“Don’t disturb my friend, he’s dead tired.”
Hi, Bernie!
Hello, gorgeous.
Greetings.
He was drafted.
I wonder how a degenerated person like that could have reached a position of responsibility in the Army Medical Corps?
On a daily basis I consume enough drugs to sedate Manhattan, Long Island, and Queens for a month. I take Quaaludes 10-15 times a day for my “back pain”, Adderall to stay focused, Xanax to take the edge off, pot to mellow me out, cocaine to wake me back up again, and morphine… well, because it’s awesome.
The Dude abides.
Dude, where’s my car?
Can I confess something? I tell you this as an artist, I think you’ll understand. Sometimes when I’m driving… on the road at night… I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The… flames rising out of the flowing gasoline.
You make it. You make it so they can’t ever do anything like this again. You’ll have to burn it all down, baby. Burn it all down.
You know, one of these days, you’re gonna kill 10,000 in one of these firetraps, and I’m gonna keep eating smoke and bringing out bodies until somebody asks us… how to build them.
Think of the people who live in slums. If you can give them decent housing, you can perform a noble deed. Would you do it just for their sake?
When wilt thou save the people? O God of mercy, when?
All those things I can do. All those powers. And I couldn’t even save him.
They look like good, strong hands, don’t they?
Look at these hands, Meg. They’re hard hands; they’ve done hard work. I want to work. I want to have bread for my children. It’s not right that there’s no work.
“Dead? No excuse for laying off work.”
You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed… walk it off.
[a trainer is about to administer a shot to Wendell’s knee as the other players walk in on it] Hey coach, I heard a pop. I… you know, I think he’s hurt pretty bad.