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“In my ballets, woman is first. Men are consorts. God made men to sing the praises of women. They are not equal to men: They are better.”
George Balanchine“In my ballets, woman is first. Men are consorts. God made men to sing the praises of women. They are not equal to men: They are better.”
George Balanchine“I am a choreographer. A choreographer is a poet. I do not create. God creates. I assemble and I will steal from everywhere to do it.”
George Balanchine“I don't want people who want to dance I want people who have to dance.”
George Balanchine“I don't want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance. ”
George Balanchine“I remember my dreams when I was a junior soloist. 'Oh, I hope I don't end here,' I thought. 'I want to do the ballerina in 'Scotch Symphony.' I don't want to be the little Scotch girl.' And I actually went beyond my wildest dreams. I worked with Balanchine. I had ballets choreographed for me.”
Patricia McBride“Mozart, Pascal, Boolean algebra, Shakespeare, parliamentary government, baroque churches, Newton, the emancipation of women, Kant, Balanchine ballets, et al. don’t redeem what this particular civilization has wrought upon the world. The white race is the cancer of human history.”
Susan Sontag“I like eggs and bacon,” George tells me. “But”—his face clouds—“do you know that bacon is”—tears leap to his eyes—“Wilbur?” Mrs. Garrett sits down next to him immediately. “George, we’ve been through this. Remember? Wilbur did not get made into bacon.” “That’s right.” I bend down too as wetness overflows George’s lashes. “Charlotte the spider saved him. He lived a long and happy life—with Charlotte’s daughters, um, Nelly and Urania and—” “Joy,” Mrs. Garrett concludes. “You, Samantha, are a keeper. I hope you don’t shoplift.”I start to cough. “No. Never.” “Then is bacon Babe, Mom? Is it Babe?”“No, no, Babe’s still herding sheep. Bacon is not Babe. Bacon is only made from really mean pigs,George.” Mrs. Garrett strokes his hair, then brushes his tears away.“Bad pigs,” I clarify.“There are bad pigs?” George looks nervous. Oops.“Well, pigs with, um, no soul.” That doesn’t sound good either. I cast around for a good explanation. “Like the animals that don’t talk in Narnia.” Dumb. George is four. Would he know Narnia yet? He’s still at Curious George.But understanding lights his face. “Oh. That’s okay then. ’Cause I really like bacon.”
Huntley Fitzpatrick, My Life Next Door“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” sighed George, patting the heading of the map. “We owe them so much.”“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,” said Fred solemnly.“Right,” said George briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it —”“— or anyone can read it,” Fred said warningly.[Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 10]”
Fred and George Weasley“You’re mental,” said George, trying to push it back at Harry.“No, I’m not,” said Harry. “You take it, and get inventing. It’s for the joke shop.”“He is mental,” Fred said in an almost awed voice. [Goblet of Fire]”
Fred and George Weasley“About Anna Faktorovich's "Romances of George Sand": “What a read! Not lacking in action and very imaginative.”
Belinda Jack, George Sand: A Woman's Life Writ Large