Quotes About Museum

Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering - because you can't take it in all at once.

We met with the poet Frank O'Hara, who was a link between Upper and Lower Bohemia, and who worked at the Museum of Modern Art, where we had hoped to do the readings.

I've never seen a postcard of my work in a museum.

I'm lucky. Usually you're dead to get your own museum, but I'm still alive to see mine.

Because of my job, I get a lot of opportunity to grab a few days here and there in many cool cities for press commitments, magazine shoots and premieres - Barcelona, Madrid, Rome, Paris, Stockholm, New York, Berlin. I always try to get to a gallery or museum if there's time.

From the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard came a note from Professor F. W. Putnam, rapturous in his commendation of "your great work.

THE FIVE HUNDRED or so homes atop Acoma are still heated by wood, with mounded clay ovens outside that look like big beehives. The old timbered ladders, baked white by the sun, still rise to the top terraces, and there are deep footpaths along the tabletop of the rock. It is not a museum, but a living town, somewhat iced in time. The wind dominates all other sounds.

I went to Zanzibar on holiday and there was a lot there about civil rights and there was a museum, where there are old slave chambers. It was horrible to go to and they've still got the chains there. It opens your eyes a lot.

Thanks for all the wonderful memories. They're like something in a museum already or something preserved in amber, a little unreal, as you must have felt yourself always to me.

this museum must celebrate the OTHER lesson history has taught us - that tyranny and oppression are no match for compassion...that the fanatical shouts of the bullies of the world are invariably silenced by the unified voices of decency that rise up to meet them. It is THESE voices - these choirs of empathy, tolerance and compassion - that I pray one day will sing from this mountaintop.

He could taste the familiar tang of museum air - an arid, deionized essence that carried a faint hint of carbon - the product of industrial, coal-filter dehumidifiers that ran around the clock to counteract the corrosive carbon dioxide exhaled by visitors.

Despite for a monumental reputation, the Mona Lisa was a mere thirty-one inches by twenty-one inches -- smaller even than the posters of her sold in the Louvre gift shop.

Shaped like an enormous horseshoe, the Louvre was the longest building in Europe, stretching farther than three Eiffel Towers laid end to end.

Langdon une esfuerzos con la criptóloga francesa Sophie Neveu y descubre que el conservador del museo pertenecía al priorato de Sión

museum's Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a Caravaggio. Grabbing

Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum's Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a Caravaggio. Grabbing the gilded frame, the seventy-six-year-old man heaved the masterpiece toward himself until it tore from the wall and Saunière collapsed backward

Robert Langdon recibe una llamada en mitad de la noche: el conservador del museo del Louvre ha sido asesinado en extrañas circunstancias y junto a su cadáver ha aparecido un desconcertante mensaje cifrado.

This complex should be a living museum. It should be a vibrant symbol of tolerance, where schoolchildren can gather inside a mountain to learn about the horrors of tyranny and the cruelties of oppression, such that they will never be complacent.

I remember being a student and I would go every Friday to the Louvre and stay for ages, just walking around.

The low, vaulted hallway was lined with dozens of museum cases, archaic-looking glass-fronted boxes made of brown wood. They looked awkward there, against the organic curves of the hallway's walls, as though they'd been brought in and set up in a line for some forgotten purpose. Dull brass fixtures held globes of white light at ten-meter intervals. The floor was uneven, and ... carpets had been put down at random. In some places, they were six deep, the floor a soft patchwork of handwoven wool.

An everyday Doomsayer in sandwich board abruptly walked away from what, over the last several days, had been his pitch, by the gates of a museum. The sign on his front was an oldschool Prophecy of the End. The one bobbing on his back read 'forget it.

Since we are now down to our final two exhibits, Abraham Lincoln and moi

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

and the National Orphan Train Complex in Concordia, Kansas,