God smiled on me in every sense. I was born a tenor, and you know what that means. Tenors are a rare commodity.
This was 1978, when flying was still an occasion, a special grand event that took planning and care. I worked as a TWA flight attendant then. I stood in my Ralph Lauren uniform at the boarding door and smiled at the passengers through lips coated with lipstick that perfectly matched the stripe on my jacket. Mostly, the passengers smiled back.
Every person - with his or her own skills, abilities and uniqueness - can contribute to others and bring great joy to those that fortune has not smiled upon.
It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.
I pressed my father's hand and told him I would protect his grave with my life. My father smiled and passed away to the spirit land.
Jesus wept; Voltaire smiled. From that divine tear and from that human smile is derived the grace of present civilization.
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolished the right arm Of his country.
Blue oblivion, largely lit, smiled and smiled at me.
I was a gift to my mother. She was a remarkable person. God or nature, or whatever those forces are, smiled on her, then passed me the best of her.
I became famous so quickly and so young - it was daunting. I was immature and I used to say some really stupid things in interviews. I never smiled on stage so I looked really serious, but it was because I hated my teeth and was incredibly nervous.