You young men - doctors and scientists of the future - do not let yourselves be tainted by apparent skepticism; nor discouraged by the sadness of certain hours that creep over nations. Do not become angry at your opponents, for no scientific theory has ever been accepted without opposition.
I think you’re a crock of shit. Don’t speak for me or anybody else here. You hate your life. That’s your problem. Don’t tell us how we feel, okay?
We would have been alright, if there hadn’t been any mess. But you can’t handle mess. You need everything neat and easy. I don’t know. Maybe you can’t love anybody. It was so much Buck. When Buck died, it was as if you buried all your love with him, and I don’t understand that, I just don’t know, I don’t… maybe it wasn’t even Buck; maybe it was just you. Maybe, finally, it was the best of you that you buried. But, whatever it was… I don’t know who you are. And I don’t know what we’ve been playing at. So I was crying. Because I don’t know if I love you anymore. And I don’t know what I’m going to do without that.
Paul, my little ceramic penguin in the study always faces due south.
For twenty days and twenty nights the emperor penguin will march to a place so extreme it supports no other life.
If the sun were to explode, you wouldn’t even know about it for eight minutes because that’s how long it takes for light to travel to us. For eight minutes, the world would still be bright and it would still feel warm. It was a year since my dad died and I could feel my eight minutes with him were running out.
You thought you were creating eight minutes of a past event, but you’re not. You’ve created a whole new world.
But why is Fantasia dying, then?
Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
There is something to calm you fears. You think death has ripped you forever apart. But I know he’ll always be in your heart.
Is this testing whether I’m a replicant or a lesbian, Mr. Deckard?
Are you a good witch or a bad witch?
Hey, you guys, don’t throw me anything. My girlfriend put a curse on my glove.
Well, as a matter of fact, I already know something you don’t. Has Meg, by chance, misplaced a personal item, such as a glove?
Meg? John Brooke stole your glove.
After all your posturing, all your little speeches, you’re nothing but a common thief.
I flatter myself I am a rather uncommon thief. A common one would just make off with the money, but I can’t help interesting myself in people. It’s a failing you ought to cultivate, Fordyce.
For what it’s worth, I never stole from anybody who would go hungry.
As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.
I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.