You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? You’ve beaten my giant, which means you’re exceptionally strong; so you could’ve put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you’ve also bested my Spaniard, which means you must have studied; and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.
I never drink… wine.
There was a time… when I… fed from golden chalices. But now… Don’t look at me that way!
You know, you look like your head fell in the cheese dip back in 1957. You? You’re okay. This one? Real fuckin’ ugly. You see, I take these glasses off, she looks like a regular person, doesn’t she? Put 'em back on… formaldehyde-face!
Ooooooh… cockacidal maniac. Ex-porn star. She’s done it all. They say she starred in the world’s first interracial hardcore loop…
You’re playing big league hardball, we don’t respond to threats. Now, does Mrs. Sway know you were hospitalized for drug and alcohol abuse?
Tonight’s lecture: “What’s wrong with celebrating sobriety by getting drunk?”
Perhaps it’s fate that today is the Fourth of July, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom… Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution… but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: “We will not go quietly into the night!” We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive! Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!
When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn’t imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.
Well, let’s not start sucking each other’s dicks quite yet.
You want some advice? You never call him. But if he calls you you talk to him, then act like you have another call, keep him on hold for a long time. Like longer than you think is passable. And break dates. Always break dates. Right around the holidays cus then he’s just stuck. And fellatio, the sooner the better. And a lot. Act like you love it. After he’s addicted, cut him off. That’s when you got him.
Holy dog shit! Texas? Only steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy, and you don’t look much like a steer to me, so that kinda narrows it down. Do you suck dicks? Are you a peter puffer? I bet you’re the kind of guy who would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach-around!
Lighten up, Francis.
I don’t quite get how that’s a compliment for me.
You … complete me.
Yeah, maybe, but hell, no one’s gonna tell me who I can and can’t work with.
Maybe you don’t belong in this union!
How do you know? How the fuck do you know? Maybe I killed babies. Maybe I killed more babies than you did, you fuck! Maybe I killed a whole bunch’ a babies, but I don’t talk about it! I don’t have to talk about it!
Everything a lie. Everything you hear, everything you see. So much to spew out. They just keep coming, one after another. You’re in a box. A moving box. They want you dead, or in their lie… There’s only one thing a man can do - find something that’s his, and make an island for himself. If I never meet you in this life, let me feel the lack; a glance from your eyes, and my life will be yours.
Did you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it? Nor do I, really. It’s silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box. One keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead - which should make all the difference, shouldn’t it? I mean, you’d never know you were in a box, would you? It would be just like you were asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you. Not without any air. You’d wake up dead for a start, and then where would you be? In a box. That’s the bit I don’t like, frankly. That’s why I don’t think of it. Because you’d be helpless, wouldn’t you? Stuffed in a box like that. I mean, you’d be in there forever, even taking into account the fact that you’re dead. It isn’t a pleasant thought. Especially if you’re dead, really. Ask yourself - if I asked you straight off, “I’m going to stuff you in this box, now would you rather be alive or dead?” Naturally, you’d prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all, I expect. You’d have a chance, at least. You could lie there thinking, “Well…at least I’m not dead!”