June Moon quotes

After 1918 the horses and streetcars virtually gave up trying, and the figures for last year show that the thing has ceased to be a contest and become a joke—1,075 deaths by autos, 64 by streetcars and 14 by horse vehicles.

It is estimated that if the horse vehicles and streetcars had kept on fighting and maintained their early leadership over automobiles, by the year 1970 the entire population of New York City would have been wiped out and no harm done.

The World Almanac, from which this information was gleaned, gives us only one ray of hope. In New York’s biggest borough, Brooklyn, there were a thousand fewer births and thirteen hundred more death in 1928 than in 1927.

Just as though she’d said “No.” He said it was another “Paprika.” You wait till you hear it played. Dave Stamper says it’s sure fire. Back to his “playing” again.

The silliest thing in the world to me is a man trying to be a composer when he can’t even play “Chopsticks.”

I can play as good as I need to. I can play as good as Berlin, and he’s turned out twice as many hits as anybody.

Because I don’t want him to come in the office yet, that’s why. I’m keeping him under cover till I get rid of Fagan.

If there’s one thing that’ll round out my day, it’s entertaining a lyric-writer.

This fella ain’t like the rest of them. He’s got a fresh slant. Take fellas like Fagan, that’s been around Broadway all their life, and all their lyrics sound just alike. If Fagan gave me a new idea, I’d drop dead.

He said, “All right, go ahead and go out with him.” I asked him if he meant it, and he said, “Sure! Go out with the whole Lambs Club!” He’s insanely jealous and tries to hide it.

I’d go out with the janitor if he asked me. God, I’m sick of this place!

Why don’t you go to a picture?

A sigh. I suppose I ought to get consolation out of one thing. I never expect a phone call or a mash note or an invitation or even a half pound box of candy.

Whatever happens is velvet.

You’re a fool if you keep it up. You ought to break away while there’s still time.

And even if I did get free, where am I? I’m not young any more. No man under sixty would look at me.

Well, men over sixty are more liable to have money than boy scouts.

I don’t like old men.

What’s the use of talking about it? There haven’t been any volunteers.

Women can’t go wrong if they’re not invited.

All I can say is, if you don’t break away from him, you’re crazy!

An impatient movement from Lucille..

It certainly was a tough day for me when Edison invented the piano.

Fixing up other people’s tunes—there’s a life work for you.

448 Riverside Drive. Tell him just above 116th Street. … That’s it. He hangs up; addresses Maxie, who continues to drum. That’s Stevens, the lyric writer I was telling you about. From Schenectady.

Thank God he can’t get that in a lyric.

He had the phone number, but he didn’t know the address.

Where?

I get dizzy if I climb a ladder!

The voices of the others pick up in a confused jumble as The Curtain Falls.

It’s got a chance.

It’s a tune that’s easy to remember, but if you should forget it it wouldn’t make any difference.

Ain’t Mr. Hart back yet?

It’s half past four. He said he was coming back at two o’clock.

You get used to waiting in this game. I’ve been in it twenty-two years and nothing’s happened yet.

Paul’s coming right in. We want to play the song once before Mr. Hart hears it. I made a change.

Didn’t you ever have one?

I don’t drink. After I listen to songs all day I don’t want liquor. I just go home and take a general anesthetic.

I like Bronxes best. They’re nothing but gin and orange juice. I don’t know why they call it a Bronx.

I give Miss Fletcher three bottles for a present, because if it hadn’t been for her I wouldn’t have got them. She made the man do it. When you’re around with her you just can’t resist doing things.

I know. That’s why I don’t carry a gun.

She’s a great sport, all right. She’d make a wonderful wife—she’s such a good pal. I think a man’s wife ought to be their pal as well as their sweetheart.

Buddy De Sylva makes pretty near half a million dollars a year out of just writing lyrics. I guess a man could support a wife on that!

If she was satisfied to ride a bicycle.

Well, suppose “June Moon” is a big smash? What’s the most we could make out of it?

Both of them were married—the count and the girl.

He must have been a fine count, not to know he was married.

Fred, doesn’t it cost an awful lot of money when you go around to all these places—or do they take you?

Did you see that? He’s insanely jealous.

Well, if that’s jealousy I’ll take a plain lemonade.

You don’t know him the way I do! He’s burning up!

I can handle him. He’s so far gone you can tell him anything.

We certainly do attract songwriters, we Fletcher girls. It’s a curse.

He’s not a bad kid. I kind of like him. And he might make a lot of money in this game. Plenty of others have done it.

Even if they buy it it won’t mean anything to us. Paul’s so far ahead of his royalties they’ll never catch up.

He could write Madame Butterfly and it wouldn’t even get me a new girdle.

Anyway, I’ve got Stevens broken in right, whoever gets him. You’ve got to give me credit for changing some of his ideas. I imagine every week was Thrift Week in Schenectady.

No.

I figure I’d get along better with other people’s, because they’d go home once in a while.

We needn’t think of that now. Let’s just think of you and me, all alone on that big boat.

Just the same, I don’t feel right about it. And the way she’s throwing his money around—like it was confetti. Spending every nickel she can get on herself! Clothes, clothes—

You can’t go to Europe in a life belt.

Do you know what she spent in one afternoon, yesterday? Close to four hundred dollars. He pretty near cried when he told me. And I don’t blame him. He’s too nice a kid.

Wait—you want to hear a great song? You know who I am, don’t you? I’m Benny Fox, the hit-writer. I write words and music both.

I’m like Berlin, only more pathetic.

Now I got a new one. It’s about a couple that have a baby without benefit to a clergyman, and you can dance to it. He plays it. “Should a father’s carnal sins Blight the life of babykins?