A Quote by George Wein

An eighty-nine year old kid from Boston playing a blues in New Orleans takes a lot of chutzpah. — © George Wein
An eighty-nine year old kid from Boston playing a blues in New Orleans takes a lot of chutzpah.
One thing they don't tell you about growing old - you don't feel old, you just feel like yourself. And it's true. I don't feel eighty-nine years old. I simply am eighty-nine years old.
What is the sound of an eighty-nine-year-old heart breaking?
I was throwing a lot harder than I ever have at the end of last year. I got to ninety-five (mph) a couple of times in the World Series and I'm more of an eighty-eight or eighty-nine guy who relies on location and movement.
Everybody started calling my music rock and roll, but it wasn't anything but the same rhythm and blues I'd been playing down in New Orleans.
Any city may have one period of magnificence, like Boston or New Orleans or San Francisco, but it takes a real one to keep renewing itself until the past is perennially forgotten.
Now, as a 29-year-old, you're a little bit different than a 26-year-old. But I actually felt really comfortable in Boston. I felt that I was one of the best players in the league at the time. I thought Boston was going to be the home for me for the rest of my career.
Raising crops to feed animals for human consumption requires a lot of land. It takes eight or nine cows a year to feed one average meat eater; each cow eats one acre of green plants, soybeans and corn per year; so it takes eight or nine acres of plants a year to feed one meat eater, compared with only half an acre to feed one vegetarian.
Everywhere I go around the world, we have fans of New Orleans. Sometimes we go places, and people don't really know who we are, but they know New Orleans, and once we say we are from New Orleans, we have a lot of supporters.
The Middle East and South Asia have a lot less in common with America than 18-year-old kids in Boston have with 18-year-old kids in Arkansas.
I'm a fifty-three-year-old writer who can remember being a ten-year-old writer and who expects someday to be an eighty-year-old writer.
I think, you know, people think of the city of New Orleans as a parochial place where it's a lot of folks who are from there and a lot of big families, a lot of musical families, a lot of history, a lot of tradition, but I like to think of New Orleans as an idea.
One thing I had on my side when it came to How to Make It in America is that I'm a born-and-raised New Yorker. Filming in New York... I'm so thankful and humbled by the whole experience. A lot of it takes place in old neighborhood; I'm an East Village kid, so I get to see my old friends from the neighborhood, my family still lives there.
Eighty's a landmark and people treat you differently than they do when you're seventy-nine. At seventy-nine, if you drop something it just lies there. At eighty, people pick it up for you.
I was living and working with adult men who were playing a real art form. And I had been playing blues all my life. As soon as I formed my first band, we played Jimmy Reed stuff. So it wasn't like I was a white kid who was learning the blues from B.B. King records.
I'm a nine-year old kid inside and my passion has been all my life to want to travel into space.
Mum said earlier what a lovely dress you’re wearing.” Beryl’s eyebrows wriggled like two tiny tapeworms. “This?” she said. “But I’ve had this for years.” It was a beige dress that would have looked better on an eighty year-old. Any eighty-year-old, man or woman. “I think you’ve really grown into it,” Valkyrie said. “I always thought it was a little shapeless.” Valkyrie resisted the urge to say that was what she meant.
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