We’re gonna need a bigger boat.
Because we’re going to need flour. Lots and lots of flour.
-“BB”-
We’re going to make cakes. Dozens of cakes!
I cooked artichokes with Hollandaise sauce which is melted butter that’s been whipped into a frenzy with egg yolks until it’s died and gone to heaven, and let me say this: is there anything better than butter? Think it over: every time you taste something that’s delicious beyond imagining and you say, “What is in this?”, the answer is always going to be, Butter. The day there’s a meteorite heading toward the earth and we have thirty days to live, I am going to spend it eating butter. Here’s my final words on the subject, you can never have too much, butter.
Ethan: You could die of a tragic butter overdose. There could be a rabid grizzly bear hiding inside this very moose lodge waiting to tear your face off.
Destiny: There could be a python inside.
Ethan: What if this place is full of monkeys with a deadly virus?
Destiny: It could be the ghost of Hitler.
Ethan: What if there’s no gravity in there and you float up and bang your head on the ceiling? And then all the sudden gravity kicks in and you bang your head on the floor.
My wife makes me take off my clothes in the garage. Then she leaves out a bucket of warm water and some soap. And then she douses everything in hand sanitizer after I leave. I mean, she’s overreacting, right?
Bring out your dead!
Bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia.
The guy was killed in an auto accident! I looked it up! He was driving in the Yukon, in a pink convertible, to visit his brother who’s an ex-con named Frances, when a tractor trailer comes along and decapitates him. You know what that mean, it means he doesn’t have a head. How am I suppose to write for a guy who doesn’t have a head? He’s got no lips, no vocal cords. What do you want me to do?
And God help you if you use voice-over in your work, my friends. God help you! That’s flaccid, sloppy writing. Any idiot can write voice-over narration to explain the thoughts of the character.
I was just thinking what an interesting concept it is to eliminate the writer from the artistic process. If we could just get rid of these actors and directors, maybe we’ve got something here.
Receptionist:
How do you write women so well?
Melvin Udall:
I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability.
I still don’t know how to work out a poem.
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.
Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh, staying aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, yeah!
Would ya just watch the hair? Ya know, I spend a long time on my hair and he hit it.
Himself: Annette says I’m no fun any more. I’m fun, are you fun?
Connie: Honey. I’m an amusement park.
To sir, with love. (R.I.P Sidney Poitier)
They call me, Mister Tibbs!
Trinity is still my name.