But still. Still bless me anyway. I want more life. I can't help myself. I do. I've lived through such terrible times and there are people who live through much worse. But you see them living anyway. When they're more spirit than body, more sores than skin, when they're burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in the corners of the eyes of their children - they live. Death usually has to take life away. I don't know if that's just the animal. I don't know if it's not braver to die, but I recognize the habit; the addiction to being alive. So we live past hope. If I can find hope anywhere, that's it, that's the best I can do. It's so much not enough. It's so inadequate. But still bless me anyway. I want more life. And if he comes back, take him to court. He walked out on us, he oughta pay.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
We cannot allow a return to incivility.
Incivility? And what has civility earned them, might I ask? Trained nurses? Even one hospital?
All things the Sioux will provide for themselves, Charles, once this plan has passed. As you yourself agreed - they must adapt.
Must they adapt, sir, to the point of their own extermination?
Extermination? I suppose you say we've exterminated your Indian heritage rather than provided to you the benefits of an entire civilization?
Senator, please sit. Sir, if every individual were taken personally under your care, as was my good fortune, I admit, the outcome might be what you seek. But I am not the example you held up to The Friends of the Indian. I am the example of nothing. I simply do not see how placing each Indian man on a desolate, 160-acre parcel of land is going to lead his children to medical school.
It will, in time. But first, this must pass. Or I guarantee you, destitution is all the Sioux will ever know. I have many opponents, Charles, in the press, in Congress...
You have an opponent before you, sir.
[Betty's Third Editorial Voice Over] Wellesley girls who are married have become quite adept at balancing their obligations. One hears such comments as, "I'm able to baste the chicken with one hand and outline the paper with the other." While our mothers were called to the workforce for lady liberty it is our duty, nay, obligation to reclaim our place in the home bearing the children that will carry our traditions into the future. One must pause to consider why; Ms. Katherine Watson, instructor in the art history department, has decided to declare war on the holy sacrament of marriage. Her subversive and political teachings encourage our Wellesley girls to reject the roles they were born to fill.
Slide - Contemporary art...
No, that's just an advertisement...
Quiet. Today you just listen. What will future scholars see when they study us, a portrait of women today? There you are ladies: the perfect likeness of a Wellesley graduate, Magna Cum Laude, doing exactly what she was trained to do. Slide - a Rhodes Scholar, I wonder if she recites Chaucer while she presses her husband's shirts. Slide - hehe, now you physics majors can calculate the mass and volume of every meatloaf you make. Slide - A girdle to set you free. What does that mean? What does that mean? What does it mean? I give up, you win. The smartest women in the country, I didn't realize that by demanding excellence I would be challenging... what did it say? [Walks over to a student and picks up her copy of the editorial]
What did it say? Um... the roles you were born to fill. Is that right? [Looks up at Betty]
The roles you were born to fill? It's, uh, it's my mistake. [Katerine drops the student's paper back onto her desk]
Class dismissed. [Katherine walks out of the classroom]
Robert, please. You don't understand, no-one does. When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself. You never in your life think that love like this can happen to you.
But now that you have it...
I want to keep it forever. I want to love you the way I do now the rest of my life. Don't you understand... we'll lose it if we leave. I can't make an entire life disappear to start a new one. All I can do is try to hold onto to both. Help me. Help me not lose loving you.
Let us be the ones who say we do not accept that a child dies every three seconds simply because he does not have the drugs you and I have. Let us be the ones to say we are not satisfied that your place of birth determines your right for life. Let us be outraged, let us be loud, let us be bold.
[Mentok is doing a magic show for his nephew's birthday party]
Make a rabbit disappear!
Do a trick!
Nope! Got something much better. [dons fortune teller's turban]
Byooo-weeeeeeeee-oooo... [points to successive children in turn]
You: You're going to die in 23 years of a coronary embolism. You? You're going to live in Tuscany with your mother... *and your boyfriend!* You: Telemarketer. You: Lite FM radio DJ. You? You will raise poodles. And not the big kind that win prizes. No, the annoying little kind that go, "Bap! bap! bap! bap! bap! bap! bap!"
Why did that man say we would be deported?
I do not know. But we are American citizens. We own this house. They can do nothing to us now.
I feel bad for that lady, Baba-jan.
The woman's house was taken from her because she did not pay her taxes. That happens when one is not responsible.
Do you understand? Do not feel bad. Americans they do not deserve what they have. They have the eyes of small children who are forever looking for the next source of distraction, entertainment, sweet taste in the mouth. We are not like them. We know rich opportunities when we see them and do not throw away God's blessing.
I want to talk to you about morals. The morals of the young people today is going to get them in big trouble. I'm telling you, because they act like they don't know the difference between right and wrong. And this is the truth. And see, one of the reasons is the parents. The parents are not taking care of their children. They are not telling them the difference between right and wrong. But then...
Aunt May, Aunt April:
[both roll their eyes and turn to leave]
Wait, now. No, no, no. No, ma'am. You have to listen. Because part of the responsibility is the children's, because this is *their* lives. It's not their mama's or their papa's. I'm talling you, they have to think for themselves. Even if their mama and papa didn't do something about them. Girl, look, the children have to think and try their best to come on up, come on up.
[when Kate leaves] I have done it, she is gone! Now I can raise you children the way I want to! Mwa ha ha, ha ha, ha! [kids stare blankly]
C'mon, Dad's in charge now, you can... eat candy for breakfast, sleep in, wear shoes in the house, it'll be great! [kids continue to stare blankly. Tom finally gives up]
Yeah, I know, let's go inside.
You know, it's pretty easy reading this book to see why I was angry and confused for all those years. I lived my life being told different stories: some true, some lies and I still don't know which is which. Children are born innocent. At birth we are very much like a new hard drive - no viruses, no bad information, no crap that's been downloaded into it yet. It's what we feed into that hard drive, or in my case
[reading poem in class] A storm is coming, Frank says / A storm that will swallow the children / And I will deliver them from the kingdom of pain / I will deliver the children back the their doorsteps / And send the monsters back to the underground / I'll send them back to a place where no-one else can see them / Except for me / Because I am Donnie Darko.
It was Sunday, and Mumma had gone next door with Lena and the little ones. Under the pepper tree in the yard Pa was sorting, counting, the empty bottles he would sell back: the bottles going clink clink as Pa stuck them in the sack. The fowls were fluffing in the dust and sun: that crook-neck white pullet Mumma said she would hit on the head if only she had the courage to; but she hadn't.
Look. [he sits down next to dummy of boy]
It's little Bobby. Little gonna grow up to big and strong and pursue a career in buried children and dismembered mummies. Now that will make happy town proud.
I think your in the wrong line of work. [he walks away]
[turning to dummy] No mate. Not me.
So, your argument is that title dictates behavior?
The reason you won't let me use your car is because I have a title and a job description, and I'm supposed to follow it, right?
Tabloid Reading Customer:
I saw one, one time, that said, "The next week, the world is ending." And in the next week's paper, they said, "We were miraculously saved at the zero hour by a koala-fish mutant bird." Crazy shit.
So, I'm no more responsible for my decisions here than, say, a Death Squad soldier in Bosnia?
Oh, now, that's stretching it. You're not being asked to slay children or anything.
Yeah, not yet. [takes a drink of water]
Tabloid Reading Customer:
And I remember this one time- [Randal spits water at him]
Tabloid Reading Customer:
I'm going to break your fucking head! You fucking jerk-off!
Sir! Sir, I'm sorry! He meant to hit me.
Tabloid Reading Customer:
Yeah, well, he missed!
Yeah, I know. Here, let me refund your money, and we'll call it even, alright?
Tabloid Reading Customer:
I'll never come in here again. [to Randal]
Tabloid Reading Customer:
And if I see you again, I'm gonnna break your fucking head open! [Randal salutes him as he leaves]
What the fuck'd you do that for?
Two reasons. One, I hate it when people can't shut up about the stupid tabloid headlines.
And two, to prove a point. Title does not dictate behavior.
If title dictated my behavior, as a clerk serving the public, I wouldn't be allowed to spit water at that guy. But I did. So, my point is that people dictate their own behavior. Even though I work in a video store, I choose to go rent movies at Big Choice. Agreed?
[gives Randal his car keys] You are a danger to both the dead and the living.
I like to think I'm a master of my own destiny.
Please, get the hell outta here.
You know I'm your hero.
Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven. But you will be pleased to know from now on, you will be following a carefully structured, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic. Yes?
There's nothing in here about using defensive spells.
Using spells? Ha ha! Well I can't imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom.
We're not gonna use magic?
You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way.
Well, what use is that? If we're gonna be attacked it won't be risk-free.
Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class. [pauses]
It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be sufficient to get you through your examinations, which after all, is what school is all about.
And how is theory supposed to prepare us for what's out there?
There is nothing out there, dear! Who do you imagine would want to attack children like yourself?
I don't know, maybe, Lord Voldemort!
[In Jason's dream]
Mrs. Pamela Voorhees:
[to Jason] Jason, my special, special boy. Do you know what your gift is? No matter what they do to you, you cannot die. You can never die. You've just been sleeping, honey. But now, the time has come to wake up. Mommy has something she wants you to do. I need you to go to Elm Street. The children have been very bad on Elm Street. Rise up, Jason. Your work isn't finished. Hear my voice and live again. Make them remember me, Jason. Make them REMEMBER WHAT FEAR TASTES LIKE. [after Jason leaves, Mrs. Voorhees morphs into Freddy Krueger]
I've been away from my children for far too long.
[having just been exposed kissing Natalie on a school stage during a student concert in front of hundreds of children and parents]
Right. So, not quite as secret as we'd hoped.
What do we do now?
Smile. Little bow. And a wave.
That was when it was all made painfully clear to me. When you are a child, there is joy. There is laughter. And most of all, there is trust. Trust in your fellows. When you are an adult...then comes suspicion, hatred, and fear. If children ran the world, it would be a place of eternal bliss and cheer. Adults run the world; and there is war, and enmity, and destruction unending. Adults who take charge of things muck them up, and then produce a new generation of children and say,
I still remember the war...
Yeah... Remember waking up to the sound of bombs dropping and children screaming...
Oh, you were in Vietnam?
Didn't that, like, last only 12 hours?
And who empowered these colonials to pass judgement on England's policies, and to come and go without so much as a "by your leave"?
They do not live their lives "by your leave"! They hack it out of the wilderness with their own two hands, bearing their children along the way!
Nanny McPhee! Now she can't take the donkey, so what have you done?
I have done nothing, sir. The children have decided amongst themselves.
Great Aunt Adelaide:
[off in distance] There you are, my dear.
Not little Chrissy. [runs from the house]
Great Aunt Adelaide:
[in the carriage] Now my dear, tell me your name.
[bolts down the road] Chrissy!
Tell me your name.
[in the forest] Chrissy!
Great Aunt Adelaide:
Sit up straight, and tell me your name.
[the carriage fades in the distance] NO! Christianna!
Papa! Papa! [races into her father's arms and hugs him]
Oh thank... [the other children run up to him]
all of you? Oh... Then who is?
[raises head for Aunt Adelaide to see] Evangeline... My name is Evangeline.
The ability to retain a child's view of the world with at the same time a mature understanding of what it means to retain it, is extremely rare - and a person who has these qualities is likely to be able to contribute something really important to our thinking.
The thing is, the older I get the more I agree with him. There is that thing that once you've had children you instantly become more right-wing. I think the Landlord must have had about a thousand children to be that right-wing. (On his character "The Pub Landlord")
[about Witwer's father] What does he think about your chosen line of work?
I don't know. He was shot and killed when I was 15 on the steps of our church in Dublin. I know what it's like to lose someone close, John. 'Course, nothing is like the loss of a child. I don't have any children of my own, so I can only imagine what that must've been like. To lose your son - in such a public place like that. At least now you and I have the chance to make sure that kind of thing doesn't happen to anyone...
Why don't you cut the cute act, Danny boy, and tell me exactly what it is you're looking for?
There hasn't been a murder in 6 years. There's nothing wrong with the system, it is perfect.
[simultaneously] - perfect. I agree. But if there's a flaw, it's human. It always is.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? (Just to give you an idea, Proust's reply was 'To be separated from Mama.') I think that the lowest depth of misery ought to be distinguished from the highest pitch of anguish. In the lower depths come enforced idleness, sexual boredom, and/or impotence. At the highest pitch, the death of a friend or even the fear of the death of a child.
During the holidays last year, we had to take the Hummer and get a little maintenance done on it. And then we went to pick it up when it was finished and we're driving home, and my wife is behind me, she's driving the Hummer, and I'm in front, I'm driving the Prius. I was tricked somehow. I don't know how that happened. But she calls me on the cell phone and she's laughin'. Let me explain to you why. The Prius that we own is not a black Prius, it's not a red Prius. It's a blue Prius. But it's not really a blue Prius, it's more of a "blue" Prius. It's pretty. Sparkly! I did that a little too well, didn't I? And also, while I'm driving, I'm holding in my left arm my wife's three pound chihuahua. And you have to hold this dog when you're driving, otherwise, it'll fall down between the seats, and you're like, "Where the hell is that dog? Oh, there you are. Let me put down the parking brake. That'll hold ya, ya little bastard." "Oh, I gotta shift." [imitates chihuahua yelping]
"Oh! Oh... That was your head. I'm sorry. I thought it was the little shifty thingy. It's the same size, and leather and fur, I don't know the difference. I thought I was grinding the gears." "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." Thanks for laughing at that. That's the stupidest joke I tell all night. And then also that morning, unbeknownst to me, I don't know why I didn't see it, but my children have gone out before me, and they had taken out some of those vinyl window holiday decorations and they put them all over the back window of the Prius. There was Christmas trees and Santa Claus and snowflakes. It was so pretty. My wife calls me, she's laughing hysterically. I'm like, "What's so funny?" She goes, "Can you see yourself?" I'm like, "What?" She goes, "You're driving a powder-blue Prius, you're holding a three-pound chihuahua, there's pretty Christmas decorations all over your car, and you make a living with dolls! You're gay!" "Click!"
And over there in the tree, is a chipmunk nest. And that right there, is our corn, best in the city, it's delcious. And that is a crazy lady. So now you pretty much know what I do. Pretty dang exciting, huh?
Hey, it's Ramses. He's the best.
No he's not.
Can I have his autograph? Please?
Okay, I'll see what I can do.
Uh, Ramses. I was wondering if the children could have a signiture or a picture or something?
Listen, the children are orphans, they really love you. You are the best.
So tell us mama, why make Buffalo's biggest cookie?
Well, man from health department say he find rat pellet in pastry but I say no, is big chocolate sprinkle, but he shut store down. So we clean up, make big cookie for to bring customers back.
Let's try that again, shall we?
[New take] So tell us mama, why make Buffalo's biggest cookie?
So all the children in the neighborhood will be happy?
And isn't it nice to see all their smiling faces?
I work in back. I see no smiles.
When beetles fight these battles in a bottle with their paddles
and the bottle's on a poodle and the poodle's eating noodles...
...they call this a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle
bottle paddle battle.
When the fantasy has ended/and all the children are gone/Something good inside me/helps me to carry on/I ate some bugs/I ate some grass/I used my hand to wipe my tears/To kiss your mouth/I break my vows/no no no no no no way Jose/Unless you want to/Then we break our vows together.
Captain John Smith:
All the children of the king were beautiful, but she, the youngest, was so exceedingly so that the sun himself - though he saw her often - was surprised whenever she came out into his presence. Her father had a dozen wives, a hundred children, but she was his favorite. She exceeded the rest not only in feature and proportion but in wit and spirit too. All loved her.
He was growing into middle age, and was living then in a bungalow on Woodland Avenue. He installed himself in a rocking chair and smoked a cigar down in the evenings as his wife wiped her pink hands on an apron and reported happily on their two children. His children knew his legs, the sting of his mustache against their cheeks. They didn't know how their father made his living, or why they so often moved. They didn't even know their father's name. He was listed in the city directory as Thomas Howard. And he went everywhere unrecognized and lunched with Kansas City shopkeepers and merchants, calling himself a cattleman or a commodities investor, someone rich and leisured who had the common touch. He had two incompletely healed bullet holes in his chest and another in his thigh. He was missing the nub of his left middle finger and was cautious, lest that mutilation be seen. He also had a condition that was referred to as "granulated eyelids" and it caused him to blink more than usual as if he found creation slightly more than he could accept. Rooms seemed hotter when he was in them. Rains fell straighter. Clocks slowed. Sounds were amplified. He considered himself a Southern loyalist and guerrilla in a Civil War that never ended. He regretted neither his robberies, nor the seventeen murders that he laid claim to. He had seen another summer under in Kansas City, Missouri and on September 5th in the year 1881, he was thirty-four-years-old.
He glanced back at the wall. How like a mirror, too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who reflected your own light to you? People were more often--he searched for a simile, found one in his work--torches, blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?
Dear Mrs. Doubtfire, two months ago my mom and dad decided to separate. Now they live in different houses. My brother Andrew says that we aren't to be a family anymore. Is this true? Did I lose my family? Is there anything I can do to get my parents back together? Sincerely, Katie McCormick.
Oh my dear Katie. You know some parents, when they're angry, they get along much better when they don't live together. They don't fight all the time, and they can become better people, and much better mummies and daddies for you. And sometimes they get back together. And sometimes they don't dear. And if they don't, don't blame yourself. Just because they don't love each other anymore, doesn't mean that they don't love you. There are all sorts of different families, Katie. Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country - and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months... even years at a time. But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever. All my love to you poppit, you're going to be alright... bye bye.