You don’t have to deal with anyone in America. They accept you the way you are.
QUENTIN CRISPYou don’t have to deal with anyone in America. They accept you the way you are.
QUENTIN CRISPManners are a way of getting what you want without appearing to be an absolute swine.
QUENTIN CRISPI never saw Portsmouth by day.
QUENTIN CRISPManners are love in a cool climate.
QUENTIN CRISPIt’s no good running a pig farm badly for 30 years while saying, ‘Really, I was meant to be a ballet dancer.’ By then, pigs will be your style.
QUENTIN CRISPIs not the whole world a vast house of assignation of which the filing system has been lost?
QUENTIN CRISPIn Manhattan, every flat surface is a potential stage and every inattentive waiter an unemployed, possibly unemployable, actor.
QUENTIN CRISPIn an expanding universe, time is on the side of the outcast. Those who once inhabited the suburbs of human contempt find that without changing their address they eventually live in the metropolis.
QUENTIN CRISPOur clothes are too much a part of us for most of us ever to be entirely indifferent to their condition: it is as though the fabric were indeed a natural extension of the body, or even of the soul.
QUENTIN CRISPTo lose is not always failure.
QUENTIN CRISPYou fall out of your mother’s womb, you crawl across open country under fire, and drop into your grave.
QUENTIN CRISPExhibitionism is like a drug. Hooked in adolescence I was now taking doses so massive they would have killed a novice.
QUENTIN CRISPPeople say to me, “When did you come out?” But I was never in! When I was about six, I was swanning around the house in clothes that belonged to my mother and my grandmother which I’d found in an attic, saying, “I am a beautiful princess!”
QUENTIN CRISPFashion is not style. Nay, we can say more: Fashion is instead of style. Style is an idiom springing spontaneously from the personality but deliberately maintained.
QUENTIN CRISPWomen have decided to be people, which is a great mistake. Women were nicer than people.
QUENTIN CRISPNothing shortens a journey so pleasantly as an account of misfortunes at which the hearer is permitted to laugh.
QUENTIN CRISP