You’re right. Cancer’s only in my liver, lungs, prostate, and brain. All things I can live without.
I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper.
It’s 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark… and we’re wearing sunglasses.
(The only way to reply to that line)
“Hit it.”
The one-hit Wonders. A very common tale.
Got a whale of a tale to tell you, lads.
A whale, Seaman Beaumont, a whale. A marine mammal that knows a hell of a lot more about sonar, then you do.
Call me, Ishmael.
I’ll chase him 'round the moons of Nibia and 'round the Antares Maelstrom and 'round perdition’s flames before I give him up!
[all together now…]
KAAAAAAAAHHHHHNNNNNNN!!!
You’ll have fun… Scratch that little niggle, have a little wiggle, you know that you can… Because we can can can!
Scratch that. Reverse it.
Enhance!
Honey, I shrunk the kids.
Somebody call 9-fucking-1-1-1! Somebody call 9-fucking-1-1-1! Somebody call 9-fucking-1-1-1!
Nina speaking. Just a moment.
I called over there for a reference, left word with some snooty girl. Next thing you know, I got a fax from Miranda Priestly herself… saying that of all the assistants she’s ever had… you were, by far, her biggest disappointment. And, if I don’t hire you, I am an idiot. You must have done something right.
Oh, God. They know about the rat poison. I might as well just turn myself in.
Christ, seven years of college down the drain.
A hundred and twenty five years… Oh God, Oh God… I’ll be a hundred and sixty one when I get out.