A Quote by John Oates

Having a mustache and never smiling became a permanent component of my persona through the quaintly self-important decade of the seventies. — © John Oates
Having a mustache and never smiling became a permanent component of my persona through the quaintly self-important decade of the seventies.
As I made my way through 'On Line,' the austere, stridently dogmatic, sometimes revelatory exhibition 'about line' at MoMA, I found myself thinking, 'Someone please wake me when the seventies are over!' In the empire of curators, the sun never sets on the seventies. It is the undead decade.
I had a phase where I had a mustache. There was several times where I had a mustache. I had a mustache in high school because South Asian men can potentially have a great deal of facial hair. So I had a mustache at 14, and then I grew a proper mustache a few years ago. I just thought it would be fun to just have a mustache.
The seventies were my fattest decade. Overall I think the seventies were distinctly bulbous. People looked chunky, typefaces were rounded, writing implements penile.
I feel like the seventies was a decade where things ran out, and where other things set in. There was just a lurking graininess and seediness about the decade, a slight grogginess of the hangover from the sixties.
To me, the Seventies were very inspirational and very influential... With my whole persona as Snoop Dogg, as a person, as a rapper. I just love the Seventies style, the way all the players dressed nice, you know, kept their hair looking good, drove sharp cars and they talked real slick.
I watched a lot of Douglas Fairbanks movies. He always played the same role with a mustache. Zorro had a mustache. The Musketeer had a mustache. Tarzan had a mustache.
Towards the end of the seventies pop was gaining the momentum and respectability was very high with groups like Yes and Queen who were making "classical" rock records. They were also bringing in big bucks. So the eighties became the "bottom line" decade.
Look, I'm smiling at you, I'm smiling in you, I'm smiling through you. How can I be dead if I breathe in every quiver of your hand?
Nowadays, if you have a mustache, people look at you like you're crazy. But when I was growing up, I never saw my dad without a mustache.
I been seeing newspapers every Sunday morning, white dudes be in there in their drawers, never having no bulge in they drawers. Smiling at you. If I ain't have no bulge, I wouldn't be smiling!
My brother had a mustache, and when my brother had a mustache, it was cool. When I had a mustache, everyone just assumed I'm an immigrant and I don't speak English, which is fascinating. It was a fascinating thing to discover how I looked versus my brother with a mustache.
[D]ecade after decade, through taxes and regulations, governments at all levels took ever-increasing control over people's lives, wealth, and property. The control grew exponentially, decade after decade. The rationale was that the control was necessary -- for society, for the poor, for the nation, even for freedom itself. Americans continued living their life of the lie: they continued believing that the more control government exercised over their lives and property, the freer they became.
It was not until I was in my forties, in the fifth decade of my life, that the sense of place, the spirit of place, became of paramount importance to me. It was then that I began my travels, that I discovered, through photography, the quality of light, and that I gradually became able to paint the mood of place.
It became the middle finger I couldn’t raise in PR photographs. The mustache became my silent last word in the verbal battles I was losing with higher headquarters on rules, targets, and fighting the war.
Since I don't smoke, I decided to grow a mustache - it is better for the health. However, I always carried a jewel-studded cigarette case in which, instead of tobacco, were carefully placed several mustaches, Adolphe Menjou style. I offered them politely to my friends: "Mustache? Mustache? Mustache?" Nobody dared to touch them. This was my test regarding the sacred aspect of mustaches.
Can you imagine having a love affair going on and on decade after decade? Macabre.
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