Michael Simmons: 40 days? Does Catherine know? Caleb Holt: I'm not gonna tell her. If she wants to go ahead and file, it's up to her. Michael Simmons: Divorce is a hard thing, man. Caleb Holt: Well, if it brings peace... Michael Simmons: But Caleb, you want the right kind of peace. Caleb Holt: What do you mean by that? Michael Simmons: You know what that ring on your finger means? Caleb Holt: It means I'm married. Michael Simmons: Yeah, well, it also means you made a lifelong covenant. You putting on that ring, by saying your vows. The sad part about it is when most people promise for better or for worse, they really only mean for the better. Caleb Holt: Catherine and I were in love when we got married. Today, we're two very different people. All right? It's just not working out anymore. Michael Simmons: Caleb, salt and pepper are completely different. Their makeup is different; their taste and their color. But you always see 'em together. And when you... Hang on a second. [Michael glues a salt and pepper shaker together] Caleb Holt: What are you doing? Michael, what did you do that for? Michael Simmons: Caleb, when two people get married; it's for better or for worse, for richer or for poor, in sickness and in health. Caleb Holt: I know that. But marriages aren't fireproof. Sometimes you get burned. Michael Simmons: Fireproof doesn't mean a fire will never come, but that when it comes you'll be able to withstand it. Caleb Holt: You didn't have to glue them together. [Caleb picks up the shakers and starts trying to force them apart] Michael Simmons: Don't do it, Caleb. If you pull them apart now, you'll break either one or both of them. Caleb Holt: I am not a perfect person, but better than most. And if my marriage is failing, it is not all my fault. Michael Simmons: But Caleb, man, I've seen you run into a burning building to save people you don't even know. But you're gonna let your own marriage just burn to the ground. Caleb Holt: Michael, you are my friend. And I have allowed you to speak freely to me on this job. Don't abuse it.
Malcolm: I have this theory. I think, historically, women have been held back in so many ways that when they get power like they do behind the wheel, they can't help but abuse it. It's akin to Hannah Arendt's Eichmann theory about prison guards and prisoners switching roles.
The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.
Mrs. Weiss: [Angrily] You just sat there, shut up, and let him abuse your daughter. Mary: [Hysterically in tears] I did not want him to abuse my daughter! I did not want him to hurt her! I didn't want him to do nothing to her! Mrs. Weiss: [Overlapping with Mary's voice] But you ALLOWED him to hurt her! You did! Mary: But, those... those things she told you I did to her? Who... who... who else was going to love me? WHO else was going to touch me? WHO else was going to make me feel good about myself?
One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.
Danielle Kline: ...What did you do, Gwen? Take Merle Hammond on a joyride, during which he was subjected to rather annoying conditions? Most people put up with more than that just going to work. You're not alone in the commission of this felony; what drove you to this crime is a damaged legal system greatly in need of repair. Gwen Saticoy: No offense, but you're part of that system; to exonerate me requires that you abuse it, the same way Merle Hammond did. Danielle Kline: Believe it or not, I *do* think I can effectively defend my clients without leaving a trail of bloody bodies in my wake. Gwen Saticoy: But can you *win* without doing it? Danielle Kline: The day I think I can't is the day I set up practice with Merle Hammond.
Howie Stein: And to our female friends here today, we must not abuse of our dogs with the lure of a peanut butter snatch. We must channel our horniness into extracurricular activities.
Terry Bohner: There was abuse in my family, but it was mostly musical in nature.
Miss Higgins: That's too bad. You have a gift for language, Mr. Riley. But talent is a common thing. People waste it every day. They abuse it. They take it for granted. Success comes not from what God has given you but what you do with it. It's really up to you.
Dr. Sterling: Have you had any drugs in the last 24 hours? Elizabeth: No. Well... I guess I snorted some coke and smoked some pot but uh, you know, that was just to make the ecstasy last longer. Dr. Sterling: Sure you're not forgetting anything? Elizabeth: Maybe a few beers? Dr. Sterling: Did you ever think you might have a substance abuse problem? Elizabeth: The only substance problem I have right now is that I need you to get me some trank so I can come down off this fucking coke. Dr. Sterling: And then what happens?
Jessica: [as Jinx removes the tape covering her mouth] Fuck! That hurts you whiny little son of a bitch! I couldn't care less... [Jinx places tape back over Jessica's mouth] Jason 'Jinx' Taylor: Well then, skippy, if I wanted more verbal abuse I'd call some customer service center somewhere. [Jessica tries to speak but only muffled sounds come out] Jason 'Jinx' Taylor: What was that? I didn't catch that last part. Was that "sorry for being a bitch"? "I'll be nice now"?
Blair Sullivan: You're the first visitor I've had here in two years since them behavioral science boys come to see me. Wanna know about my childhood and shit. Did my folks beat me, abuse me, sex me up? I tried telling 'em there ain't no formula for people like me. What we are dealing with here is just predisposition for an appetite. Good parents, bad parents. No cause and effect. It's just appetite. Paul Armstrong: Fuck you. Blair Sullivan: [yelling] Let me tell you a few things, Armstrong! One, I'm filled with power! You might think I'm impotent prisoner, handcuffed and shackled, locked in a eight by seven cell each night and day, but I'm filled with strength that reaches way beyond these bars, sir! I can crush anyone I want to just as these hands dialing a telephone! There's no one beyond my reach! You hear me, no one! Paul Armstrong: Did you kill her? Blair Sullivan: I ain't gonna tell you if I killed that little girl or not. Even if I did, how would you know to believe me? Killing is easy for me. How hard do you think lying is? Paul Armstrong: Go to hell! Blair Sullivan: True. I will. No doubt about that!
Mike: Satanic Ritual Abuse Syndrome. It was big in the '80s.
Sport's Dad: [over ecstatic] Will you take a look at this. Huh? Huh? What do you think of your old man now, Sport? 500 smackaroos! No more paying with change. No more, no more spaghetti. Going to feel like steak. And you know those fancy basketball sneakers with the, with the buckles and the Velcro and the crap all over them? Their yours, buddy boy, all yours! [his phone rings, he answers it] Sport's Dad: Hello? Murray. Hey, hey I take it all back. All agents aren't useless. Oh, I'm kidding you, I'm kidding you, man. You know I was always in your corner. Oh, yeah, I knew you'd come through. Well, Sport and I are going to do a little celebrating today... Sport: [knock at the door, Sport answers. It's Harriet] Harriet M. Welsch: Hey. Sport: Hey. Harriet M. Welsch: Sold his book? Sport: Got a real job. Sport's Dad: [notices Harriet] Hey, Harriet, you hear the good news? Harriet M. Welsch: [smiling] You're a writer. So how's it feel? Sport's Dad: Oh, big slice off heaven, side order of fries. Say, you hungry? I feel like going to the fanciest, schmaniest restaurant in town. We'll abuse the waiter. Who's with me? Harriet? Sport: She can't come. Sport's Dad: What do you mean she can't come? You haven't even asked her. Sport: [firmly] I said she can't come. [to Harriet] Sport: You can't be my friend if you're not my friend. [he closes the door on Harriet] Harriet M. Welsch: [from the other side of the door, crying] [whispers] Harriet M. Welsch: I'm sorry, Sport. I'm sorry.
Chlo: There's never been a classic movie made in Bruges until now. Ray: Of course there hasn't. It's a shithole. Chlo: Bruges is my home town, Ray. Ray: Well, it's still a shithole. Chlo: It's not a shithole! Ray: What? Even midgets have to take drugs to stick it. Chlo: Okay. So, you've insulted my home town. You were doing really well, Raymond. Why don't you tell me some Belgium jokes while you're at it? Ray: Don't know any Belgium jokes, and if I did I think I'd have the good sense not to... hang on. Is Belgium with all those child abuse murders lately? I do know a Belgium joke. What's Belgium famous for? Chocolates and child abuse, and they only invented the chocolates to get to the kids. [Ray sees Chloe's shocked expression] Ray: What? Chlo: One of the girls they murdered was a friend of mine. Ray: [after a long pause, feeling bad] I'm sorry, Chloe. Chlo: One of the girls they murdered wasn't a friend of mine. I just wanted to make you feel bad. And it worked! Quite well.
Blake: What's the problem, pal? Dave Moss: You - [correcting him] Dave Moss: Moss. You're such a hero, you're so rich, how come you're coming down here wasting your time with such a bunch of bums? Blake: You see this watch? You see this watch? Dave Moss: Yeah. Blake: That watch costs more than you car. I made $970,000 last year. How much you make? You see pal, that's who I am, and you're nothing. Nice guy? I don't give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna work here - close! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can't take this, how can you take the abuse you get on a sit? You don't like it, leave.
[Babe's first attempt to herd sheep just got him laughed at] Babe: This is ridiculous, Mom! Fly: Nonsense, it's only your first try. But you're treating them like equals. They're sheep, they're inferior. Babe: Oh, no they're not. Fly: Of course they are. We are their masters, Babe. Let them doubt it for a second and they'll walk all over you. Rex the Male Sheepdog: Fly! Get the pig out of there! Fly: Make them feel inferior - abuse them, insult them. Rex the Male Sheepdog: Fly! Babe: They'll laugh at me. Fly: Then bite them! Be ruthless. Whatever it takes, bend them to your will. Rex the Male Sheepdog: Enough! Fly: Go on, go!
Oona Hart: We could have done something important Max. We could have fought child abuse or Republicans!
Boss Tweed: You may or may not know, Bill, that everyday I go down to the waterfront with hot soup for the Irish as they come ashore. Its part of building a political base. Bill: I've noticed you there, you may have noticed me. Boss Tweed: Indeed I have. Throwing torrents of abuse to every single person who steps off those boats. Bill: [gleefully] If only I had the guns, Mr. Tweed, I'd shoot each and every one of them before they set foot on American soil.
Custom will reconcile people to any atrocity
The danger is that in reaction to abuses and distortions of an idea, we'll reject it completely. And in the process miss out on the good of it, the worth of it, the truth of it.
There'a a phrase,
A man with a club [bat] is a law-maker, a man to be obeyed, but not necessarily conciliated.
The advantage of beating a mute is he can't tell on you.
Most bullies are the product of a stressful and often abusive home life. Next time a bully threatens or attacks you, just yell, 'Don't abuse me like your parents abuse you!' Then call children's services and tell them you saw this bully crying in the bathroom and you're worried about him. Bam! He just got moved to a foster home.
There is an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven't had, from which I had been locked out, and it never goes away.
I know that it's easier to look at death than it is to look at pain, because while death is irrevocable, and the grief will lessen in time, pain is too often merely relentless and irreversible.
I would give anything, anything, to be the man to whom this has not happened. I can not accommodate myself to it. In a lifetime of trying, I can not accommodate myself to it. And now I will have to be that person forever.
For time and eternity there have been fathers like Nathan who simply can see no way to have a daughter but to own her like a plot of land. To work her, plow her under, rain down a dreadful poison upon her. Miraculously, it causes these girls to grow. They elongate on the pale slender stalks of their longing, like sunflowers with heavy heads. You can shield them with your body and soul, trying to absorb that awful rain, but they'll still move toward him. Without cease they'll bend to his light.
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