Tár

Lydia Tár:
Is there something wrong with the water?

Cirio:
No. There are crocodiles.

Lydia Tár:
Oh. I didn't think they'd be this far inland.

Cirio:
They escaped from a Marlon Brando movie.

Lydia Tár:
Wow. That was a long time ago.

Cirio:
They survived.

Max:
You're a f***ing b*tch.

Lydia Tár:
And you are a robot.

Lydia Tár:
[Referring to Mahler's Adagietto Symphony 5] And this piece was not born into aching tragedy. It was born into young love.

Adam Gopnik:
And so you chose...

Lydia Tár:
Love.

Adam Gopnik:
Right, but precisely how long?

Lydia Tár:
Well, seven minutes!

Olga Metkina:
You have a child?

Lydia Tár:
Yes.

Olga Metkina:
I will never do that!

Lydia Tár:
Pets are best for some people.

Lydia TáR:
Don't be so eager to be offended. The narcissism of small differences leads to the most boring kind of conformity.

Lydia TáR:
You want to dance the mask, you must service the composer. You gotta sublimate yourself, your ego, and, yes, your identity. You must, in fact, stand in front of the public and God and obliterate yourself.

Lydia TáR:
The problem with enrolling yourself as an ultrasonic epistemic dissident is that if Bach's talent can be reduced to his gender, birth country, religion, sexuality, and so on, then so can yours. Now, some day, Max, when you go out into the world, and you guest conduct for a major or minor orchestra, you may notice that the players have more than light bulbs and music on their stands. They will also have been handed rating sheets - the purpose of which is to rate you. Now, what kind of criteria would you hope that they use to do this? Your score reading and stick technique, or something else?

Lydia TáR:
There's no glory for a robot, Eliot. Do your own thing!

Lydia TáR:
It's my score! You f***ing, little nothing!

Lydia TáR:
It is always the question that involves the listener, never the answer.

Adam Gopnik:
The last thing I need is to be buttonholed in here by someone exactly like me.