, The false hopes, the goodbyes, The reverses, All the wondering what even worse is Still in store? All the children... All the giants... No more.