Difference between revisions of "Desperately Seeking Lisa/Quotes"

Revision as of 19:50, October 24, 2024

Marge: Lisa and I weren't fighting. It was just a series of calm, constructive conversations.

Homer: What? That's not how I remember it. Lisa was like, [imitating Lisa] "I hate this town. Everyone's stupid." And you were like... [imitating Marge] "Lisa's driving me crazy. We should send her to Capital City with my sisters for the weekend." That may not be word-for-word.

Homer: I'm glad I don't have a daughter.

Lisa: Capital City. God, there's just so much I want to see and do here. The Museum of Modern Museums. The Prussian Coffee Room. The Unidentified State Building. And tomorrow is the Highbrow Artists Parade. But the thing I really want to see is the statue of the Fearless Girl facing down the gorilla that symbolizes fossil fuels and wasteful fast food packaging.

Lisa: Is that a book of poetry by Sylvia Plath?

Julian: Yes, it is. Poor, dear Sylvia. The world's loss was that oven's gain.

Julian: I'm a poet myself, also a novelist, essayist, playwright, and author of the occasional scalding Airbnb review.

Lisa: Those are all things I'd like to be when I grow up and leave Springfield.

Lisa: [about Lars' painting] Wow. Somehow I sense you're craving love and connection in an uncaring world. And also an extra-large cookie.

Katya: My God, I just had the kind of amazing idea that everyone thinks is stupid but then I'm totally right. You should come to our party tonight. It's in our loft, north of Hobart Street, south of Gordon Avenue, and below the Joseph Torrance Expressway.

Lisa: NoHoSoGoBloJoTo? That's the coolest, most artistic neighborhood in town.

Patty Bouvier: Out of our way, kid. We got to either sleep or die, and we don't care which one.

Lisa: My aunts are feeling a little under the weather, so they said I should hang out with you.

Julian: They said a small child should spend the night exploring the bohemian demimonde with a bunch of effete gadabouts?

Lisa: That's what they said.

Katya: My God. Lars, that is so brilliant. I seriously wish I'd married someone else so I could cheat on my husband with you.

Superintendent Chalmers: Sweet vermouth in a snifter. Lisa Simpson.

Lunchlady Dora: Hey, Gary. Hurry up here with them Reuben sammies. You and me got a long night of doinking ahead of us.

Tracy Letts: Who just interrupted my play? How dare you desecrate the hallowed boards of this converted rooster-fighting arena?

Lisa: Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Tracy Letts? You wrote this?

Tracy Letts: And I play the enormous shoe that steps on the cockroach in act three. It's a loafer with a backstory. Not that they'll ever get to see it now!

Tracy Letts: Young lady, this play has run for over a year, and you're the very first person to interfere and save the cockroach, proving you're one of the most sensitive and artistically attuned people I've ever met. Give her a round of applause. My two Tony Awards command you!

Lacey Van Aster: Teddy Roosevelt, Franklin Roosevelt, Eleanor Roosevelt. Every one of them I seduced. And destroyed.

Lacey Van Aster: Yes, my lucrative bursary. But first there is an extensive interview process. All right, then, first of all, how are you, dear?

Lisa: I'm okay.

Lacey Van Aster: The scholarship is yours.

Lisa: Wait a second. Why are they posing with Martin Prince?!

Julian: Therein lies a tale, Lisa. Every year self-impressed little bookworms like you and Martin Prince come to the big city, where we convince them that they could one day be one of us just by attending Horace Frick Academy.

The Inhuman Capotes singer: But there's just one problem, my little swannabe. Nobody you've met tonight has any connection to that school.

Lisa: What? Not even Tracy Letts?

Tracy Letts: Especially Tracy Letts. Behind these supporting actor good looks, I'm a world-class fraud. You were naive enough to believe that you could get into that school. And that Roosevelt-doinking crone Mrs. Van Aster was naive enough to make out the tuition check to us. And you fell for it hook, Letts and sinker. [laughs] You eight-year-old fool.

The Inhuman Capotes singer: The only thing an artist hates more than an art thief is themselves.

Lisa: Superintendent Chalmers? Now you're here?

Superintendent Chalmers: No... In the interest of, of fumfering, I, um...

Miss Hoover: Gary, doinking.

Superintendent Chalmers: Look, Lisa, sometimes when grown-ups get bored, they start playing pickleball or they learn to make sourdough bread or they book two different romantic getaways with two different women who don't know about each other. It's-it's a very common thing.

Julian: What the hell are you doing? If there was a gun in the first act, I would shoot you right now.

Katya: Goodbye, Lisa! Never forget the essence of being an artist. Having rich parents. You can still resent them horribly, just take their money!

Joan Didion: It is easy to see the beginnings of things and harder to see the ends. I can remember now with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict when the city began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended. Can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was.

Lisa: How are you talking to me?

Joan Didion: You haven't slept in 24 hours.

Lisa: Makes sense.

Father: GERMAN Du … (wurdest) vom Teufel geschickt! Ach, du lieber Gott! … Affen [Apes] could be Äpfel [apples] makes sence