(Please proceed at your own risk: Captain! There be spoilers here!)
… It seems to me that, later on, neither I nor anyone else will be interested in the chatterings of a 13-year-old schoolgirl…”
Arsenic and Old Lace
Mortimer Brewster: Insanity runs in my family . . . it practically gallops!
Tommy: It’s hot in here.
Jeff: It’s not the heat, it’s the humanity.
Bringing Up Baby
Mrs. Random: Well, you look perfectly idiotic in those clothes!
David: These aren’t my clothes!
Well, where are your clothes?
I’ve lost my clothes!
Well, why are you wearing these clothes?
Because I just went GAY all of a sudden!
David: When a man is wrestling a leopard in the middle of a pond, he’s in no position to run.
David: The only way you’ll get me to follow another of your suggestions is to hold a bright object in front of my eyes and twirl it.
Renault: Oh, there’s no hurry. Tonight he will be at Rick’s. Everybody comes to Rick’s.
Renault: I’ve often speculated on why you don’t return to America. Did you abscond with the church funds? Did you run off with a senator’s wife? I like to think that you killed a man – it’s the romantic in me.
Rick: It’s a combination of all three.
And what in heaven’s name brought you to Casablanca?
My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.
Waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.
I was misinformed.
Strasser: What is your nationality?
Rick: I’m a drunkard.
Louis: That makes Richard a citizen of the world.
Rick: There are certain sections of New York, Major, that I wouldn’t advise you to try to invade.
Mr. Leuchtag: Liebchen – ah, sweetness heart, what watch?
Mrs. Leuchtag: Ten watch.
Mr. Leuchtag: Such watch?
Rick: I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue.
Sam: Boss, ain’t you goin’ to bed?
Rick: Not right now.
Ain’t you plannin’ on goin’ to bed in the near future?
You ever goin’ to bed?
Well, I ain’t sleepy either.
Rick: Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world she walks into mine.
If you’re not with him, you’ll regret it – maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life. … The problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.
Major Strasser has been shot. Round up the usual suspects.
The Court Jester
Hawkins: I’ve got it! I’ve got it! The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true! Right?
Griselda: Right. But there’s been a change: they broke the chalice from the palace!
Hawkins: They *broke* the chalice from the palace?
Griselda: And replaced it with a flagon.
Hawkins: A flagon…?
Griselda: With the figure of a dragon.
Hawkins: Flagon with a dragon.
Hawkins: But did you put the pellet with the poison in the vessel with the pestle?
Griselda: No! The pellet with the poison’s in the flagon with the dragon! The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true!
Hawkins: The pellet with the poison’s in the flagon with the dragon; the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.
Griselda: Just remember that.
Dead Poets Society
Mr. Nolan: Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?
Boys: Tradition! Honor! Discipline! Excellence!
Charlie: Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?
Boys: Travesty! Horror! Decadence! Excrement!
McAllister: Slow down, boys! Slow down, you horrible phalanx of pubescence!
Keating: “O Captain! My Captain!” Who knows where that comes from? Anybody. Not a clue? It’s from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now, this class, you can either call me Mr. Keating, or, if you’re slightly more daring, “O Captain! My Captain.” Now let me dispel a few rumors, so they don’t fester into facts. Yes, I, too, attended Hellton and have survived. And no, at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling. I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face. Now, Mr. … Pitts? That’s a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you? Mr. Pitts, will you open your hymnal to page 542? Read the first stanza of the poem you find there.
Pitts: “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time”?
Keating: Yes. That’s the one. Somewhat appropriate, isn’t it?
Pitts: Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flowers that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
Keating: Thank you, Mr. Pitts. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” The Latin term for that sentiment is “Carpe diem“. Now who knows what that means?
Meeks: Carpe diem. That’s “seize the day.”
Keating: Very good, Mr–
Keating: Meeks. Another unusual name. Seize the day. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” Why does the writer use these lines?
Charlie: Because he’s in a hurry.
Keating: No! Ding! Thank you for playing anyway. Because we are food for worms, lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is, one day, gonna stop breathing, turn cold, and die. I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past. You’ve walked past them many times, but I don’t think you’ve really looked at them. They’re not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts, full of hormones just like you. Invincible just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they’re destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see, gentlemen, those boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen. Do you hear it? Carpe. Hear it? Carpe. Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.
Keating: Gentlemen, open your texts to page 21 of the introduction. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled “Understanding Poetry”?
Neil: “‘Understanding Poetry,’ by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme and figures of speech, then ask two questions: 1) How artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered and 2) How important is that objective? Question 1 rates the poem’s perfection; question 2 rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining the poem’s greatness becomes a relatively simple matter.” (As Neil reads, Keating solemnly draws a chart on the blackboard) “If the poem’s score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness. A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical but only average on the horizontal. (Keating accordingly makes a mark high on the vertical and middling on the horizontal, and shades in the area) A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. (Shakespeare gets a larger area on Keating’s graph) As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this manner grows, so will … so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry.”
Keating: Excrement. That’s what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We’re not laying pipe. We’re talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? “Oh, I like Byron. I give him a 42, but I can’t dance to it.” Now, I want you to rip out that page. (the boys stare at him) Go on. Rip out the entire page. You heard me. Rip it out. Rip it out! Go on. Rip it out! (finally Charlie commits himself and obeys) Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Gentlemen, tell you what. Don’t just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone. History. Leave nothing of it. Rip it out! Rip! Be gone, J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. Rip. Shred. Tear. Rip it out! I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard. We’ll perforate it, put it on a roll. It’s not the Bible. You’re not gonna go to hell for this. Go on. Make a clean tear. I want nothing left of it.
Cameron (tearing his pages out along the edge of a ruler): We shouldn’t be doing this.
Keating: Rip! Rip! Rip! Rip it out! Rip! Rip it out! (goes into his room for a wastebasket)
McAllister: What the hell is going on here?
(Charlie pops a piece of the paper in his mouth)
Keating: I don’t hear enough rip –
McAllister: Mr. Keating.
Keating: Mr. McAllister.
McAllister: I’m sorry. I, I didn’t know you were here.
Keating: I am. Ah.
McAllister: So you are. Excuse me.
Keating: Keep ripping, gentlemen! This is a battle. A war. And the casualties could be your hearts and souls. Thank you, Dalton. Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. No! We’ll not have that here. No more Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now, my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. Now I see that look in Mr. Pitts’ eye, like 19th-century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking, “Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions.” I’ve a little secret for you. Huddle up.
(the boys huddle up around him) We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering — these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love — these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman: O me! O life! of the question of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish… What good amid these O me, O life? Answer: That you are here–That life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. “That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” What will your verse be?
McAllister: You take a big risk by encouraging them to become artists, John. When they realize that they’re not Rembrandts, Shakespeares or Mozarts, they’ll hate you for it.
Keating: We’re not talking artists, George. We’re talking free thinkers.
McAllister: Free thinkers at seventeen?
Keating: Funny. I never pegged you as a cynic.
McAllister (honestly thinks about it): Not a cynic. A realist. “Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams and I’ll show you a happy man.”
Keating: “But only in their dreams can men be truly free. ‘Twas always thus, and always thus will be.”
Keating (with a grin): No. Keating.
Neil: Mr. Keating! Mr. Keating! Sir? (Keating keeps walking, whistling the 1812 Overture)
Charlie: Say something.
Neil: O Captain! My Captain! (Keating stops and turns)
Keating: The Dead Poets was dedicated to “sucking the marrow out of life.” That’s a phrase from Thoreau we would invoke at the beginning of every meeting. You see, we would gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelly — the biggies — even some of our own verse. And, in the enchantment of the moment, we’d let poetry work its magic.
Knox: You mean, it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?
Keating: No, Mr. Overstreet, it wasn’t just guys. We weren’t a Greek organization. We were Romantics. We didn’t just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned and gods were created, gentlemen. Not a bad way to spend an evening, eh?
Charlie: Women swooned!
Knox: But why did they swoon? Charlie, tell me why they swooned!
Todd: Keating said that everybody took turns reading and I don’t wanna do that.
Neil: Gosh. You really have a problem with that, don’t you?
Neil: I hereby reconvene the Dead Poets Society, Welton Chapter. (Yay) The, uh, meetings will be conducted by myself and the other new initiates now present. Uh, Todd Anderson, because he prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings. I’ll now read the traditional opening message by society member, Henry David Thoreau. “I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”
Charlie: I’ll second that.
Neil: “To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.”
Neil: Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Come my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world
for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset.
And though we are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;–
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Then I had religion, then I had a vision.
I could not turn from their revel in derision.
Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black,
cutting through the forest was a golden track. (chanting)
Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black …
Keating: (So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy.) A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use “very sad”, use – Come on, Mr. Overstreet, you twerp –
Keating: Exactly! Morose. Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is? Mr. Anderson? Come on! Are you a man or an amoeba? (An amoeba – he can’t bring out an answer) Mr. Perry?
Neil: Uh, to communicate.
Keating: No! To woo women. Today we’re going to be talking about William Shakespeare.
Student: Oh, God!
Keating: I know. A lot of you looked forward to this about as much as you look forward to root canal work. We’re gonna talk about Shakespeare as someone who writes something very interesting. Now, many of you have seen Shakespeare done very much (affects stilted accent) like this, “O Titus, bring your friend hither.” But if any of you have seen Mr. Marlon Brando, you know, Shakespeare can be different. “Friend, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.” You can also imagine, maybe, John Wayne as Macbeth going, “Well, is this a dagger I see before me?”
Keating: Why do I stand up here? Anybody?
Charlie: To feel taller.
Keating: No! (hits bell on desk with foot) Thank you for playing, Mr. Dalton. I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way. You see, the world looks very different from up here. You don’t believe me? Come see for yourself. Come on. Come on! Just when you think you know something, you have to look at it in another way. Even though it may seem silly or wrong, you must try! Now, when you read, don’t just consider what the author thinks. Consider what you think. Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Don’t be resigned to that. Break out! Don’t just walk off the edge like lemmings. Look around you. There! There you go, Mr. Priske. Thank you! Yes! Dare to strike out and find new ground. Now, in addition to your essays, I would like you to compose a poem of your own, an original work. (the class groans; Keating flickers lights off and on a few times with an operatic “la ha ha hum!” ) That’s right! You have to deliver it aloud in front of the class on Monday. Bonne chance, gentlemen. Mr. Anderson? (Todd is just about to take his turn stepping off the desk – he stops, catching his balance as he looks up) Don’t think that I don’t know that this assignment scares the hell out of you, you mole. (turns light off as he leaves, Todd still stranded, horrified, upon the desk)
Neil: You coming to the meeting this afternoon?
Todd: I don’t know. Maybe.
Neil: Nothing Mr. Keating has to say means shit to you, does it, Todd?
Todd: W-what is that supposed to mean?
Neil: You’re in the club! Being in the club means being stirred up by things! You look as stirred up as a cesspool!
Todd: So you want me out?
Neil: No! I want you in, but being in means you gotta do something. Not just say you’re in.
Todd: Well, listen, Neil. I-I appreciate this concern, but I-I’m not like you. All right? You, you, you say things and people listen. I’m, I’m n-not like that.
Neil: Don’t you think you could be?
Todd: No! I–I, I don’t know, but that’s not the point. The, the, the point is that there’s nothing you can do about it, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine. All right?
Todd: What do you mean, “no”?
Neil (grins): No.
Keating (leading his class, in sweats, into a playing field; he has a sack of balls slung over his shoulder): Now, devotees may argue that one sport or game is inherently better than another. For me, sport is actually a chance for us to have other human beings push us to excel. Now, I want you all to come over here and take a slip of paper and line up single file. Mr. Meeks, time to inherit the earth. Mr. Pitts, rise above your name. …
Keating: You know what to do, Pitts.
Pitts: “Oh to struggle against great odds. To meet enemies undaunted.”
Keating: Sounds to me like you’re daunted. Say it again like you’re undaunted.
Pitts: “Oh to struggle against great odds. To meet enemies undaunted!”
Keating: Now go on. Yes! Next.
Boy: “To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports.”
Keating: Next. Louder!
Boy: “Oh, I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave.”
Boy: “To mount the scaffolds. To advance to the muzzle of guns with perfect nonchalance.”
(Keating lowers the needle on a phonograph – playing Handel’s “Water Music”)
Keating: Come on, Meeks! Listen to the music.
Meeks: “To dance, clap hands, exalt, shout, skip, roll on, float on.”
Hopkins (with very much a “whatever” tone): “Oh, to have life henceforth the poem of new joys.” (shaking his head, crumples paper and biffs the ball)
Keating: Oh! Boo! Come on, Charlie, let it fill your soul!
Charlie (does so): “To indeed be a god!”
Keating: Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing. You’re up.
Hopkins: “The cat sat on the mat.” (smugly sits down)
Keating: Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins. Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale. We’re not laughing at you, we’re laughing near you. I don’t mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower, or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don’t let your poems be ordinary. (Hopkins actually looks a little ashamed) Now, who’s next?
Mr. Anderson, I see you sitting there in agony. Come on, Todd, step up. Let’s put you out of your misery.
Todd: I, I didn’t do it. I didn’t write a poem.
Keating: Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn’t that right, Todd? Isn’t that your worst fear? Well, I think you’re wrong. I think you have something inside of you that is worth a great deal. (leaves Todd looking miserable and goes to write on the board, reciting as he does) “I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.” W. W. Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don’t know, a yawp is a loud cry or yell. Now, Todd, I would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric yawp. (the boys laugh; Todd rolls his eyes) Come on. You can’t yawp sitting down. Let’s go. Come on. Up. You gotta get in “yawping” stance.
Todd: A yawp.
Keating: No, not just a yawp. A barbaric yawp.
Keating: Come on, louder.
Keating: No, that’s a mouse. Come on. Louder.
Keating: Oh, good God, boy. Yell like a man!
Keating: There it is. You see, you have a barbarian in you, after all. Now, you don’t get away that easy. The picture of Uncle Walt up there. What does he remind you of? Don’t think. Answer. Go on. (begins walking in a circle around Todd)
Todd: A m-m-madman.
Keating: What kind of madman? Don’t think about it. Just answer again.
Todd: A c-crazy madman.
Keating: No, you can do better than that. Free up your mind. Use your imagination. Say the first thing that pops into your head, even if it’s total gibberish. Go on, go on.
Todd: Uh, uh, a sweaty-toothed madman.
Keating: Good God, boy, there’s a poet in you, after all. There, close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close ’em. (puts one hand behind Todd’s head and the other over his eyes, and returns to his orbiting, turning Todd with him) Now, describe what you see.
Todd: Uh, I-I close my eyes.
Todd: Uh, and this image floats beside me.
Keating: A sweaty-toothed madman?
Todd: A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain.
Keating: Oh, that’s excellent. Now, give him action. Make him do something.
Todd: H-His hands reach out and choke me.
Keating: That’s it. Wonderful. Wonderful. (lets go of Todd , but keeps him turning)
Todd: And, and all the time he’s mumbling.
Keating: What’s he mumbling?
Todd: M-Mumbling, “Truth. Truth is like, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.”
(some of the class giggles; Todd’s eyes open. Keating gestures them closed again)
Keating: Forget them, forget them. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket.
Todd: Y-Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it’ll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it’ll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream. (his eyes open. Keating looks at him in some awe. And the class applauds)
Keating: Don’t you forget this.
Charlie: Knoxious, you’ve gotta calm down.
Knox: No, Charlie. That’s my problem. I’ve been calm all my life.
Knox: The point, Charlie, is … that she was thinking about me.
Keating: No grades at stake here, gentlemen – just take a stroll. (Pitts, Cameron, and Overstreet, walking around the courtyard, fall into step, and the other boys begin clapping in sync) There it is … If you noticed, everyone started out with their own stride, their own pace. Mr. Pitts, taking his time – he knew he would get there one day. Mr. Cameron, you could see him thinking “Is this right? It might be right … It might be right it might be right …I know this! I don’t know!” Mr. Overstreet, driven by a deeper force! Yes, we know this. Now, I didn’t bring them up here to ridicule them. I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity, the difficulty of maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now those of you – I see the look in your eyes, like I would have walked differently. Now ask yourselves why you were clapping. We all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go “that’s baaad.” Robert Frost said “Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” Now I want you to find your own walk right now, your own way of striding, pacing, any direction – anything you want. Whether it’s proud, whether it’s silly – anything. Gentlemen, the courtyard is yours. You don’t have to perform – just make it for yourself. Mr. Dalton, will you be joining us?
Charlie: Exercising the right not to walk.
Keating: Thank you, Mr. Dalton – just to illustrate the point. Swim against the stream.
Neil: Todd? Hey.
What’s going on?
Nothing. Today’s my birthday.
Is today your birthday? Happy birthday!
What’d you get?
My parents gave me this.
Isn’t this the same desk s-
Yeah. They gave me the same thing as last year.
Oh. Maybe they thought you needed another one.
Maybe they weren’t thinking about anything at all. The funny thing about this is, I didn’t even like it the first time.
Todd, I think you’re underestimating the value of this desk set. I mean, who would want a football, or a baseball –
Or a car …
Or a car! If they could have a desk set as wonderful as this one. I mean, if I were ever going to buy a desk set – twice – I would probably buy this one. Both times. In fact, its shape … it’s … it’s rather aerodynamic, isn’t it. You can feel it. Whoosh– This desk set wants to fly. Todd? The world’s first – unmanned – flying desk set. Oh my. Well. I wouldn’t worry. You’ll get another one next year.
Charlie: Welton Academy. Hello. Yes, he is. Just a moment. Mr. Nolan, it’s for you! It’s God. He says we should have girls at Welton.
Charlie: Damn, it, Neil, the name is Nuwanda.
Keating: Sucking the marrow out of life doesn’t mean choking on the bone. Sure, there’s a time for daring and there’s a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.
Keating: Phone call from God. If it had been collect, it would’ve been daring.
Neil: I’m trapped -!
Knox: Dead Poet’s Honor.
Chris: What is that?
Knox: My word.
Cameron: That page has been ripped out, sir.
Todd: O Captain! My Captain!
Mr. Nolan: Sit down, Mr. Anderson! Do you hear me? Sit down! Sit down! This is your final warning, Anderson. How dare you? Do you hear me?
Knox: O Captain! My Captain!
Mr. Nolan: Mr. Overstreet, I warn you! Sit down! Sit down! Sit down. All of you. I want you seated. Sit down. Leave, Mr. Keating. All of you, down. I want you seated. Do you hear me? Sit down!
Keating: Thank you, boys. Thank you.
Keating: All right, who’s up first?
Todd: I have something.
Keating: Mr. Anderson.
Knox: That thing you’ve been writing!
Todd: Yeah, that “thing”.
Keating: I’ll take my old seat.
(Meeks goes to stand beside Todd with a lamp, as he takes out a piece of paper and unfolds it)
Todd: In between the verses, all of you say “And still we sleep”.
Charlie (?): And still we what?
Todd: And still we sleep.
We’re dreaming of tomorrow, and tomorrow isn’t coming
We’re dreaming of the glory that we don’t really want
We’re dreaming of a new day when the new day’s there already
And we’re running from the battle when it’s one that must be fought.
All: And still we sleep.
Todd: We’re listening for the calling, but never really heeding
Hoping for the future when the future’s only plans
Dreaming of the wisdom that we’re dodging daily
And praying for a savior when salvation’s in our hands
All: And still we sleep.
Todd: And still we dream, and still we fear, and still we pray, and still we sleep.
The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill But Came Down a Mountain
And should you think this is just a shaggy dog story told by a senile man to his young impressionable grandson, I’ll ask you to come to South Wales, to the village where I was born. And as you drive north from Cardiff, look for the first big hill. Not just a hill, but a mountain – and the children of the people who built it.
However, just before this film was made, the mountain was remeasured, and found to be 997 feet. Thus the mound had settled back – into a hill.
*A hill … *sigh**
Fiddler on the Roof
God would like us to be joyful
Even when our hearts lie panting on the floor
It hurts me when you’re ill and fanciful.
Paula – my watch is gone.
Gozer: Are you a God?
Dr Ray Stantz: No.
Gozer: Then… DIE!
(Lightning flies from her fingers, driving the Ghostbusters to the edge of the roof and almost off; people below scream)
Winston: Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god, you say “YES”!
Dr. Peter Venkman: Grab your stick!
Ray, Dr. Egon Spengler, Winston: HOLDING IT!
Venkman: Heat ’em up!
Ray, Egon, Winston: SMOKIN’!
Venkman: Bang ’em hard!
Ray, Egon, Winston: READY!
Venkman: Let’s show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown… THROW IT!
Venkman: This city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions.
Mayor: What do you mean, “biblical”?
Ray: What he means is Old Testament, Mr. Mayor, real wrath of God type stuff.
Ray: Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!
Egon: Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes…
Winston: The dead rising from the grave!
Venkman: Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… mass hysteria!
Dana Barrett: Are you the Keymaster?
Venkman: Not that I know of.
(She slams the door in his face. Venkman knocks again)
Dana: Are you the Keymaster?
Venkman: Yes. Actually I’m a friend of his, he asked me to meet him here.
Venkman: What do you think, Egon?
Egon: I think this building should be condemned. There’s serious metal fatigue in all the load-bearing members, the wiring is substandard, it’s completely inadequate for our power needs, and the neighborhood is like a demilitarized zone.
Ray: Hey. Does this pole still work? (slides down a fireman’s pole) Wow. This place is great. When can we move in? You gotta try this pole. I’m gonna get my stuff. Hey. We should stay here. Tonight. Sleep here. You know, to try it out.
(Venkman looks at Spengler. Spengler slowly shakes his head. Venkman turns to the real estate agent)
Venkman: I think we’ll take it.
Venkman: We’ve been going about this all wrong. This Mr. Stay Puft’s okay! He’s a sailor, he’s in New York; we get this guy laid, we won’t have any trouble!
Venkman: Ray has gone bye-bye, Egon… what’ve you got left?
Egon: Sorry, Venkman, I’m terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.
Venkman: Hee hee hee! “Get her!” That was your whole plan, huh, “get her.” Very scientific.
Venkman: Mother pus bucket!
Egon: I feel like the floor of a taxi cab.
Egon: There’s something very important I forgot to tell you.
Egon: Don’t cross the streams.
Egon: It would be bad.
Venkman: I’m fuzzy on the whole good/bad thing. What do you mean, “bad”?
Egon: Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.
Ray: Total protonic reversal.
Venkman: Right. That’s bad. Okay. All right. Important safety tip. Thanks, Egon.
Venkman: We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!
Ray: Symmetrical book stacking. Just like the Philadelphia mass turbulence of 1947.
Venkman: You’re right, no human being would stack books like this.
Dana (reading from printout): “Zuul was the minion of Gozer.” What’s Gozer?
Venkman: Gozer was very big in Sumeria.
Dana: Well, what’s he doing in my ice box?
Venkman: I’m working on that.
Dana: That’s the bedroom, but nothing ever happened in there.
Venkman: What a crime.
Winston: Hey Ray. Do you believe in God?
Ray: Never met him.
Winston: Yeah, well, I do. And I love Jesus’s style, you know.
Winston: Hey Ray. Do you remember something in the Bible about the last days when the dead would rise from the grave?
Ray: I remember Revelations 7:12…? “And I looked, and he opened the sixth seal, and behold, there was a great earthquake. And the sun became as black as sack cloth, and the moon became as blood.”
Winston : “And the seas boiled and the skies fell.”
Ray: Judgment day.
Winston: Judgment day.
Ray: Every ancient religion has its own myth about the end of the world.
Winston: Myth? Ray, has it ever occurred to you that maybe the reason we’ve been so busy lately is ’cause the dead HAVE been rising from the grave?
(There is a long, uncomfortable pause)
Ray: How ’bout a little music?
Janine Melnitz: Do you want some coffee, Mr. Tulley?
Louis (to Egon): Do I?
Egon: Yes, have some.
Louis (to Janine): Yes, have some.
Louis: 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.
Venkman: NOBODY steps on a church in my town.
Ray: Gozer the Gozerian… good evening. As a duly designated representative of the City, County and State of New York, I order you to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to your place of origin or to the nearest convenient parallel dimension.
Venkman: That oughta do it. Thanks very much, Ray.
Ray: Are you okay?
Louis: Who are you guys?
Ray: We’re the Ghostbusters.
Louis: Who does your taxes?
Ray: You know, Mr. Tully, you are a most fortunate individual.
Louis: I know!
Ray: You have been a participant in the biggest interdimensional cross rip since the Tunguska blast of 1909!
Louis: Felt great.
Egon: We’d like to get a sample of your brain tissue.
Gozer: The Choice is made!
Venkman: Whoa! Ho! Ho! Whoa-oa!
Gozer: The Traveller has come!
Venkman: Nobody choosed anything! (turns to Egon) Did you choose anything?
Venkman (to Winston): Did YOU?
Winston Zeddemore: My mind is totally blank.
Venkman: *I* didn’t choose anything…
[long pause, Peter, Egon and Winston all look at Ray]
Ray: I couldn’t help it. It just popped in there.
Venkman: What? *What* “just popped in there?”
Ray: I… I… I tried to think…
Ray: No! It CAN’T be!
Venkman: What is it?
Ray: It CAN’T be!
Venkman: What did you DO, Ray?
Winston: Oh, shit!
(A giant white head topped with a sailor hat hoves into view. Peter looks at Ray)
Ray: It’s the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
Ray: I tried to think of the most harmless thing. Something I loved from my childhood. Something that could never ever possibly destroy us. Mr. Stay Puft!
Venkman: Nice thinkin’, Ray.
Gods and Monsters
Thoreau with a lawnmower.
Take off your shirt and I’ll tell you all about it.
The Great Escape
Colonel von Luger: All the rotten eggs in one basket.
Bartlett: There’s madness in their method.
I love you? What bloody good is that?
I don’t know. I wasn’t going to use it myself.
The photograph doesn’t do you justice.
I’d like to see one of you under similar circumstances.
I’m afraid this tea’s pathetic. Must have used these wretched leaves about twenty times. It’s not that I mind so much. Tea without milk is so uncivilized.
Griff: Yes, but – OK, Roger.
Hendley: I had 20.
35 millimeter camera with a 2.8 lens and a plane shutter – sorry, a focal plane shutter
I’m watching him. I’m a lifeguard.
Colin’s not a blind man as long as he’s with me – and he’s *going* with me.
Hard Day’s Night
John Junkin Jr.: I had arranged to meet George somewhere for a drink, and he got there very early and was fed up waiting on his own, so he thought he’d phone me – didn’t have my phone number! I was just living in a bed-sit in Short Farm. So he looked through the telephone directory, and he found only one Junkin, which was my mother and father, who lived in East London. “Hello?” “Can I speak to John Junkin, please?” She said “Senior or Junior?” “Oh,” he said, “I think it’ll be Junior.” She said, “Who wants him?” He said, “It’s George Harrison, actually.” And me mother dropped the phone, ran into the other room where my father was sitting. “There’s a Beatle on the phone! There’s a Beatle on the phone!” Me father went “Oh, God”, took his slipper off, and went to kill it for her.
Grandfather: Wouldya look at him sitting there with his hooter scraping away at that book?
Ringo: Well, what’s the matter with that?
G (snatching book away): Have you no natural resources of your own? Have they even robbed you of that?
R: You can lairn from books! (snatches book back)
G: You can, can you. Bah. Sheeps’ heads. You could learn more by getting out there and living.
Any old where. But not our little Richard. Oh, no. When you’re not t’umpin’ them pagan skins you’re tormenting yer eyes with that rubbish.
Books are good.
Paradin’ the streets! Trailing your coat! Bowlin’ along! Living!
Well, I am living.
You? Living? When was the last time you gave a girl a pink-edged daisy? When did you last embarrass a sheila with your cool, appraising stare?
You’re a bit old for that sort of chat, aren’t you?
Well, at least I got a backlog of memories – all you got is that book.
Ah, stop pickin’ on me. Ye’re as bad as the rest o’ them.
John: Look at the talent! Let’s give ’em a pull!
Paul: Should I?
George: Aye, but don’t rush. None of your five-bar gate jumps and over sort of stuff.
P: What’s that supposed to mean?
G: I don’t know – I thought it just sounded distinguished-like.
Reporter: What do you call that hairstyle you’re wearing?
Norm (of John): I’ve toyed with the idea of a ball and chain, but he’d just rattle them at me, and in public too. Sometimes I think he enjoys seeing me suffer.
Norm: This is a battle of nerves between John and me.
Shake: John hasn’t got any.
Wilson: Who’s Harvey?
Miss Kelly: A white rabbit, six feet tall.
Wilson: Six feet?
Elwood: Six feet three and a half inches. Now let’s stick to the facts.
Mr. Cracker: What can I do for you, Mr. Dowd?
Elwood: What did you have in mind?
Mrs. Ethel Chauvenet: Does Elwood see anybody these days?
Veta Louise: Oh, yes, Aunt Ethel, Elwood sees somebody.
As I was going down to the taxi cab to get Elwood’s things, this awful man stepped out. He was a white slaver, I know he was. He was wearing one of those white suits, that’s how they advertise.
I took a course in art last winter. I learnt the difference between a fine oil painting and a mechanical thing, like a photograph. The photograph shows only the reality. The painting shows not only the reality, but the dream behind it. It’s our dreams, doctor, that carry us on. They separate us from the beasts. I wouldn’t want to go on living if I thought it was all just eating, and sleeping, and taking my clothes off, I mean putting them on…
Wilson (Reading from encyclopedia, slowly and carefully): “P-O-O-K-A. Pooka. From old Celtic mythology, a fairy spirit in animal form, always very large. The pooka appears here and there, now and then, to this one and that one. A benign but mischievous creature. Very fond of rumpots, crackpots, and how are you, Mr. Wilson?” [Inverts and shakes the dictionary] “How are you, Mr. Wilson?” Who in the encyclopedia wants to know?
Elwood P. Dowd:
Here, let me give you one of my cards. Now if you should want to call me, use this number. That — that’s the old one. If you happen to lose the card, don’t worry — I — have plenty more.
Well, I’ve wrestled with reality for 35 years, Doctor, and I’m happy to state I finally won out over it.
Harvey and I sit in the bars… have a drink or two… play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people, they turn toward mine, and they smile. And they’re saying, “We don’t know your name, mister, but you’re a very nice fellow.” Harvey and I warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We’ve entered as strangers — soon we have friends. And they come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell about the big terrible things they’ve done, and the big wonderful things they’ll do. Their hopes, their regrets. Their loves, and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then … I introduce them to Harvey, and he’s bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And, and when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back, but that’s — that’s envy, my dear. There’s a little bit of envy in the best of us. That’s too bad, isn’t it?
One night several years ago I was walking early in the evening down along Fairfax Street, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth. I – you know the block?
Yes – yes.
I’d just put Ed Hickey into a taxi. Ed had been mixing his rye with his gin, and he – I just felt that he needed conveying. Well anyway I was walking along down the street when I heard this voice saying: “Good evening, Mr. Dowd”. Well, I turned around , and there was this big six-foot white rabbit leaning against a lamp-post. Well, I thought nothing of that, because when you’ve lived in a town as long as I’ve lived in this one, you get used to the fact that everybody knows your name. And naturally, I went over to chat with him. …We talked like that for a while and then I said to him, “You have the advantage on me. You know my name and I don’t know yours.” And right back at me he said, “What name do you like?” Well, I didn’t even have to think twice about that. Harvey’s always been my favorite name. So I said to him, I said, “Harvey.” And, this — this is the interesting thing about the whole thing. He said, “What a coincidence. My name happens to be Harvey.”
Did you ever know the McIllhennys, Doctor? … There were a lot of them, and they circulated.
Dr. Sanderson: Think carefully, Dowd. Didn’t you know somebody, sometime, someplace with the name of Harvey? Didn’t you ever know anybody by that name?
Elwood (dutifully thinks about it): No, no, not one, Dr. Maybe that’s why I always had such hopes for it.
Oh, yes! Yes. Yes — these things always work out just the way Harvey says they will. He is very, very versatile. Did I tell you he could stop clocks?
Dr. Chumley: To what purpose?
Well, you’ve heard the expression ‘His face would stop a clock’? Well, Harvey can look at your clock and stop it. And you can go anywhere you like — with anyone you like — and stay as long as you like. And when you get back, not one minute will have ticked by. … You see, science has overcome time and space. Well, Harvey has overcome not only time and space — but any objections.
Dr. Chumley: Fly specks, fly specks! I’ve been spending my life among fly specks while miracles have been leaning on lampposts at 18th and Fairfax!
I always have a wonderful time, wherever I am, whomever I’m with.
Wouldn’t that get a little monotonous, just Akron, cold beer and “poor, poor thing” for two weeks?
Dr. Chumley: This sister of yours is at the bottom of a conspiracy against you. She’s trying to persuade me to lock you up. Today, she had commitment papers drawn up. She has your power of attorney and the key to your safety box, and she brought you here!
Elwood (wondering): She did all that in one afternoon. That Veta certainly is a whirlwind, isn’t she?
Years ago my mother used to say to me, she’d say, “In this world, Elwood, you must be,” — she always called me Elwood — “In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart, or oh so pleasant.” Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.
Veta Louise: Oh, good, nobody here but people.
Veta Louise: Myrtle Mae, you have a lot to learn, and I hope you never learn it.
I plan to leave. You want me to stay. Well, an element of conflict in any discussion’s a very good thing. It shows everybody is taking part and nobody is left out.
Miss Kelly, when you wear my flower, you make it beautiful.
One of the most heroic things anyone has ever said: I’ll take it. Where do I go, Doctor?
Mr. Lochren, the taxi driver: …I’ve been driving this route for 15 years. I’ve brought them out here to get that stuff, and I’ve drove them home after they had it. It changes them… On the way out here, they sit back and enjoy the ride. They talk to me, sometimes we stop and watch the sunsets, and look at the birds flying. And sometimes we stop and watch the birds when there ain’t no birds. And look at the sunsets when it’s raining. We have a swell time. And I always get a big tip. But afterwards, uh oh! …
Veta: “Afterwards oh oh”? What do you mean “Afterwards oh oh”?
They crab, crab, crab. They yell at me. Watch the lights. Watch the brakes. Watch the intersection. They scream at me to hurry. They got no faith in me, or my buggy. Yep, it’s the same cab, the same driver. And we’re going back over the very same road. It’s no fun. And no tips… After this he’ll be a perfectly normal human being – and you know what stinkers they are.
Johnny Case: When I find myself in a position like this, I ask myself, ‘What would General Motors do?’ and then I do the opposite.
Kate and Leopold
Kate Sedley: Maybe the whole “love” thing is just a grown-up version of Santa Claus – just a myth we’ve been fed since childhood so we keep buying magazines and joining clubs and doing therapy and watching movies with hit pop songs that play over love montages… all this pathetic attempt to explain why our Love Santa keeps getting caught in the chimney.
L. A. Confidential
Come to Los Angeles: the sun shines bright, the beaches are wide and inviting, and the orange groves stretch as far as the eye can see. There are jobs a-plenty, and land is cheap: every working man can have his own house. And inside each house a happy, all-American family. You could have all this, and who knows – you could even be discovered. You could become a star. Or at least meet one. Life is good in Los Angeles. It’s paradise on earth.
Heh heh heh.
Or that’s what they tell ya, anyway. ‘Cause they’re sellin’ an image. They’re sellin’ it through movies, radio, and television. Yep, you’d think this place was a Garden of Eden. But there’s trouble in Paradise, and its name is Mayer Harris Cohen – Mickey C to his fans: local L.A. color to the Nth degree – and his number one bodyguard, Johnny Stompanato. Mickey C’s the head of organized crime in these parts. He runs dope, rackets, and prostitution. He kills a dozen people a year – and the dapper little gent does it in style…
Last Chance Harvey
It’s pathetic – I – actually I expected you not to show. I think I actually wanted you not to show. It’s easier that way. You just dive in there, don’t you, you know, just whoosh anywhere – deep end – but – – I’m not a bloody swimming pool, Harvey, and I’m not gonna do it. I’m not – I’m not gonna do it, I’m not gonna do it, because it’ll hurt. Sometime or other there’ll be, you know, “It’s not working” or “I need my space” or whatever it is, and it will end and it will hurt, and I won’t do it – I won’t do it – and I won’t – – she is overwhelmed by tears and walks away to the rail at the water’s edge. He waits. After a while she turns; he’s still there. Some bicyclists speed by in between them. She makes a little helpless gesture and takes a seat on the very end of a bench. Harvey slowly walks over to stand in front of her, moving almost as if he’s afraid of scaring her. You see, what I think it is is, is that I think that I’m more comfortable with being disappointed. I think I’m angry with you for trying to take that away.
The Last Starfighter
Greetings, Starfighter: you have been recruited by the Star League to defend the frontier against Xur and the Ko-dan Armada!
It’s gonna be a sparklin’ day! Sparklin’.
Lost in Austen
It is a truth generally acknowledged that we are all longing to escape. I escape always to my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice. I’ve read it so many times now, the words just say themselves in my head, and it’s like a window opening. It’s like I’m actually there. It’s become a place I know so intimately … I can see that world. I can touch it. I can see Darcy.
I just want to read my book.
Amanda: I have this conversation with Pirhana on a regular basis and she never gets it. I’m not hung up about Darcy. I do not sit at home with the pause button on Colin Firth and clingy pants, okay? I love the love story. I love Elizabeth. I love the manners, and the language, and the courtesy. It’s become part of who I am and what I want. I’m saying, mum, that I have standards.
Mum (gently): Well, you have standards, pet. I hope they help you on with your coat when you’re seventy.
Darcy: A gentleman knows that God believes in him. It is his duty to return the compliment.
Bingley: Darcy! A most grievous slur has been cast upon your character! Miss Price here says she won’t dance with me because you’ve already asked her. Is that right?
B: Yes! What fresh lunacy is this, sir? You’ve never lifted a hoof to dance in your life!
D: Until this evening I had not had the honor of being acquainted with Miss Price.
B: Well, this is an event of some significance, Miss Price. Quite unprecedented. Darcy regards all forms of sudden locomotion as emblematic of ill breeding. Hunting, tennis, rising precipitously from a chair …
D: When Miss Price and I dance, sir, there shall be nothing “sudden”.
Amanda: I can’t dance … this sort of dance.
D: Nor I. Together we shall make a shambles. But we shall do it with such authority that everyone will stare at us to learn the step.
A: Why did you say yes?
D: To spare my friend the humiliation you contrived for him.
A: I didn’t seek to humiliate Mr. Bingley!
D: Then your refusal to dance with him was most ill-adapted for its purpose.
Amanda: You and I – we come from very different worlds – more different than you could possibly imagine. … In my world, Mr. Bingley, all I ever do is dream about the loveliness of your world, the stately elegant rituals and pace of courtship – of love-making, as you call it, under the gaze of chaperones, of happiness against all odds, and – and marriage. And here I am. I talk to you for two minutes, I kiss you, and you – you – So I’m a little disappointed in myself, Mr. Bingley. I feel like those guys who discovered that Stone Age tribe and gave them the common cold. Wiped them out.
Bingley: Miss Price, I – – (sneezes)
My dear Mrs. Bennet – how timely you are – at last.
Mr. Bennet: Not even the silliest of my daughters deserves the Promethean misery of marriage to Collins.
We shall all have cake!
Lydia: At Longbourne I said to him, ‘Mr. Darcy, I have a wager with my sisters that I can extract three whole words from you.’ Says he, ‘You … lose.’ It’s enough to make one park a bloody jumbo!
Mr. Bennet: Do you suppose he gets used to it, God? Having flights of cherubim singing hosannas to Him for all eternity? I shouldn’t care for it.
A: Unless it’s absolutely necessary I am never going to speak to Darcy again. If I have to, I’ll be so bum-crushingly correct he’ll faint with boredom, and I’ll just step right over him, fanning.
Bingley (to Darcy): Damn you! Damn you and damn everyone who won’t put a light in his window and stay up all night damning you!
A: Will you do something for me?
Darcy rises up from the pond, in his clinging white shirt…
A: Hear that sound, George? “Lurrgh”? That’s Jane Austen spinning in her grave like a cat in a tumble dryer.
Mr. Bennet: You face a terrible dilemma, Lizzie. If you return to Hammersmith, you dismay your mother; if you do not, you disappoint your father.
The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit
The most important thing about me, so far as the United Broadcasting Corporation is concerned, is that I am applying for a position in its public relations department, and that after a reasonable period of learning I believe I could do a good job. I will be glad to answer any questions relevant to this application for employment, but after giving it serious thought, I am unable to convince myself that any further speculation on my importance could be of any legitimate interest or value to the United Broadcasting Corporation.
Meet John Doe
Below is a letter which reached my desk this morning. It’s a commentary on what we laughingly call a civilized world.
Dear Miss Mitchell:
Four years ago, I was fired out of my job. Since then, I haven’t been able to get another one. At first, I was sore at the state administration because it’s on account of the slimy politics here. We have all this unemployment. But in looking around, it seems the whole world is goin’ to pot. So in protest, I’m goin’ to commit suicide by jumping off the City Hall roof.
Signed, a disgusted American citizen. John Doe.
Editor’s Note: If you ask this column, the wrong people are jumping off the roofs.
To most of you, your neighbor is a stranger, a guy with a barking dog and a fence around him. Now you can’t be a stranger to any guy who’s on your own team. So tear down that fence that separates you…You’ll tear down a lot of hate and prejudices…I know a lot of you are saying to yourself: ‘He’s asking for a miracle!’ …Well, you’re wrong. It’s no miracle!…I see it happen once every year at Christmas time…Why can’t that spirit last the whole year round? Gosh, if it ever did – we’d develop such a strength that no human force could stand against it.
Washington, and Adams, and Jefferson, and Lincoln:
Lighthouses, John. Lighthouses in a foggy world.
I know the world’s been shaved by a drunken barber – I don’t need to read it!
Beany: What’s a hee-lot?
The Colonel: You’ve ever been broke, sonny?
Beany: Sure, mostly often.
The Colonel: All right. When they got ya, you’ve got no more chance than a road rabbit…You’re walkin’ along, not a nickel in your jeans, you’re free as the wind. Nobody bothers you. Hundreds of people pass you by in every line of business. Shoes, hats, automobiles, radios, furniture, everything, and they’re all nice loveable people. They let you alone…Then you get ahold of some dough and what happens? All those nice, sweet, lovable people become heelots. A lotta heels! They begin creepin’ up on ya, tryin’ to sell ya something. They get long claws and they get a stranglehold on ya and ya squirm and ya duck and ya holler and ya try to push ‘em away, but you haven’t got a chance. They’ve got ya. The first thing you know, you own things – a car, for instance. Now your whole life is messed up with a lot more stuff. You get license fees and number plates and gas and oil and taxes and insurance and identification cards and letters and bills and flat tires and dents and traffic tickets and motorcycle cops and courtrooms and lawyers and fines – and a million and one other things! And what happens? You’re not the free and happy guy you used to be. You’ve gotta have money to pay for all those things. So you go after what the other fella’s got. And there you are – you’re a heelot yourself.
Like dogs – if you can’t eat it you bury it!
Ann: If it was raining hundred dollar bills, you’d be out looking for a dime you lost someplace!
They’re just lonely and wanted someone to say to them “I know how you feel”. I’ve been lonely and hungry for something practically all my life.
My Man Godfrey
Prosperity’s just around the corner.
Yeah – it’s been there a long time. I wish I knew which corner.
Godfrey (on why he lives in the dump): The real estate agent felt the altitude would be good for my asthma.
Irene: My uncle has asthma.
Godfrey: Well, isn’t that a coincidence.
Bullock: All you need to start an asylum is an empty room and the right kind of people.
Edward, will you please get Mrs. Bullock’s goat?
Mrs. Bullock: Bowl of Japanese men and a forgotten goldfish…
Godfrey: My purpose in coming here tonight was twofold. Firstly, I wanted to assist this young lady. Secondly, I was curious about how a bunch of empty-headed nitwits entertained themselves.
Irene: Can you buttle?
Godfrey: Is the family that exacting?
Molly: No, they’re that nutty.
Godfrey: May I be frank?
Molly: Is that your name?
Godfrey: My name’s Godfrey.
Molly: Then be Frank.
Molly: I want to warn you: she sees pixies.
Godfrey: Wish me luck.
Molly: Happy landings.
Mrs. Bullock: What’s that?
Godfrey: Pixie remover.
Mrs. B: Then you see them too!
Godfrey: They’re old friends.
Mrs. B: You mustn’t step on them. I don’t like them, but I don’t like to see them stepped on.
Molly (on Irene, as compared to Cornelia): She’s not as violent, but she’s more insidious.
Bullock: Life in this family is one subpoena after another.
Molly (on the hansom cab driver’s missing horse): It’s in the library, where Miss Irene left it.
Mrs. B: He’s the first thing she’s shown any interest in since her Pomeranian died last summer.
Carlo (on doing the gorilla to cheer Irene up): I’ll do it, but my heart won’t be in it.
Irene: He frightens me!
Mrs. B: No, no, darling, you mustn’t be frightened. He isn’t a real gorilla.
Irene (on the late Pomeranian): Oh I’ve forgotten all about him he had fleas – you use big words and you’re much cuter.
Godfrey: It’s surprising how fast you can go downhill when you begin to feel sorry for yourself.
Bullock: If you’re going to be rude to my daughter you might at least take your hat off.
Cop: Who are you?
Molly (in full maid gear): Guess.
Cop: Just a minute, sister.
Molly: If I thought that were true I’d disown my parents.
Cop: You’ve got a passion for jewelry, eh?
Molly: Yes, and maybe I’ve got a passion for decking cops.
Cop: Where are they?
Molly: Mostly in cemeteries.
Tommy Gray: I still prefer Newport.
Godfrey: There are different ways of having fun.
Godfrey: Over there we have some swanky apartments; over there exclusive nightclubs. Down here men are starving. There’s a very peculiar mental process called “thinking”. You wouldn’t know much about that … The only difference between a derelict and a man is a job.
Cornelia: Come to think of it, Godfrey and I have a little unfinished business.
Irene: Well, you’d better leave it unfinished unless you want to be wearing a lamp as a hat.
Irene: Not a matador, that was in Spain, but something like a matador …
Godfrey: You don’t happen to mean a gondolier?
Irene: Oh my how you’ve fixed this place up — It’s a lovely view, the bridge and everything, is it always there?
Irene: Stand still, Godfrey. It’ll all be over in a minute.
A Night at the Opera
Fiorello: Hey, wait, wait. What does this say here, this thing here?
Driftwood: Oh, that? Oh, that’s the usual clause that’s in every contract. That just says, uh, it says, uh, if any of the parties participating in this contract are shown not to be in their right mind, the entire agreement is automatically nullified.
Fiorello: Well, I don’t know…
Driftwood: It’s all right. That’s, that’s in every contract. That’s, that’s what they call a sanity clause.
Fiorello: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You can’t fool me. There ain’t no Sanity Clause!
Once Upon a Honeymoon
Pat O’Toole: You were lovely of form and face, but I had a feeling that if a gnat dove into your pool of knowledge, he’d break his neck.
The Out of Towners
George: My wife can verify that. Gwen?
Gwen: I can verify that.
George: I’m suing ’em all. I don’t care if I’m in court all year.
George: You can’t walk with a bleeding foot.
Gwen: Well I would fly, but New York is fogged in.
Gwen: George, I can’t walk and you can’t carry me. And there are no buses, or taxis, and no car is going to stop to pick up bleeding strangers.
George: It’s not safe in the park at night.
Gwen: We have already been robbed and kidnapped. We have nothing to lose but four cents. Please, George.
George: Suppose it rains again?
Gwen: I am so wet now, it can only make me drier.
Gwen: Ohhhh my God…
George: Y’know, I was thinking – you could have been having your breakfast in bed this morning, huh? Orange juice, and eggs and sausages, and buttered toast with marmalade, and a pot full of hot coffee – and instead you’re eating stale Cracker Jack that a jog left over in an underpass in Central Park at exactly where’s my watch?
George: Where’s my watch?
Gwen: Don’t get excited, George.
George: I’m not excited – where’s my watch?
Gwen: It all happened so quickly.
George: What happened so quickly?
Gwen: You said you wouldn’t get excited!
George: That was before you said “It all happened so quickly”! Where’s my watch?
Gwen: I gave it to a man in a black cape while you were sleeping.
George: You gave my two hundred dollar watch to a man in a black cape? WHY?
Gwen: Because it looked like he had a knife under the cape!
(George is reluctant to help a lost child)
Gwen: George, I don’t know what’s happened to you, I’ve never seen you like this before.
George: I never saw you wearing my shoes before, but we’re in trouble.
George: You chased a dog and you beat a horse. You’re stronger than you think.
Gwen: Why… why didn’t we just stop and explain?
George: Explain? What I’m doing in the bushes with a little boy? With my hands in his pockets? They’d give me 10-20 years.
Gwen Kellerman: George, what are we doing wrong? We can’t ride, we can’t walk, we can’t eat, we can’t pray.
George Kellerman: Well, we can think. As long as we got our brains, we can think.
Gwen: Oh, they’ll get that too, George. You’ll see.
George: Stop talkin’ like that. We’re not licked yet.
Gwen: Yes we are! We’re licked, George! We surrender, New York, you win.
George: Don’t surrender! We don’t surrender. YOU HEAR THAT, NEW YORK?? WE DON’T QUIT!! NOW, HOW DO YOU LIKE *THAT?!* YOU GO AHEAD AND YOU CAN ROB ME AND STARVE ME AND BREAK MY TEETH AND MY WIFE’S ANKLES – *I’M NOT LEAVING!!* YOU’RE JUST A CITY!
Gwen: George! Someone’ll hear you!
George: BUT I’M A PERSON AND PERSONS ARE STRONGER THAN CITIES!! THIS IS GEORGE KELLERMAN TALKING! AND YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH ANYTHING – I got all your names and your addresses.
George: Oh, please, please if there’s any justice let Murray get mugged by the man who took my watch.
George: They want me! Vice presidency. Double the salary, company car, they’ll find us an apartment in any neighborhood we want, and our choice of schools for the kids, huh, private schools. And we got two seats for all the NY Giants home games and a season subscription to the ballet. (laughs) They’re crazy about me, broken tooth and all.
Gwen (after hearing George had been offered the Vice-President position): What did you say, George?
George: What did I say? What do you think I said?
Gwen: I don’t know, George. I was hoping you would say no. I was hoping you would say that you and your wife don’t really belong in New York. That you wanted to live the rest of your life in Ohio. That you never wanted to see a big city again as long as you live. That you didn’t want to live here or in, uh, Chicago, or San Francisco, or New Orleans or Paris or any other place where people have to live on top of each other, and they don’t have enough room to walk or to breathe or to smile at each other. That you don’t want to step on garbage in the streets, or be attacked by dogs or have to give away watches in the middle of your sleep to men in black capes. That you were through traveling on trains that had no place to sit & no food to eat. And you didn’t want to fly in airplanes that have no place to land, and no luggage for you when you land there. That you wish you never came here, and the only thing in the world you really wanted was to pick up your wife and carry her to the airport and fly home… and live happily ever after. That’s what I was hoping you would say, George.
George: That’s funny… that’s what I told him, word for word.
George: ‘Scuse me, can I get by, please?
Passenger: Sit down.
George: I beg your pardon?
Passenger: I said sit down.
George: You don’t understand. I want to go in there.
Passenger: You go where I tell you to go. (pulls gun while partner enters cockpit) Now everybody, sit down! And be quiet. This plane is going to Havana, Cuba.
Gwen: Ohhh my God.
The Philadelphia Story
C.K. Dexter Haven! Oh, C.K. Dexter Haaaaven!
What do you want?
You’re wonderful. There’s a magnificence in you, Tracy.
Now l’m getting self-conscious. It’s funny, I … Mike, let’s …
I don’t know. Go up, I guess – it’s late –
There’s a magnificence in you, a magnificence that comes out of your eyes and your voice…in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You’re lit from within, Tracy. You’ve got fires banked down in you…hearth fires and holocausts …
l don’t seem to you made of bronze?
No. You’re made out of flesh and blood. That’s the blank, unholy surprise of it.
You’re the golden girl, Tracy… full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You’ve got tears in your eyes.
Shut up. Shut up. Oh, Mike, keep talking. Keep talking. Talk, will you?
No, no, l’ve– l’ve stopped.
Your intolerance infuriates me! l should think that, of all people, a writer would need tolerance. The fact is you’ll never, you can’t be, a first-rate writer or a first-rate human being, until you’ve learned to have some small regard for human fra – – (Tracy stops abruptly as she realized where she’s heard these words recently) Aren’t the geraniums pretty, Professor?
(Liz, handing a handkerchief over) Here, Mike, there’s a little spit in your eye. It shows.
This is one of those days which the pages of history teach us… are best spent lying in bed.
Lydia, oh, Lydia
Say, have you met Lydia
the TAttooed lady
She has eyes
that folks adore so
And a torso even more so
On her back
is the battle of Waterloo
Beside it the wreck
of the Hesperus too
And proudly above
waves the red, white
You can learn a lot from Lydia!
The withering glance of the goddess…
Prigs don’t, not goddesses of any variety. (Drink, that is)
I’m standing here on my own two hands going crazy…
People Will Talk
Barker: The trouble with you, Elwell, is that you never had a cadaver of your own, especially one that bit your finger.
Pride and Prejudice
Lady Russell: I am no matchmaker, as you well know.
Lizzie Bennett: The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it.
Prisoner of Zenda
Rudolf: I thought you were more at home with a knife.
Rupert: My knife turned out to be more at home in Michael.
C.D. Bales: I really admire your shoes.
Drunk #1: What?
C.D.: I love your shoes.
Drunk #2: What do ya mean?
C.D.: And I was just thinking: as much as I really admire your shoes, and as much as I’d love to have a pair just like them, I really wouldn’t want to be IN your shoes at this particular time and place.
C.D. (challenged to think of twenty jokes better than “Big Nose”): Let’s start with…
Obvious: ‘scuse me, is that your nose or did a bus park on your face?
Meteorological: everybody take cover, she’s going to blow!
Fashionable: you know, you could de-emphasize your nose if you wore something larger, like…Wyoming.
Personal: well, here we are, just the three of us.
Punctual: all right, Delbman, your nose was on time but YOU were fifteen minutes late!
Envious: Ooooh, I wish I were you! Gosh, to be able to smell your own ear!
Naughty: uh, pardon me, sir, some of the ladies have asked if you wouldn’t mind putting that thing away.
Philosophical: you know, it’s not the size of a nose that’s important, it’s what’s IN IT that matters.
Humorous: laugh and the world laughs with you. Sneeze, and it’s goodbye, Seattle!
Commercial: hi, I’m Earl Scheib, and I can paint that nose for $39.95!
Polite: uh, would you mind not bobbing your head? The, uh, orchestra keeps changing tempo.
Melodic: Everybody. He’s got…
Everyone (singing): The whole world in his nose!
C.D.: Sympathetic: aw, what happened? Did your parents lose a bet with God?
Complimentary: you must love the little birdies to give them this to perch on.
Scientific: Say, does that thing there influence the tides? Obscure: whoa! I’d hate to see the grindstone. Well, think about it.
Inquiring: when you stop to smell the flowers, are they afraid?
French: saihr, ze pigs have refused to find any more truffles until you leave!
Pornographic: finally, a man who can satisfy two women at once! How many is that?
Dean: Fourteen, Chief!
C.D.: Religious: the Lord giveth… and He just kept on giving, didn’t He?
Disgusting: Say, who mows your nose hair?
Paranoid: keep that guy away from my cocaine!
Aromatic: it must wonderful to wake up in the morning and smell the coffee… in Brazil.
Appreciative: Oooh, how original! Most people just have their teeth capped.
(he pauses, pretending to be stumped, while the crowd urges him on)
All right. Dirty: your name wouldn’t be Dick, would it?
Mayor Deebs: I would rather be with the people of this town than with the finest people in the world.
Roxanne: You know, I’ve been thinking about what attracted me to Chris. It wasn’t the way he looked. Well, that’s not true, at first it was the way he looked. But it was how he made me feel. He made me feel romantic, intelligent, feminine. But it wasn’t him doing that, was it? It was you. You and your nose, Charlie. You have a big nose! You have a beautiful, great big, flesh-and-bone nose! I love your nose! I love your nose, Charlie. I love you, Charlie. Well?
C.D.: Are you kidding?
(he somersaults off the roof of the house)
Ralston: Man, whatever you do, don’t stare.
Chris : Look, I’m not gonna stare, come on.
Jerry: None of us would. But you get there, and you feel yourself not staring.
Ralston: Then you think, “it’s obvious I’m not staring.” So you look, and you think, “I’m staring.” So you say, “this is ridiculous,” and you take a GOOD LOOK. And you think, “I’m looking at a man who, when he washes his face, loses the bar of soap.”
C.D.: Here’s your racket.
Dixie: Thanks. What’s this stuff on it, Vitalis?
C.D.: Oh no, it’s blood. (bangs counter) Where’s my tea?
Dixie: Bernie! You want to tell me about it?
C.D.: You’re too young.
C.D. (walking away after Mayor Deebs tells him about his idea to use a cow as the Oktoberfest mascot): I think it’s brilliant! What an idea! And I was there! He took the idea! He saw it ripe on the tree, he plucked it, and he put it in his pocket. It’s, it’s, dare I say… genius? Ah, no, no! But maybe, ooh! ah! maybe it is! Maybe I’m in the presence of greatness, maybe I just don’t know it. But I saw it…
C.D. (shouting through the front door): Ten more seconds and I’m leaving!
Roxanne (flinging open the door): What did you say?
C.D.: I said, ten more seconds and I’m leaving! Wait a second! What did you think I said?
Roxanne: I thought you said, “Earn more sessions by sleeving.”
C.D.: Well, what the hell does that mean?
Roxanne: I don’t know. That’s why I came out
Roxanne: Nobody had a coat?
C.D.: I thought you said you didn’t want a coat…
Roxanne: Why would I not want a coat?
C.D.: You said you didn’t want a coat!
Roxanne: I was being ironic.
C.D.: Oh, ho, ho, irony! Oh, no, no, we don’t get that here. See, uh, people ski topless here while smoking dope, so irony’s not really a, a high priority. We haven’t had any irony here since about, uh, ’83, when I was the only practitioner of it. And I stopped because I was tired of being stared at.
C.D.: I have a dream. It’s not a big dream, it’s just a little dream. My dream – and I hope you don’t find this too crazy – is that I would like the people of this community to feel that if, God forbid, there were a fire, calling
the fire department would actually be a wise thing to do. You can’t have people, if their houses are burning down, saying, “Whatever you do, don’t call the fire department!” That would be bad.
C.D.: I, uh, notice you don’t have any tattoos. I think that’s a wise choice. I don’t think Jackie Onassis would’ve gone as far if she’d have had an anchor on her arm.
Andy: That’s our new computer. We can pinpoint any fire in town with that. It’s perfect for us, because, you know, we’re the fire department.
C.D.: Well, every job has a perfect tool. Let’s see… Uh, this lock doesn’t accept Master Card.
Dixie: Want anything? A drink?
C.D.: Yeah, but if I ask for another one, give it to me.
C.D.: It’s hypnotic, isn’t it?
Chris : It’s huge! It’s enormous! It’s gigantic! I mean, they said it was big, but I didn’t expect it to be BIG!
Chris : Your breasts, they’re like melons. No, no, they’re like pillows. Can I fluff your pillows?
C.D.: It’s not the size of the nose that matters, it’s what’s inside that counts!
C.D.: I wanna look like… Diana Ross!
Sandy: He’s got a great ass.
Roxanne: Too bad it’s on his shoulders.
Chris : What am I afraid of her for? She’s no rocket scientist.
C.D.: Well, actually, she is a rocket scientist.
Roxanne: Just get out! Go on, get out!
C.D.: Wait a second, I am out. You get in!
Roxanne: No, get out!
C.D.: Get in. Go on, get off the porch. Go on get off the porch.
Roxanne: Maybe you’d like some wine with your nose…
(C.D. cuts a piece of cheese, unusually forcefully)
Roxanne: By the way, I named the comet.
C.D.: Oh oh yeah, oh yeah, good ol’ Comet Kowalski.
Roxanne: No, Comet Charlie.
C.D.: Oh, hey… that’s nice.
Roxanne: Yeah, it’s my dad’s name.
C.D.: Oh… oh. Well, he’ll be so happy.
Roxanne: When you’re getting love letters, you don’t go around trying to compare the signature to the handwriting.
C.D.: You wanna know why? Cause you wanted to believe it. You wanted it all. All the romance and emotion, all wrapped up in a cute little nose and a cute little ass!
C.D.: I’m tired of having a magnificent, fabulous, interesting nose. I want a cute little, petite, little button nose. Give me the American Beauty, Dave.
C.D.: Do you know the phrase carpe diem?
Chris : It’s, it’s fish, fish bait, right?
Chris: Hey, did that copy of ‘Being and Nothingness,’ by Jean…
Stationery Clerk: Jean-Paul Sartre? Yes, it did. I got it right here! It’s all paid for.
Chris: Great! Okay, thanks a lot.
Stationery Clerk: De rien. Il n’y a pas de quoi.
Chris: All right, okay…
Stationery Clerk: It ain’t nothing, bro!
Chris (reading as he exits bookstore): “… therefore my body is a conscious structure of my consciousness…”
Andy: Yeah. Thanks, Chris. I was too embarrassed to go in there and ask for it myself.
Chris: A little light reading, huh, Andy?
(C.D. is helping Chris with his first letter to Roxanne)
C.D.: Let’s take a look at that letter…
Chris: I think it’s really good!
C.D.: “Dear Roxanne, how’s it going? Want to have a drink sometime? If you do, check this box.”
C.D. (coaching Chris by radio as he woos Roxanne): Reach out your hand.
Chris : My hand, out reaching to – car 3, car3! Proceed to the 279.
(C.D. drops from a tree in front of the ladies)
C.D.: Where am I?
Nina: You’re in Nelson.
C.D.: Nelson? Why, I’m home. They brought me home! (waves to sky) Bye! What day is it?
Nina: Friday. “Dallas” is on.
C.D.: Friday? Then it took no time! It didn’t exist in time!
C.D.: The spacecraft! I was walking along, and a spacecraft landed right in front of me.
Lydia: I read about this in the Enquirer. Did it have lights on it?
C.D.: Lights? You never saw so many lights! It was like Broadway! Then this door opened. A creature came out, had big suckers on his palms! He walked like this: (makes pucker sounds, flapping arms) Then he took his palms, put them right on my face. Took me over to Roxanne’s house, because they wanted to observe me.
Dottie: At Roxanne’s house?
C.D.: That’s where they are right now!
Dottie: Ah, this is bullshit. We’ll miss “Dallas”, come on, girls, let’s go.
C.D.: You think I’m nuts, don’t you? They wanted to ask me about older women.
C.D.: Because they wanted to have sex with them.
C.D.: Here! Right here in Nelson. They wanted to start a colony of supermen who would have sex with older women because they said, and I quote, “they really know what they’re doing.”
Lydia: We do!
Sophie: It’s been so long!
Dottie: Oh, girls, girls! Do you actually believe that there are creatures from outer space who want to have sex with older women?
Dottie: Let’s go and check it out!
Jim: Heard you’re tough.
C.D.: I am. But if you used a little tenderizer, I might cook up pretty good.
C.D. (helping Roxanne move her extremely heavy telescope up a huge flight of stairs at the back of her house): You know, my aunt once knitted one of these, it was a lot lighter.
Dixie: What can you sit on, sleep on, and brush your teeth with?
Dixie: It’s a riddle. What can you sit on, sleep on, and brush your teeth with?
C.D.: I don’t know.
Dixie: A chair, a bed, and a toothbrush.
C.D.: What’s the point?
Dixie: The point is that sometimes the answer is so obvious, you don’t even realize it. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. You should tell her!
C.D.: Tell who, what?
Dixie: Tell Roxanne that you love her.
Roxanne: So why did you say those things?
C.D.: Tell her you were afraid.
Chris : Because I was afraid.
Roxanne: Of me? Afraid of what?
C.D.: Tell her you were afraid of words.
Chris : What?
Chris : Because I was afraid of worms, Roxanne! Worms!
(after Roxanne shows up naked outside the firehouse)
Trent: Who’s at the door?
C.D.: Someone locked out of their house.
Andy: Need any help, chief?
C.D.: Nah, it looks pretty boring, I’ll handle it.
C.D.: I’ve got a two o’clock, and a five o’clock, and the women are just lined up around the block, mostly because of the old saying.
Dixie: What old saying?
C.D.: You know, about the size of a man’s nose relating to the size of his…
Dixie: Of his what?
C.D.: Oh, you know.
Dixie: Come on.
C.D.: Hey, Sophie?
Sophie (turns around at the next table): Yeah?
C.D.: You know that old saying about a man’s nose?
Sophie: Oh, you mean how a man’s nose relates to the size of his…
(she stops as all the old ladies at the table gasp; they burst into excited chatter)
Sophie: Oh, my God…
C.D.: I love doing that to them.
(last lines before credits)
C.D.: Oh, it’s locked! It’s locked! Oh! Oh. Thank god I have a key.
Shall We Dance
Linda Keene: I refuse to be a bowl in a gold of fish.
Charlie Anderson is pouring whiskey to celebrate the birth of his granddaughter. His youngest son optimistically holds out a glass.
Charlie Anderson: How old are you now, Boy?
Boy (ever the optimist, deepens his voice): Eighteen, sir.
Charlie Anderson: That means you’ll be twenty in four years. Eighteen to you, sixteen to me.
Boy: Just a little bit, sir. I’ve never tasted it.
Charlie Anderson: Well, that’s no good reason at all. I’ve known men who’ve been drinkin’ hard and steady all their lives that have never tasted it, either.
Train Engineer: You can’t do that! You can’t burn my train!
Anderson: Maybe not, but you gotta give me credit for tryin’!
Train Engineer: But why? Why?
Anderson: It’s not the kind of train I favor.
Anderson: Somehow, I just had to try. And if we don’t try, we don’t do. And if we don’t do, why are we here on this earth?
I wish I’d been born lucky instead of beautiful and hungry.
When I get back to my room, you’re the only thing I want to find missing.
Well, I’ll be there, my pet. You know me — the lumberman’s delight.
We started off on the wrong foot. Let’s stay that way.
Goodbye. Thanks for calling. If you ever need a good pall-bearer, remember I’m at your service.
Duke: Well whaddya know. The crud did it.
Harry: I’d like to know what made him do it.
Animal: Maybe he just wanted to steal out wirecutters – d’ya ever think about that?
Johnnie Aysgarth: If you’re going to kill someone, do it simply.
To Be or Not To Be
Jozef Tura: Well, Colonel, all I can say is, you can’t have your cake and shoot it too.
Doc: Now isn’t that a daisy?
Ed, what an ugly thing to say. I abhor ugliness. Does this mean we’re not friends anymore?
Skin that smoke wagon and see what happens.
Her maiden name was Sullivan…
No – I’m sure of it. I hate him.
Doc: In vino veritas.
Johnny: Age quod agis.
Doc: Credat Judaeus Apella, non ego.
Johnny: Iuventus stultorum magister.
Doc: In pace requiescat.”
“In wine there is truth.” A common enough Latin aphorism, meaning that alcohol consumption is like a truth serum. Doc is therefore overruling what his ‘darlin” has said; indeed, he hates Johnny.
The next line literally means, “Do what you do,” but is better translated, “Pay attention to what you do” [i.e., you had better watch yourself]. Thus, Johnny responds that Doc ought to watch what he is saying.
“Let Apella the Jew believe, not I.” Horace’s Satires, book 1, satire 5, lines 100-101. Doc’s response is to quote the ancient satirist, who in this case is making fun of Jews who believe that there is divine power behind the gurgling action of a fountain. Horace, the “secular” Roman is suggesting the Jew is a fool to believe something like this is of divine origin. Thus, Doc’s use of the line would suggest that Johnny Ringo is a fool to think that he can warn Doc to watch out for himself.
“Youth is the teacher of fools.” Johnny tries to be equally insulting by saying that Doc’s youthful inexperience makes him foolish.
“May he rest in peace.” Doc’s final words, a common enough phrase in Latin of all ages, suggests that Doc is just about ready to put an end to this conversation by finishing off Johnny. But a deadly result is averted for now. We know, however, that the die has been cast [that is “Alea iacta est” for those keeping score], and there will be a confrontation between the two before the end of the movie.
I tried to be good, it’s just so boring.
I feel just capital.
Your friends might get me in a rush but not before I turn your head into a canoe.
I know – let’s have a spelling contest!
I got you now, you son of a bitch.
You’re a daisy if you do.
I’m your huckleberry. That’s just my game. (steps up with gun behind back)
All right, lunger. You go to hell. I’ll put you out of your misery.
Have you no kind word to say to me before I ride away? I calculate not.
When Harry Met Sally
Harry: You were gonna be a gymnast.
Sally: A journalist.
Harry: Waiter there is too much pepper on my paprikash, but I would be proud to partake of your pecan pieee.
At that moment I knew – like you know about a good melon.
Her legs looked heavy. She must be retaining water.
Harry: Seriously, she saved everything.
You should talk to him, get to know him.
He’s too tall to talk to.
Sally: And I’m gonna be forty!
Sally: Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was 73!
Harry: Yeah but he was too old to pick ’em up.
Sally laughs then returns to crying
Harry: I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
Phil Davis: When what’s left of you gets around to what’s left to be gotten, what’s left to be gotten won’t be worth getting, whatever it is you’ve got left.
Doris: Well how do you like that? Not so much as a “kiss my foot” or “have an apple”.
Bob Wallace: How do you do?
Doris: Mutual, I’m sure.
Bob: Oh, Phil, when are you going to learn that girls like that are a dime a dozen?
Phil: Please, don’t quote me the price when I haven’t got the time.
Phil: In some ways, you’re far superior to my cocker spaniel.
Bob: Miss Haynes, if you’re ever under a falling building and someone offers to pick you up and carry you to safety, don’t think, don’t pause, don’t hesitate for a moment, just spit in his eye.
Betty Haynes: What did that mean?
Bob: It means we’re going to Vermont.
Phil: How much is “wow”?
Bob: It’s right in between, uh, “ouch” and “boing”.
Bob: When I figure out what that means I’ll come up with a crushing reply.
General’s Party Guest: How do you do?
Doris: Mutual, I’m sure.
Tvtropes.org: Wall banger – The origin of the term is attributed to Samuel Goldwyn, who described a script as having made a “Hell of a bang, when I threw it against the wall.”