Dante: You get me slapped with a fine, you argue with the customers and I have to patch everything up, you get us thrown out of a funeral by violating a corpse, and then to top it all off you ruin my relationship. I mean what's your encore? Do you like anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank? (pause) You know what the real tragedy about all this is? I'm not even supposed to be here today!

Randal: Oh fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go: trying to pass the buck! Who closed the store to play hockey? Who closed the store to go to a wake? Who tried to win back his ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one? You want to blame somebody? Blame yourself! "I'm not even supposed to be here today" You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here - you're here of your own volition. You like to think the weight of the world rests on your shoulder, like this place would fall apart if Dante wasn't here. Jesus, you over-compensate for having what is basically a monkey's job. You push fucking buttons! Anybody could waltz in here and do our jobs. You - you're so obsessed with making everything seem so much more epic, so much more important than it really is. Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante - and badly I might add. I work in a shitty video store, badly as well. You know, that guy Jay's got it right man, he has no delusions about what he does. Us - we like to make ourselves seem so much more important than the people who come in here to buy a paper or God forbid, cigarettes. We look down on them as if we're so advanced. Well, if we're so fucking advanced, what are we doing working here?

Brodie: One time my cousin Walter got this cat stuck in his ass. True story. He bought it at the local mall, so the whole fiasco wound up on the news. It was embarrassing for my relatives and all. But the next week, he did it again. Different cat, same results, complete with a trip to the emergency room. Then, last week, I saw him in the pet store. He was buying another cat! I said, "Walt, what the hell are you doing, you know you're just gonna get this cat stuck up your ass too, why don't you knock it off?" And he says to me, "Brodie, how the hell else am I supposed to get the gerbil out?" My cousin was a weird guy.

I love you. And not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. And it's not because you're unattainable. I love you. Very simple, very truly. You're the epitome of every attribute and quality I've ever looked for in another person. I know you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you'd ever consider. But I had to say it. I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't look into your eyes without feeling that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. I know this will probably queer our friendship -no pun intended- but I had to say it, because I've never felt this before, and I like who I am because of it. And if bringing it to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But I couldn't allow another day to go by without getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And I'll accept that. But I know some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, that means you feel something too. All I ask is that you not dismiss that -at least for ten seconds- and try to dwell in it. Alyssa, there isn't another soul on this fucking planet who's ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it's there between you and me. you can't deny that. And even if we never speak again after tonight, please know that I'm forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me, which -while I do appreciate it- I'd never need a painting of birds bought at a diner to remind me of.

(Alyssa opens the door and exits the car)

(sighs) Was it something I said?

Banky: What the fuck is going on with you and that girl? She's programming you, and apparently, you don't even realize it. What does it matter if I refer to her as a dyke, or if I call the Whalers a bunch of faggots in the privacy of my own office, far from the sensitive ears of the rest of the world? (begins drawing something) Bear with me here. I just want to put you through this little exercise. (finishes drawing) Okay, now see this? This is a four-way road, okay? And dead in the center, is a crisp, new, hundred dollar bill. Now at the end of each of the streets, are four people, okay? You following? Up here, we got a male-affectionate, easy-to-get-along-with, no political agenda lesbian. Okay? Now down here, we have a man-hating, angry-as-fuck, agenda-of-rage, bitter dyke. To this side, we got Santa Claus, right? And over to this side - the Easter Bunny. Which one's going to get to the hundred dollar bill first?... I'm serious. This is a serious exercise. It's like an S.A.T. question. Which one's going to get to the hundred dollar bill first - the male-friendly lesbian, the man-hating dyke, Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny?

Holden: The man-hating dyke.

Banky: Good. Why?... BECAUSE THESE OTHER THREE ARE FIGMENTS OF YOUR FUCKING IMAGINATION! She's fucking with your mind, man! She knows you've got this schoolboy crush and she's using it to sway your way of thinking! Maybe she thinks you'll get her comic picked up by Contender. Or maybe she thinks you'll change the content of our book to something more political and message oriented. Or, gee - I don't know - maybe because that's just what dykes like to do: fuck around with straight guys' heads, just so she can go back to her little rug-muncher club and have a good laugh with all her man-hating harpy cronies about how fucking stupid and easily duped men are! You don't even know this girl! Big deal, she's from Middletown and she went to North! All the girls at North were bitches and sluts anyway! And this one's got them beat by a mile because she's a bitch/slut/dyke! Oh why? Do you get my back when she bashes me? Because I know she does. And do you know why she does? Because I won't play her fucking game! What is it about this girl? You know you have no shot at getting her into bed! Why do you bother wasting time with her? Because you're Holden fucking McNeil - most persistent traveler on the road that's not the path of least resistance! Everything's gotta be a fucking challenge for you, and this little relationship with that bitch is a prime example of your fucking condition. Well I don't need a fucking magic eight ball to look into your future; you want a forecast? Here - will Holden ever fuck Alyssa. (shakes and looks at imaginary ball) What a shock - "Not fucking likely"! This relationship of yours is affecting you, our work and our friendship, and the time's going to come when I throw down the gauntlet and say it's me or her! And then what're you going to say?!... No, what would you say? Would you trash twenty years of friendship because you've got some idiotic notion that this chick would even let you sniff her panties, let alone fuck her?!... What the fuck, man?! WHAT THE FUCK MAKES THIS BITCH ALL THAT IMPORTANT?!?!

Silent Bob: Chasing Amy.
Holden: What? What did you say?
Bob: You're chasing Amy.
Jay: Why do you so shocked for, man? Fat bastard does this all the time. Think just because never says anything, it'll have some huge impact when he does open his fucking mouth...
Bob: Jesus Christ, why don't you just shut the fuck up. You're yap, yap, yapping all the time. Give me a fucking headache. (to Holden) I went through something like what you're talking about, a couple years ago, this chick named Amy.
Jay: When?
Bob: A couple years ago?
Jay: What, you live in Canada or something? Why don't I know about this?
Bob: Bitch, what you don't know about me I could just about squeeze in the Grand fucking Canyon. Did you know I always wanted to be a dancer in Vegas? (does a gesture with his hands, a reference to a move by the exotic dancers in "Showgirls") Betcha ya didn't even know that shit, did ya?
Jay: So tell your fucking story so we can get outta here and smoke this.
Bob (to Holden): So, there's me and Amy. And we're all inseparable, right? Big time in love. Then four months down the road, the idiot gear kicks in, and I ask about the ex-boyfriend. Which, as we all know, is a really dumb move. But you know how you don't wanna know, but just have to know--stupid guy bullshit. So, anyway, she starts telling me about him. How they fell in love, how they went out for a couple of yeas, how they lived together, her mother likes me better, blah blah blah blah blah. And I'm okay. Then she drops the bomb. And the bomb is this: it seems that a couple of times while they were going out, he brought some people to bed with him, "menage a troi," I believe it's called. And this just blows my mind, right? I mean, I am not used to this sorta thing; I was raised Catholic, for Gods sake.
Jay: Saint shithead.
Bob (to Jay): Do something. (to Holden) So I'm totally weirded out by this, right? So I start blasting her. I mean, I don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling, so I figure the best way is to call her 'slut,' tell her she was used. I'm out for blood, I really want to hurt this girl. I'm like, "What the fuck is your problem," right? And she's just trying to calmly tell me it was that time, it was that place, and she doesn't feel like she should apologize because she doesn't feel that she's done anything wrong. And I say, "Oh, really?" That's when I look her straight in the eye, tell her it's over. I walk.
Jay: Fucking-A.
Bob: No, idiot, it was a mistake. I wasn't disgusted with her, I was afraid. In that moment, I felt small, like I lacked experience, like I'd never be enough for her or something like that, you know what I'm saying? But what I did not get: she didn't care. She wasn't looking for that guy any more. She was looking for me, for the Bob. But by the time I figured this all out, it was too late. She had moved on. And all I had to show for it was some foolish pride which gave way to regret. She was the girl. I know that now. But (lights a cigarette) I pushed her away. (pause) So I spend every day since then chasing Amy. (pause) So to speak.

No, it will. Maybe you'll see me differently from then on - maybe you'll despise me for going along with it, once you're in the moment. Maybe I'll moan differently and then you'll resent Banky, and become suspicious of us. Or you'll alienate him because of it, and then grow to blame and hate me for the deterioration of your friendship. Or what if- I sincerely doubt it, but what if - I saw something in Banky that I never saw before, and fell in love with him and left you. I've been down roads like this before; many times. I know you feel doing this will broaden your horizons and give you experience. But I've had those experiences on my own. I can't accompany you on your's. I'm past that now. Or maybe I just love you too much. And I feel hurt and let down that you'd want to share me with anyone. Because I never wanted to share you. Regardless I can't be a part of this. Or you. Not anymore I love you. I always will. Know that. (slaps him) But I'm not your fucking whore.

Bethany: May I ask what brought you here?
Jay: Some fuck named John Hughes.
Bethany: "Sixteen Candles" John Hughes?
Jay: You know that guy, too? That fuckin' guy. He made this flick "Sixteen Candles." Not bad. There's tits in it, but no bush, but Ebert over here don't give a shit about that kind of thing 'cause he's, like, all in love with this John Hughes guy. He goes out and rents, like, every one of his movies. Fuckin' "Breakfast Club," where all these stupid kids actually show up for detention. Fuckin' "Weird Science," where this chick wants to take her gear off and get down, but oh no, she don't 'cause it's a PG movie. And then, "Pretty in Pink," which I can't even watch with this tubby bitch anymore, 'cause every time we get to the part where the redhead hooks up with her dream guy, he starts sobbin' like a little bitch with a skinned knee and shit. And there's nothing worse than watchin' a fuckin' fat man weep. Anyway all of John Hughes movies take place in Shermer, Illinois, where all the hunnies are top shelf but all the boys are whiney pussies-except Judd Nelson man, he was fuckin' harsh. So me and "Lunchbox" here figured we could live like fatrats if we were the blunt connection in Shermer. So we collected some money we were owed and boarded a bus. But you know what we found out when we got here? There is no Shermer Illinois - movies are fuckin' bullshit man!

Nun: Let me get this straight: you don't believe in God because of Alice in Wonderland?

Loki: No, 'Through the Looking Glass.' That poem, The Walrus & the Carpenter, that's an indictment of organized religion. The walrus - with his girth and his good nature - he obviously represents either Buddha, - or with his tusks - the Hindu Elephant God, Lord Ganesha. That takes care of your Eastern religions. Now, the carpenter, which is an obvious reference to Jesus Christ who was raised a carpenter's son, he represents the Western religions. Now, in the poem, what do they do? What do they do? They - they dupe all these oysters into following them and then proceed to shuck and devour the helpless creatures, en masse. Now, I dunno what that says to you, but to me, it says that following these faiths based on mythological figures insures the destruction of one's inner being. Organized religion destroys who we are by inhibiting our actions, by inhibiting our decisions, out of - out of fear of some - some intangible parent figure who - who shakes a finger at us from thousands of years ago, and says - and says: "Do it, do it and I'll fucking spank you!"

Why shouldn't I work for the N.S.A.? That's a tough one, but I'll take a shot. Say I'm working at the N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. Maybe I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself, 'cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people that I never met and that I never had no problem with get killed. Now the politicians are sayin', "Send in the marines to secure the area" 'cause they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there, gettin' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number was called, 'cause they were pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some kid from Southie takin' shrapnel in the ass. And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, 'cause he'll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile he realizes the only reason he was over there in the first place was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the skirmish over there to scare up domestic oil prices. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain't helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. They're takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, and maybe even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and fuckin' play slalom with the icebergs, and it ain't too long 'til he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So now my buddy's out of work and he can't afford to drive, so he's walking to the fuckin' job interviews, which sucks 'cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids. And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State. So what did I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. I figure, fuck it, while I'm at it, why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I could be elected president.

bought, sold, or processed

oh yeah

Ezekial 25-17. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides of the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men...(I can do the rest off of memory, but I'm tired of typing)

Well there's this passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never gave much thought what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. See now I'm thinkin', maybe it means you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9 Milimeter here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. Now I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd.

Well, I believe in the soul. The cock. The pussy. The small of a woman's back. The hanging curve ball. High fiber. Good scotch. That the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a Constitution Amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas eve. And I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days...Goodnight.

Now you will receive us. We do not ask for your poor or your hungry. We do not want your tired and sick. It is your corrupt we claim. It is your evil that will be sought by us. With every breath we shall hunt them down. Each day we will spill their blood ‘til it rains down from the skies. Do not kill, do not rape, to not steal. These are principles, which every man of every faith can embrace. These are not polite suggestions, these are codes of behavior and those of you that ignore them will pay the dearest cost. There are varying degrees of evil. We urge you lesser forms of filth not to push the bounds and cross over into true corruption, into our domain. But if you do you, one day you will look behind you and you will see we three, and on that day, you will reap it. And we will send you to whatever god you wish. And shepherds we shall be, for thee my Lord for thee, power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command. We shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

Sin LaSalle: Have you lost your mind? I mean, how is it that you can disrespect a man's ethnicity when you know we've influenced nearly every facet of white America. From our music to our style of dress, not to mention your basic imitation of our sense of cool; walk, talk, dress, mannerisms. We enrich your very existence, all the while contributing to the gross national product through our achievements in corporate America. It's these conceits that comfort me when I'm faced with the ignorant, cowardly, bitter and bigoted who have no talent, no guts. People like you who desecrate things they don't understand when the truth is you should just say "thank you, man," and go about your way. But, apparently, you're incapable of doing that, so - (he shoots the man in the chest and Dabu accidentally shoots another man) Dabu!

Dabu: My bad, dog.

Sin: And don’t tell me to be cool. I am cool! (he shoots the man again) Racial epithets. Why does it always come down to that? Makes me sad for my daughter.

You want answers?
I think I'm entitled.
You want answers?
I want the truth.
You can't handle the truth...

As your leader, I encourage you to -- from time to time and always in a respectful manner -- to question my logic. If you're unconvinced a particular plan of action I've decided is the wisest, tell me so. But allow me to convince you. And I will promise you, right here and now, no subject will be taboo... except, of course, the subject that was just under discussion. The price you pay for bringing up either my Chinese or my American heritage as a negative is, I collect your fucking head. (holds up a decapitated head) Just like this fucker here. Now if any of you sons of bitches got anything else to say, NOW'S THE FUCKING TIME!!... I didn't think so.

As you know, I'm quite keen of comic books, especially the ones about superheroes. I find the whole mythology surrounding superheroes fascinating. Take my favorite superhero; Superman, not a great comic book, not particularly well-drawn, but the mythology; the mythology is not only great, it's unique.

Now, the staple of the superhero mythology is; there is the superhero and there is the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spiderman is actually Peter Parker; when that character wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spiderman and it is in that characteristic, Superman stands alone. Superman didn't become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent, his outfit with the big red “S”. That's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears; the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume; that’s the costume that Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us, and what are the characteristics of Clark Kent; he’s weak, he’s unsure of himself, he’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race, sorta like Beatrix Kiddo and Mrs. Tommy Plympton.

How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, 'cause it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outack Nazi law enforcement agency and they'll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I just say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?

Rehabilitated? Well, now, let me see. You know, I don't have any idea what that means... I know what you think it means, sonny. To me, it's just a made-up word. A politician's word. So young fellas like yourself can wear a suit and a tie and have a job. What do you really want to know? Am I sorry for what I did?... There's not a day goes by I don't feel regret. Not because I'm in here. Because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then. A young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I wanna talk to him. I wanna try to talk some sense to him. Tell him the way things are. But I can't. That kid's long gone and this old man's all that's left. I gotta live with that. Rehabilitated? That's just a bullshit word. So you go on and stamp your form, sonny, and stop wasting my time. Because, to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit.

Sometimes it makes me sad though, Andy being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But still, the the place you live in is that much more drab and empty now they are gone. I guess I just miss my friend.

Red: Forty years I've been asking permission to piss. I can't squeeze a drop without say-so. There's a harsh truth to face: no way I'm gonna make it on the outside. All I do anymore is think of ways to break my parole so maybe they'd send me back. Terrible thing, to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time. Only one thing stops me - a promise I made to Andy.

Andy (voice-over): Dear Red, If you're reading this, you've gotten out. And if you've come this far, maybe you're willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don't you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I'll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Andy.

Red: Get busy living or get busy dying. That's goddamn right. For the second time in my life, I'm guilty of committing a crime. Parole violation. Course, I doubt they're going to throw up any road blocks for that. Not for an old crook like me. I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel. A free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

You're all assholes. You know why? 'Cause none of you got the guts to be what you want to be.

You need people like me so you can point your fingers and say 'hey there's the bad guy!' So what does that make you? Good guys? Don't kid yourselves. You're no better'n me. You just know how to hide -- and how to lie. Me I don't have that problem. I always tell the truth -- even when I lie.

So say good night to the bad guy... You're never gonna see a bad guy like me again.

And Shawshank Redemption, brilliant film.

"Gozer the Traveler. He will come in one of the pre-chosen forms. During the rectification of the Vuldrini, the traveler came as a large and moving Torg! Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the McKetrick supplicants, they chose a new form for him: that of a giant Slor! Many Shuvs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, I can tell you!"

Look, I don't know about you, but I really believe that there's one person out there for everybody. That's what this is about. It's not just some sappy love letter telling her how my heart stops every time that I see her...that's in there, but...it's not just to tell her how I think she's more than the Homecoming queen or Mike's girlfriend or how there's this really amazing person inside of her that no one even bothers to see...that's in there too, but...what it's really about is how if she'd just give me a chance...just one chance...maybe we could find out if there's a reason for all of this - why she's not with Mike tonight and after four years, I'm still here with this letter. Maybe we could find out what that reason is. Ya know, it's time to find out. I think I'm ready to do this...finally. Any words of encouragement?

In the world of... (stops, attempts to start again)... in the world of matrimonial law, there are ... (stops again) ... in the world of matrimonial law, there are multiple tactics ......... (tears his notes in half) Friends, this morning I stand before you a very different Miles Massey than the one that addressed you last year on the disposition of marital assets following murder-slash-suicide. I wish to talk to you today not about technical matters of law. I wish to talk to you about something more important. I wish to talk to you from the heart. Because today ... for the first time in my life ... I stand before you -- naked ... vulnerable ... and in love. Love. It's a word we matrimonial lawyers avoid. Funny, isn't it? We're frightened of this emotion which is, in a sense, the seed of our livelihood. Well, today Miles Massey is here to tell you that love need cause us no fear. Love need cause us no shame. Love is ... good. (low disturbed mumblings from the audience) Love is good. (more disturbed mumblings from the audience) Now, I am of course aware that these remarks will be received here with cynicism. Cynicism: that cloak that advertises our indifference and hides all human feeling. Well, I'm here to tell you that that cynicism that we think protects us, in fact, destroys. Destroys love, destroys our clients, and ultimately destroys ourselves! Colleagues, when our clients come to us, confused and angry and hurting, because their flame of love is guttering and threatens to die, do we seek to extinguish that flame? So we can sift through the smoldering wreckage for our paltry reward? Or do we fan this precious flame, this MOST precious flame, back into loving, roaring life? Do we council fear or trust? Do we seek to destroy or build? Do we meet our clients problems with cynicism -- or with love? The choice is of course each of ours. For my part I've made the leap of love and there is no going back. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last time I will address you as the president of NOMAN or as a member. I intend to devote myself to pro-bono work in East Los Angeles or one of those other... ... God bless you all.

Celine: So you're telling me that successful relationships are made in heaven, not founded in the daily practicality of two people being prepared to tolerate the imperfections of one another?
Robert: It's not successful relationships, Celine. It's love. And it comes from a strange and wonderful place that we don't know about.
C: So then, you also reject the idea that love is merely a physical adaptation to a physical necessity?
R: Completely.
C: Are you serious?
R: Fate intervenes in people's lives.
C: In ours for instance?
R: Fate brought us together. It kept us together. We were destined for one another.
C: Fate had a pretty strange way of making its point.
R: But that's part of the beauty of it. It's inexplicable, unpredictable, and absolutely beyond control or understanding.
C: But you nearly got killed.
R: But I didn't. And here we are.
C: Do you have any substantial evidence to back all this?
R: None at all.
C: And you realize that it's absurd and irrational?
R: I know that.
C: Then why do you believe it?
R: Because, Celine, I'm a dreamer.
C: Well, I guess that makes two of us.

Over? Nothing is over till we say it is.

Was it over when the German's bombed Pearl Harbor?

No and it's not over now.

Who's with me?

You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed - for lack of a better word - is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms - greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge - has marked the upward surge of mankind. And Greed - you mark my words - will not only save Teldar Paper but that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA. Thank you very much.

You smell that? Do you smell that? ... Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for twelve hours. When it was all over I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like ... victory. Someday this war's gonna end ...

I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face... and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies. I remember when I was with Special Forces. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate the children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for Polio, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile. A pile of little arms. And I remember... I... I... I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget. And then I realized... like I was shot... like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought: My God... the genius of that. The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we. Because they could stand that these were not monsters. These were men... trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love... but they had the strength... the strength... to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral... and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling... without passion... without judgment... without judgment. Because it's judgment that defeats us.

CAPT. KOONS
Hello, little man. Boy I sure heard
a bunch about you. See, I was a good
friend of your Daddy's. We were in
that Hanoi pit of hell over five
years together. Hopefully, you'll
never have to experience this
yourself, but when two men are in a
situation like me and your Daddy
were, for as long as we were, you
take on certain responsibilities of
the other. If it had been me who had
not made it, Major Coolidge would be
talkin' right now to my son Jim. But
the way it worked out is I'm talkin'
to you, Butch. I got somethin' for
ya.

This watch I got here was first
purchased by your great-granddaddy.
It was bought during the First World
War in a little general store in
Knoxville, Tennessee. It was bought
by private Doughboy Ernie Coolidge
the day he set sail for Paris. It
was your great-granddaddy's war watch,
made by the first company to ever
make wrist watches. You see, up until
then, people just carried pocket
watches. Your great-granddaddy wore
that watch every day he was in the
war. Then when he had done his duty,
he went home to your great-
grandmother, took the watch off his
wrist and put it in an ol' coffee
can. And in that can it stayed 'til
your grandfather Dane Coolidge was
called upon by his country to go
overseas and fight the Germans once
again. This time they called it World
War Two. Your great-granddaddy gave
it to your granddad for good luck.
Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as
good as his old man's. Your granddad
was a Marine and he was killed with
all the other Marines at the battle
of Wake Island. Your granddad was
facing death and he knew it. None of
those boys had any illusions about
ever leavin' that island alive. So
three days before the Japanese took
the island, your 22-year old
grandfather asked a gunner on an Air
Force transport named Winocki, a man
he had never met before in his life,
to deliver to his infant son, who he
had never seen in the flesh, his
gold watch. Three days later, your
grandfather was dead. But Winocki
kept his word. After the war was
over, he paid a visit to your
grandmother, delivering to your infant
father, his Dad's gold watch. This
watch. This watch was on your Daddy's
wrist when he was shot down over
Hanoi. He was captured and put in a
Vietnamese prison camp. Now he knew
if the gooks ever saw the watch it'd
be confiscated. The way your Daddy
looked at it, that watch was your
birthright. And he'd be damned if
and slopeheads were gonna put their
greasy yella hands on his boy's
birthright. So he hid it in the one
place he knew he could hide somethin'.
His ***. Five long years, he wore
this watch up his ***. Then when he
died of dysentery, he gave me the
watch. I hid with uncomfortable hunk
of metal up my *** for two years.
Then, after seven years, I was sent
home to my family. And now, little
man, I give the watch to you.

Ben Affleck. Boiler Room.

Narrator: Once upon a time there was a girl I knew that lived across the street. Brown hair, brown eyes. When she smiled, I smiled. When she cried, I cried. Every single thing that happened to me that mattered, in some way, had to do with her. That day Winnie and I promised each other that no matter what, we'd always be together. It was a promise full of passion and truth and wisdom. It was the kind of promise that could only come from the hearts of the very young.

Narrator: Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house like a lot of other houses, a yard like a lot of other yards, on a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back, with wonder

25th hour:

[Monty standing in the men's bathroom, talking to himself in a mirror with a "f**k YOU" written on it]
Monty Brogan: Well, f**k you, too. f**k me, f**k you, f**k this whole city and everyone in it. f**k the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. f**k the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a f**king job! f**k the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in f**king training. SLOW THE f**k DOWN! f**k the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. f**k the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? f**k the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you f**king came from! f**k the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! f**k the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother f**kers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for f**kING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that ****? Give me a f**king break! Tyco! Worldcom! f**k the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst f**kin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. f**k the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos. f**k the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! f**k the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the f**k on! f**k the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! f**k the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. f**k the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, f**k JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in f**kin' Otisville, J! f**k Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-***, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ***! f**k Jacob Elinsky, whining malcontent. f**k Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ***. f**k Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, f**king *****. f**k my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, cheering the Bronx bombers. f**k this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to f**king ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.
[pause]
Monty Brogan: No. No, f**k you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb f**k!

"The town will never be the same. After the Tangiers, the big corporations took it all over. Today, it looks like Disneyland. And while the kids play cardboard pirates, Mommy and Daddy drop the house payments and Junior's college money on the poker slots. In the old days, dealers knew your name, what you drank, what you played. Today, it's like checkin' into an airport. And if you order room service, you're lucky if you get it by Thursday. Today, it's all gone. You get a whale show up with four million in a suitcase, and some twenty-five-year-old hotel school kid is gonna want his Social Security Number. After the Teamsters got knocked out of the box, the corporations tore down practically every one of the old casinos. And where did the money come from to rebuild the pyramids? Junk bonds. But in the end, I wound up right back where I started. I could still pick winners, and I could still make money for all kinds of people back home. And why mess up a good thing?"

"You smell that? Do you smell that? ... Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for twelve hours. When it was all over I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like ... victory. Someday this war's gonna end ..."

"...Do you think I'm cute Private Pyle? Do you think I'm funny?... Then wipe that disgusting grin off your face... Well, any f--king time, sweetheart!... Private Pyle, I'm gonna give you three seconds, exactly three-f--king seconds to wipe that stupid-lookin' grin off your face or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-f--k you!"

Goddammit, you ****in' guys. I'm gonna keep this short, okay? You passed your sevens over a month ago. Seth's the only one that's opened the necessary forty accounts for his team leader. When I was a junior broker I did it in 26 days. Okay? You're not sendin' out press packets anymore. None of this Debbie the Time Life operator bullshit. So get on the phones, it's time to get to work. Get off your ***! Move around. Motion creates emotion. I remember one time I had this guy call me up, wanted to pitch me, right? Wanted to sell me stock. So I let him. I got every fuckin rebuttal outta this guy, kept him on the phone for an hour and a half. Towards the end I started askin him buying questions, like what's the firm minimum? That's a buying question, right there that guys gotta take me down. It's not like I asked him, what's your 800 number, that's fuckoff question. I was givin him a run and he blew it. Okay? To a question like what is the firm minimum, the answer is zero. You don't like the idea, don't pick up a single share. But this putz is tellin me you know, uhh, 100 shares? Wrong answer! No! You have to be closing all the time. And be aggressive, learn how to push! Talk to 'em. Ask 'em questions... ask 'em rhetorical questions, it doesn't matter, anything, just get a yes out of 'em. If you're drowning and I throw you a life jacket would you grab it? Yes! Good. Pick up 200 shares I won't let you down. Ask them how they'd like to see thirty, forty percent returns. What are they gonna say, no? **** you? I don't wanna see those returns. Stop laughing, it's not funny. If you can't learn how to close, you better start thinkin about another career. And I am deadly serious about that. Dead fuckin serious. And have your rebuttals ready, guy says call me tommorrow? Bullshit! Somebody tells you th-they money problems about buyin 200 shares is lying to you. You know what I say to that? I say, hey look, man, tell me you don't like my firm, tell me you don't like my idea, tell me you don't like my fuckin neck tie, but don't tell me you can't put together 2,500 bucks. And there is no such thing as a no-sell call. A sell is made on every call you make. Either you sell the client some stock, or he sells you on a reason he can't. Either way, a sell is made. The only question is: who's gonna close? You or him?! Now be relentless. That's it, I'm done.

Kubrick

We're dicks! We're reckless, arrogant, stupid dicks. And the Film Actors Guild are pussies. And Kim Jong Il is an asshole. Pussies don't like dicks, because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes: assholes that just want to shit on everything. Pussies may think they can deal with assholes their way. But the only thing that can fuck an asshole is a dick, with some balls. The problem with dicks is: they fuck too much or fuck when it isn't appropriate - and it takes a pussy to show them that. But sometimes, pussies can be so full of shit that they become assholes themselves... because pussies are an inch and half away from ass holes. I don't know much about this crazy, crazy world, but I do know this: If you don't let us fuck this asshole, we're going to have our dicks and pussies all covered in shit!

Tonka34: My name is Tonka34. I grew up town called Minnetonka. So I called myself Tonka34. 33 or 34 is my good number I like.

Keith Crime: did you ever purify yourself in the lake?

Tonka34: NO

Ron Mexico:Yeah, but that isn't lake minnetonka.

Tonka 34: It is Lake Minnetonka. How did you know? Flordia people don't know anything about Minnesota. Minnesota don't know anything about Florida. Did you grew up Minnesota? Just Curious.

Ron Mexico: I'm guessing you are 24 and have never seen the movie Purple Rain.
Am I right?

Tonka34: Your right. I never seen Purple Rain. I don't listen music because I'm deaf.
I'm 40 years old.

Ron Mexico: OH, OK. I'LL EXPLAIN IT THEN.

PRINCE DRIVES APALONIA TO A LAKE AND TELLS HER SHE NEEDS TO CLEANSE HERSELF IN LAKE MINNETONKA. SHE GETS NUDE AND DIVES IN. HE LETS HER DO IT. THEN HE TELLS HER THAT THAT LAKE ISN'T LAKE MINNETONKA.

THAT TRICKY PRINCE. ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, APALONIA LOOKED GOOD NAKED. GOT IT NOW. I WASN'T INSULTING MN PEOPLE. I LOVE KIRBY PUCKETT.