Next after him went Doubt, who was yclad / In a discolour'd cote of straunge disguyse, / That at his backe a brode Capuccio had, / And sleeves dependaunt Albanesè-wyse […].

“I hate being the youngest and the only gold-star lesbian. It's so cliché. Like some of you, I've thought about giving the other side a try. You really can't help but wonder what it's like. […]”

The semibearable heaviness of Philip Kaufman, at least in his last three features--Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Wanderers, and The Right Stuff--is largely a matter of an only half-disguised didactic impulse, a notion that he's got something to teach us.

I was greeted by a stick note on the fridge.