Lemonade - 6/2/2012 - Music Hall of Williamsburg

“He leaned his head against the car window. The muffled, dull vibrations of the passing road briefly took his mind off the nagging pain in his throat. You know it is probably for the best. You just gotta find someone else. You gotta find someone who loves you more than you love them. That is the secret. Just find that person and hold on to them.”

“One day I imagine I will find what I am looking for. I’ve been all over, met all types of people. For some reason, I just keep going. I don’t know what I am suppose to find. The older I get, the more I realize it doesn’t matter. The only thing that really matters is moving forward even if it is one step at a time.”

“At home when the night came down and the moon appeared, the woman raised her pale eyes to the moon and cried. The man in his bed contemplated the same moon, and thought about the millions who looked at the same moon before him, those who had worshiped or loved or died before that same moon, mute and lovely.”

“And I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I looked at my shoes and felt ashamed at how old they looked. And he comes up to me, my love, your father, in that way of his with that grin that makes me want to beat him, makes me want to make love to him, and he says in the most sincere voice you ever heard, ‘Ah, Clemencia! This is Megan.’ No introduction could’ve been meaner. This is Megan. Just like that. 

“The whole art world is so crooked now. It wasn’t that crooked in my day. If I went to India or Latin america for a work, I’d always find people who talked the same language. You talked about creativity. That’s not true anymore. Art has become a commodity, like stocks and bonds.”

“Those punks, they never felt the Depression. Look at the things they are doing.”

“What difference could they make to me, the deaths of others, or a mother’s love, or his God; or the way a man decides to live, the fate he thinks he chooses, since one and the same fate was bound to ‘choose’ not only me but thousands of millions of privileged people who, like him, called themselves my brothers. Surely, surely he must see that? Every man alive was privileged; there was only one class of men; the privileged class. All alike would be condemned to die one day, his turn, too, would come like the others’”

“She was capable of sitting all morning long, attempting to recall details of a brief scene or conversation, in order to be able to try out in her mind every possible interpretation of each gesture or sentence, each facial expression or vocal inflection, together with their juxtapositions.” 

“Yuppie stands for ‘young upwardly mobile professional’. Nightclub flunkie is not a professional category. I wish we were yuppies. Young, upwardly mobile, professional. Those are good things, not bad things.”