My family isn't really Italian. We're more like Olive Garden Italian.
I remember acting in a school play about the melting pot when I was very little. There was a great big pot onstage. On the other side of the pot was a little girl who had dark hair, and she and I were representing the Italians. And I thought: Is that what an Italian looked like?
Pope John Paul II's press secretary, who said, See, if only the Pope were Italian, he woulda shot back! Never got a dinner!
I have such an image of a mafioso.
You know, Rupert Murdoch I've said is like an Italian when it comes to negotiations.
I took a straight picture that made me look like a thirty-year-old Italian who'd kill anybody who said something against his mother.
I've never dated a fictional character before. The closest I ever came was an Italian.
When I think of Italy now, I think of accessories, possessions, bad TV, fake boobs, BMWs.
But he is an Italian," was Umberto's sensible reply. "He doesn't care if you break some law a little bit, as long as you wear beautiful shoes. Are you wearing beautiful shoes? Are you wearing the shoes I gave you?...principessa?" I looked down at my flip-flops. "I guess I'm toast.
All Italians got a refrigerator in the garage. That's what we do.
Italians are fantastic people, really. They can work you over in an alley while singing an opera.
I am a typical Italian; I love the clan. But I don't think about getting married.
Italy is not technically part of the Third World, but no one has told the Italians.
The Italians . . . you can't find one who is honest.
Well, I'm Italian, but my family isn't stereotypical. I mean, I only have one sister and we don't yell or throw pasta at each other. My mother doesn't even have a secret spaghetti sauce recipe.
