A Quote by Tim Gunn

If I had to choose a single destination where I'd be held captive for the rest of my time in New York, I’d choose the Metropolitan Museum of Art. — © Tim Gunn
If I had to choose a single destination where I'd be held captive for the rest of my time in New York, I’d choose the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
But if I had to choose a single destination where I'd be held captive for the rest of my time in New York, I'd choose the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
When I'm in New York, my favorite place on the planet is the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
I never can pass by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York without thinking of it not as a gallery of living portraits but as a cemetery of tax-deductible wealth.
Each new moment presents an opportunity for conscious choice. We can choose to let go of the past. We can choose to be here now. We can choose to accept responsibility for ourselves. . . . We can choose to awaken. Or we can choose to remain asleep and unconscious.
It's a time in my life that I'm glad it's behind me. I've had time to reflect on the whole thing. I want to talk about it one time and kind of lay it to rest. I'm ready to put it behind me. I've learned my lesson. I don't recommend the experience I had to anyone, really. It's not something that was fun. It's not a destination you would choose.
There is only one way out of the trap: that you don`t choose; neither this nor that - you simply don`t choose. You withdraw from choice and you become choiceless. Choicelessness is freedom. To choose is to choose a prison; to choose is to choose a bondage. To choose is wrong, to be choiceless is to be right.
This I choose to do. If there is a price, this I choose to pay. If it is my death, then I choose to die. Where this takes me, there I choose to go. I choose. This I choose to do.
I realised that I had no future at Bayern, so I resigned myself to leaving the club and had to choose a new destination.
We do not choose to be born. We do not choose our parents, or the country of our birth. We do not, most of us, choose to die; nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death. But within this realm of choicelessnness, we do choose how we live.
Choose action, not rest. Choose the good in life in all things, and choose the opportunity as well as the chance to work when springtime smiles on your face.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art some time ago held a display of contemporary art at which $52,000 was awarded to American sculptors, painters, and artists in allied fields. The award for the best painting went to the canvas of an Illinois artist. It was described as "a macabre, detailed work showing a closed door bearing a funeral wreath." Equally striking was the work's title: "That which I should have done, I did not do."
I grew up in New York, and for the first ten years of my life, we lived across from the Metropolitan Museum. When I was an adult, I moved back to that neighborhood and lived there again.
I'm noticing a new approach to art making in recent museum and gallery shows. It flickered into focus at the New Museum's 'Younger Than Jesus' last year and ran through the Whitney Biennial, and I'm seeing it blossom and bear fruit at 'Greater New York,' MoMA P.S. 1's twice-a-decade extravaganza of emerging local talent.
To have a museum like the Museum of Modern Art in New York is to have power. I don't have any interest in being the director of an institution that has power.
To choose this or that is to affirm at the same time the value of what we choose, because we can never choose evil. We always choose the good, and nothing can be good for us without being good for all.
It took the Metropolitan Museum of Art nearly 50 years to wake up to Pablo Picasso. It didn't own one of his paintings until 1946, when Gertrude Stein bequeathed that indomitable quasi-Cubistic picture of herself - a portrait of the writer as a sumo Buddha - to the Met, principally because she disliked the Museum of Modern Art.
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