"And so I mourn him — I admit it — with a certain... alarm," Alfieri says as the curtain falls.
You likely already know something about Edmond Rostand's most famous creation: he has a large, almost disfiguring nose; he's in love, though he doesn't admit it, with his cousin Roxane Clémence Poésyy), who confides in him that she loves the hopeless but cute Christian Kyle Sollerr), a self-regarding, inarticulate man, for whom Cyrano ends up acting as a kind of beard.
Admit it, with all of the raucous about E. coli, mad cow disease and salmonella, you've evolved into a picky, neurotic, overly cautious eater.
Folks just don't like to admit it with the latter because they think it's being mean to stupid people or that all interpretations of art are somehow valid, no matter how shitty and unfounded they may be.
My longest poem, "How Things Are," is a kind of fantasia on the sciencey poet Lucretius, and I have other poems in direct conversation, though they don't always admit it, with Homer, Ovid, John Keats, Matthew Arnold, Christina Rossetti, Thomas Hardy, W. B. Yeats, Robert Frost, Philip Larkin, Elizabeth Bishop, and W. S. Merwin, all of whom I've been dizzily in love with at one time or another.
ADMIT it: with everything that's going on in the Middle East you haven't had much time to think about Cuba.
She admitted it with a nod.
And I admitted it, with no excuses.
The events embittered his last years and he declared in his autobiography that the controversy broke him down and that he admitted it with anger.
He admits it with lightning speed in "Rap God:" "To be truthful the blueprint's simply rage and youthful exuberance / Everybody loves to root for a nuisance".
Many of us, though we wouldn't want to admit it, are with Groucho Marx when he said "Why should I care about future generations?
