Movie reviews are for people who might watch the movie; book reviews are for people who won’t read the book.
Religion, art, taste, and other delusions.
A man can be judged by what he is supposed to have said.
Visconti’s The Leopard is to movies what the first Velvet Underground record is to music: almost no one sat through it, but everyone who did became a director.
Stage plays, no matter how well done, always remain faintly ridiculous.
The knottiest problem in contemporary etiquette is what to say about your friend’s bad art.
Some of what you say should not sound like something you would say.
Poetry and music continuously raise expectations in the listener. What is too conventional caters to them exactly; what is too unconventional does not cater to them at all.
The life to be mined from art is not the artist’s but one’s own.
Always consume your friends’ favorite art. It might be good, and if it isn’t, you can absorb yourself endlessly in wondering why they like it.
Children’s literature posits a compact between author and reader: though the reader may look like a frog to all the uncaring world, the author knows he is a handsome prince, and it can be their little secret. Harry Potter is children’s literature. So is Confederacy of Dunces.