In many respects 'Pal Joey' forced the musical theatre to wear long pants for the first time.

A song is a lot of things. But, first of all, a song is the voice of its time. Setting words to music gives them weight, makes then somehow easier to say, and it helps them to be remembered. It may be that that we can sing what we often cannot say, whether it be from shyness, fear, lack of the right words or the passion or dramatic gift to express them. More souls have rallied to more causes by the strains of music than by straining rhetoric.

[on Cole Porter's songwriting style] It is surely one of the ironies of the musical theatre that despite the abundance of Jewish composers, the one who has written the most enduring "Jewish" music should be an Episcopalian millionaire who was born on a farm in Peru, Indiana.

In many ways, a song-writing partnership is like a marriage. Apart from just liking each other, a lyricist and a composer should be able to spend long periods of time together - around the clock if need be - without getting on each other's nerves. Their goals, outlooks, and basic philosophies should be similar. They should have strong convictions, but no man should ever insist that his way alone is the right way. A member of a team should even be so in tune with his partner's work habits that he must be almost able to anticipate the other's next move. In short, the men should work together in such close harmony that the song they create is accepted as a spontaneous emotional expression.

[Lorenz Hart], almost anyone will agree, was a genius at lyric construction, at rhyming, at finding the offbeat way of expressing himself. He had a somewhat sardonic view of the world that can be found occasionally in his love songs and in his satirical numbers. But Larry was also a kind, gentle, generous little guy, and these traits, too, may be found in some of his memorable lyrics. Working with him, however, did present problems, since he had to be literally trapped into putting pen to paper--and then only after hearing a melody that stimulated him.

[on first meeting Lorenz Hart] He was violent on the subject of rhyming in songs, feeling that the public was capable of understanding better things than the current monosyllabic juxtaposition of "slush" and "mush". It made great good sense, and I was enchanted by this little man and his ideas. I left Hart's house having acquired in one afternoon a career, a partner, a best friend and a source of permanent irritation.

The well-tempered songwriter creates his own sort of "scherzo"--not necessarily fast, but surely joyous. It is difficult to listen to "Standing on the Corner" without wanting to giggle at, not just at the words, but at the music. This gifted man [Frank Loesser] could wander off the conventional 32-bar reservation without getting lost. Thus, "I Believe in You" is a full-fledged operatic aria with a beat. It is also a statement of self-faith. Was Frank singing to himself? He was entitled to do it.

Frank Loesser as a man is a book in himself. He was happy; he was strong; he had enormous peaks and frightening depths. This is only to say that he was intensely human. With it all, he was a living refutation of the theory that composers are not very bright. Frank was a first-rate businessman without ever having to resort to tricks. He knew his own value, and he recognized the value of others.

[Referring to Oscar Hammerstein II and the song "It Might As Well Be Spring"] He gave me a lyric. And when he gives me a lyric, I write music.

Whenever I get an idea for a song, even before jotting down the notes, I can hear it in the orchestra, I can smell it in the scenery, I can see the kind of actor who will sing it, and I am aware of an audience listening to it.

[Defending his songs and style in a changing world] What's wrong with sweetness and light? It's been around quite awhile.