Non!
We’re in Paris, baby! This is my town.
These guys claim that if the French government doesn’t meet their demands, they’ve got a hydrogen bomb ready to level Paris.
We’ll always have Paris.
Paris
Loves lovers
For lovers
It’s Heaven above
“My heart has never forgotten you for one second, and I am, and will be, even in the world beyond, the one who loves you beyond measure…”
Inchworm, inchworm
Measuring the marigolds
You and your arithmetic, you’ll probably go far
I just have a little question here. You could be a janitor anywhere. Why did work at the most prestigious technical college in the whole fuckin’ world? And why did you sneak around at night and finish other people’s formulas that only one or two people in the world could do and then lie about it? 'Cause I don’t see a lot of honor in that, Will.
You want answers?
You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!
There is no truth in it.
What is Truth?
There is no spoon.
Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?
We’re not cooks, but we are family.
Never tell anyone outside the Family what you are thinking again.
Family is like a gun; you point it the wrong way you’re gonna kill someone.
I suppose having 19 kids is carrying it a bit too far, but if we had it to do over who would we skip… you?
Who had mama been? What had she wanted to be or do before I was born? Once I was born her hopes turned, and I climbed up her life like a flower reaching for the sun. Her life had folded into mine. Who would I be when I was 15, 20, 30? Would I be as strong as she had been? As hungry for love? As desperate, determined and ashamed? I wasn’t old but I was already who I was gonna be. Someone like her, like my mama, a Boatwright, a bastard, a bastard out of Carolina.
You think just because you made a little money you can get a new hairdo and some expensive clothes and turn yourself into a lady. But you can’t, because you’ll never be anything but a common frump whose father lived over a grocery store and whose mother took in washing.