[last lines] Jim Lovell: [narrating] Our mission was called "a successful failure," in that we returned safely but never made it to the Moon. In the following months, it was determined that a damaged coil built inside the oxygen tank sparked during our cryo stir and caused the explosion that crippled the Odyssey. It was a minor defect that occured two years before I was even named the flight's commander. Fred Haise was going back to the moon on Apollo 18, but his mission was cancelled because of budget cuts; he never flew in space again. Nor did Jack Swigert, who left the astronaut corps and was elected to Congress from the state of Colorado. But he died of cancer before he was able to take office. Ken Mattingly orbited the moon as Command Module Pilot of Apollo 16, and flew the Space Shuttle, having never gotten the measles. Gene Kranz retired as Director of Flight Operations just not long ago. And many other members of Mission Control have gone on to other things, but some are still there. As for me, the seven extraordinary days of Apollo 13 were my last in space. I watched other men walk on the Moon, and return safely, all from the confines of Mission Control and our house in Houston. I sometimes catch myself looking up at the Moon, remembering the changes of fortune in our long voyage, thinking of the thousands of people who worked to bring the three of us home. I look up at the Moon and wonder, when will we be going back, and who will that be?
[seeking approval for the calendar at the National WI Conference] Chris: I'm about to commit heresy. Look, I hate plum jam. [laughter] Chris: I only joined the WI to make my mother happy. I do, I hate plum jam. I'm crap at cakes, I can't make sponge. In fact, seeing as it's unlikely that George Clooney would actually come to Skipton to do a talk on what it was like to be in "ER", there seems very little reason for me to actually stay in the WI. Except suddenly... suddenly I want to raise money in memory of a man I loved, and to do that I'm prepared to take me clothes off for a WI calendar, and if you can't give us ten minutes of your time, Madam Chairman, well then, frankly, guys, I'm going to do it without council approval. Because there are some things that are more important than council approval. And if it means that we get closer to killing off this shitty, cheating, sly, conniving bloody disease that cancer is, oh God, I tell you, I'd run round Skipton market naked, smeared in plum jam, wearing nothing but a knitted tea cosy on me head and singing "Jerusalem". [laughter]
Mephistopheles: What's wrong, Johnny? Worried about your father? Young Johnny Blaze: What do you know about that? Mephistopheles: Even a blind man can see he's sick. Thing about cancer is the time it takes... the toll on loved ones. Lives that are altered. Plans that have to be changed. Johnny, what if I could help your dad? Young Johnny Blaze: Yeah? How? Mephistopheles: How is not important. What if I could make him better? Give him back his health? Would you be willing to make a deal? Young Johnny Blaze: Name your price. Mephistopheles: Oh. I'll take... [looks around] Mephistopheles: ...your soul. Young Johnny Blaze: [chuckles] Okay. Mephistopheles: By sunrise tomorrow, your father will be healthy as a horse. And you will have your whole life ahead of you. It's your choice, Johnny. [brings out Pactum Pactorum] Mephistopheles: All you have to do is sign. [Johnny looks at it and his thumb gets cut on top of scroll, his blood drips on the signature line] Mephistopheles: Oh, that'll do just fine.
President Andrew Shepherd: I've loved two women in my life. I lost one to cancer and I lost the other because I was too busy keeping my job to do my job. Well, that ends right now.
Caden Cotard: My father died. They said his body was riddled with cancer and that he didn't know, he went in because his finger hurt. They said he suffered horribly, and that he called out for me before he died. They said that he said he regretted his life. They said he said a lot of things, too many to recount, and they said it was the longest and the saddest deathbed speech any of them had ever heard.
Nick Naylor: Few people on this planet know what it is to be truly despised. Can you blame them? I earn a living fronting an organizing that kills one thousand two hundred human beings a day; twelve hundred people. We're talking two jumbo jet plane loads of men, women, and children. I mean there's Attila, Genghis, and me, Nick Naylor the face of cigarettes, the colonel sanders of nicotine. This is where I work, the Academy of Tobacco Studies. It was established by seven gentlemen you may recognize from C-Span. These guys realized quick if they were gonna claim cigarettes were not addictive they better have proof. This is the man they rely on, Erhardt Von Grupten Mundt. They found him in Germany. I won't go into the details. He's been testing the link between nicotine and lung cancer for thirty years, and hasn't found any conclusive results. The man's a genius, he could disprove gravity. Then we got our sharks. We draft them out of Ivy League law schools and give them timeshares and sports cars. It's just like a John Grisham novel. Well you know without all the espionage. Most importantly we got spin control. That's where I come in. I get paid to talk. I don't have an MD or law degree. I have a baccalaureate in kicking ass and taking names. You know that guy who can pick up any girl, I'm him on crack.
Cancer Survivor: Health is a gift. It's something I'm not sure I fully appreciated until the day it was taken away. And then, that's when the journey begins.
Bob Dobalina: My spots for the MAV Cancer Center swept the healthy awards last year. At the awards banquet, when they were played, not only did people listen, but they applauded. APPLAUDED. How many writers do you think can make cancer entertaining? Screenwriter's Assistant: What about James L. Brooks? He wrote 'Terms of Endearment'. Filled with cancer. Big box office. Screenplay nominated for an Oscar. Bob Dobalina: I can't tell you how much I hated that movie.
Bob Wilton: It wasn't the Dim Mak that was killing Lyn. And it wasn't the cancer. He was dying of a broken heart. And maybe, the cancer as well.
Henry Sherman: [Telling everybody that Royal doesn't have cancer] I know what stomach cancer looks like. I've seen it, and you don't eat three cheeseburgers a day with french fries when you got it.
Marla Singer: Candy-stripe a cancer ward. It's not my problem.
Hippie Guy: You know, my mom died in the hospital. Heavy shit. She had lung cancer and she weighed like 75 pounds when she died. Alan Parker: [inner voice] Thanks for sharing that, asshole. I feel much better now.
BR: Oh, I heard the Heather Holloway article is coming out tomorrow. Nick Naylor: Really? BR: Yeah, anything I should be worried about? Nick Naylor: Yeah, the Cancer Association. Apparently they have it in for us. BR: Fuckers.
Narrator: I wasn't really dying. I wasn't host to cancer or parasites. I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around.
Eric Matthews: I swear, if I don't see my son. I'll rip your fucking head off! John: I don't intend to mock you officer but I'm a cancer patient. How could YOU possibly put me in more pain than I'm already in?
Carl Showalter: You know, it's proven that second-hand smoke is, uh, carcin-... uh, you know, cancer related.
Alex: [voice over] This is Grandfather. Like my father and myself, he too is dubbed Alex. My grandmother, Anna, died two years before of a cancer in her brain. Precluding this, Grandfather became very melancholy, and also, he says, blind. His most recent employment was Heritage Tours, a business he started in 1950s, mostly for aiding rich Jewish people to search for their dead families. It is a strange employment for Grandfather, as there is nothing he hates more than rich Jewish people *or* their dead families.
[after having the kids use cans of pesticide that had a warning against carcinogen] Morris Buttermaker: Hey, Hooper, what are you doing with that patch on your eye? Playing Pirate? Come to swab the deck, matey? Matthew Hooper: Mother says I have cancer of the eye.
Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.
It's like they say about soldiers coming back from war. People all around you are dying. Really dying, Eric. You go in for a week's chemotherapy and you're in a ward with people who are really, actually dying, there and then and doing their best to come to terms with it. When the week's up, you go home and you see your family and your friends and everything's normal and familiar. It's too much. You think - one world can't possibly hold both these lives and you feel like you're going to go crazy when you realise the world is that big and it can fill with the most terrible things whenever it wants to.
Saw a film on cancer yesterday, shown by the English delegation. No doubt about it. I'm right.
Death straps me to the hospital bed, claws its way onto my chest and sits there.I didn't know it would hurt this much. I didn't know that everything good that's ever happened in my life would be emptied out by it.
It's really going to happen. I really won't ever go back to school. Not ever. I'll never be famous or leave anything worthwhile behind. I'll never go to college or have a job. I won't see my brother grow up. I won't travel, never earn money, never drive, never fall in love or leave home or get my own house. It's really, really true. A thought stabs up, growing from my toes and ripping through me, until it stifles everything else and becomes the only thing I'm thinking. It fills me up like a silent scream.
Jane: [shaking him] Tell me what's wrong with you! What is it? Is it cancer or something? Goddammit, Tony, tell me what it is! Tony: [quietly] AIDS. Jane: [quickly lets go of him] Oh, Jesus! Tony: No, don't worry. You can't get it from touching me. Jane: I'm not afraid of getting it. Tony: Sure... Jane: I already got it, you stupid kid. Tony: What? Jane: Yeah. But evidently, you got it a whole lot worse.
But all that is warm will go cold. My ears will fall off and my eyes will melt. My mouth will be clamped shut. My lips will turn to glue. ...No taste or smell or touch or sound.Nothing to look at. Total emptiness for ever.
My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you. But for every real word spoken, for every attempt I had ever made to speak those truths for which I am still seeking, I had made contact with other women while we examined the words to fit a world in which we all believed, bridging our differences.
This is the story of how Dad lived with his lung cancer. But it is much more. Through his illness and the miracles we experienced, I came to see that Dad's was not just a journey. It was a journey home. Home to God.
In ten years time I
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