“…I am a big bird winging over high mountains, down into serene valleys. I am ripples of waves on silver seas. I’m a spring leaf trembling in anticipation” —Maya Angelou

At the bird house of art;
that is, in other words,
the Met, in Central Park;
it’s cool to pick up birds.

When I became director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it was stodgy, gray, run by elitists. I said, ‘Hey, let’s kick the thing around.’ I wanted to attract young people to the museum. I said, ‘Make it hospitable. I want them to come. I want them to make dates, pick up girls, pick up boys – either way; I don’t care’

—Thomas Hoving

Like a bird hatched on Mars
that sprang from its cage,
landing in Central Park,
commanding center stage.

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

Hoisted high as a crane,
or a hot-air balloon,
a mobile weather vane,
a pick-up artist’s toon.

…Blue, blue windows behind the stars, Yellow moon on the rise, Big birds flying across the sky, Throwing shadows on our eyes

—Neil Young

Over the roof garden,
swinging without a net,
the pick-me-up art bird
draws smart birds to the Met.

A woman’s quest in life should be to find the perfect apartment. And I have found the perfect apartment. The perfect apartment is the first floor of the Metropolitan Museum. With a sofa

―Fran Lebowitz