Dean: Jonathan Trager, prominent television producer for ESPN, died last night from complications of losing his soul mate and his fiancee. He was 35 years old. Soft-spoken and obsessive, Trager never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of his life, he revealed an unknown side of his psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the Agatha Christie-like pursuit of his long reputed soul mate, a woman whom he only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure. Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Trager secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, its a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Asked about the loss of his dear friend, Dean Kansky, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author and executive editor of the New York Times, described Jonathan as a changed man in the last days of his life. "Things were clearer for him," Kansky noted. Ultimately Jonathan concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call "fatum", what we currently refer to as destiny.
No, it wasn't an accident, I didn't say that. It was carefully planned, down to the tiniest mechanical and emotional detail. But it WAS a mistake.
Patrolman Cooley: Two bizarre murders in one night. [Shortly thereafter he sees Jobe staring at him] Patrolman Cooley: Two bizarre accidents in one night.
Q: It's the insurance damage waiver for your beautiful new car. Now, will you need collision coverage? James Bond: Yes. Q: Fire? James Bond: Probably. Q: Property destruction? James Bond: Definitely. Q: Personal Injury? James Bond: I hope not, but accidents do happen. Q: They frequently do with you. James Bond: Well, that takes care of the normal wear-and-tear. Is there any other protection I need? Q: Only from me 007, unless you bring that car back in pristine order.
Hank Murphy: You feeling better today, George? George Knox: Why would I be feeling better? Hank Murphy: Commissioner's fined you $5,000 for you jumping Gates. And word has it Ranch is pressing civil charges for you popping him. George Knox: [grins] Come to think of it, I *have* felt better since I slugged Wilder. Hank Murphy: Your pistol's smoking, pal. George Knox: I hadn't made the connection. Hank Murphy: I know you two have been at each other's throats for a long time. George Knox: Yeah, we've been at each others throats since he spiked my knee and ruined my career. Hank Murphy: Accidents happen, George. George Knox: It wasn't an accident. When you slide into a catcher with your nails up, it's on purpose.
In life, more than in anything else, it isn
Mitch Bradley: They call 'em accidents cause it's nobody's fault.
Frida Kahlo: I had two big accidents in my life Diego, the trolley and you... You are by far the worse.
Alvin Firpo: [driving away from Bill, Dave, and the car accidents he just caused] You want a piece of that? Kiss my ass.
Here is the secret to surviving one of these [airplane] crashes: Be male. In a 1970 Civil Aeromedical institute study of three crashes involving emergency evacuations, the most prominent factor influencing survival was gender (followed closely by proximity to exit). Adult males were by far the most likely to get out alive. Why? Presumably because they pushed everyone else out of the way.
Anthony 'Swoff' Swofford: [Swoff and Fergus are disassembling and reassembling their rifles in their tent. Cortez is sitting a few bunks down, messing with his radio] What would you say if I told you I was gonna kill you for fucking me over like that? Fergus: I already told you, it was an accident. Anthony 'Swoff' Swofford: An accident. Right. Like when the trigger slips. Of course, your nice little mom and dad are where? Fergus: Cottonwood Falls. Anthony 'Swoff' Swofford: Cottonwood Falls. They'll be sad. THey won't have their little boy to send fucking cookies to. I'll say it was an accidental discharge. I might spend some time in the brig... but it'll end this fucking waiting. And I don't knwo what it's like to kill a man. [loads rifle and points it at Fergus] Fergus: What are you doing? Anthony 'Swoff' Swofford: I'm in the firing position known as the sitting position. After the prone position, it is the platform most likely to enable a Marine to effectivley kill his target. His target being a human, generally an enemy but sometimes a friend or friendly. We call this frinedly fire, or friendly fucking or getting friendly fucked. Fergus: Come on Swoff, it was your watch! It was Christmans Eve, and I was just thinking about home. That's it. Anthony 'Swoff' Swofford: What do you think Cortez? You think I'll accidentally kill your homeboy from boot camp? Cortez: Sure you'll kill him. Accidents happen. Anthony 'Swoff' Swofford: You don't see shit right? Cortez: I don't see shit. This ain't even my tent. Matter of fact, I ain't even here, Swoff. [exits tent]
After being bombarded endlessly by road-safety propaganda it was almost a relief to find myself in an actual accident.
Henry: You like my sister, don't you? Such a sweet little girl... it'd be too bad if something were to happen to her... like she got hurt... you'd be sad, wouldn't you, Mark? But hey, accidents can happen... just ask my mom about Richard.
Prawda jest c
Literature, art, like civilization itself, are only accidents.
My Miracle, living through a Traumatic brain Injury
Coordinating there Events and objects with remote events And vanished objects. Making ornaments Of accidents and possibilities.
It has been frequently remarked, that it seems to have been reserved to the people of this country to decide, by their conduct and example, the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not, of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend, for their political constitutions, on accident and force.
Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow.
Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.
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