Now you say you're lonely
You cried the whole night through
Well, you can cry me a river
Cry me a river
'cause I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry
For being so untrue
So what, just cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

You drove me
Nearly drove me out of my head
While you never shed a tear

Remember, I remember
All that you said
Told me love was too plebeian
Told me you were through with me

And now you say you love me
Well, just to prove you do
Go on and cry me a river
I'd like to see you cry a river
'cause I´m tired of crying over you

Que si quiere que se la cante como Julie London, le espeta. Y el otro, claro, que no, que lo haga como Dinah Washington. Y se la canta, vaya si se la canta, como ella sabe. No quisiera yo haber estado en su pellejo. O sí.

humbling, poet o actor

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new: an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more. 

Peter O'Toole da voz -y qué voz- a Anton Ego en Ratatouille, de Brad Bird. Quizás ayudó al inglés o irlandés, depende de las fuentes, saber de qué se habla cuando dice eso de humble origins: always wanted to try being either a poet or an actor.