Regimes planted by bayonets do not take root... Our military strength is a prerequisite to peace, but let it be clear we maintain this strength in the hope it will never be used, for the ultimate determinant in the struggle that's now going on in the world will not be bombs and rockets but a test of wills and ideas, a trial of spiritual resolve, the values we hold, the beliefs we cherish, the ideals to which we are dedicated.
Colonel William F. Guile: Troopers! I have just received new orders. Our superiors say the war is cancelled, and we can all go home. Bison is getting paid off for his crimes, and our friends will have died here... will have died for nothing. But... we can all go home. Meanwhile, ideals like these - freedom, and justice - they get packed up. But... we can all go home. Well... I'm not going home. I'm gonna get on my boat, and I'm going up-river, and I'm going to kick that son-of-a-bitch Bison's ass so HARD... that the next Bison wanna-be is gonna feel it. Now who wants to go home... and who wants to go with ME!
Gusteau: Remy, what are you doing in here? Remy: Emile shows up, I said not to, but he goes and blabs - Yeah! It's a disaster. Anyway, they're hungry, the food safe is locked, I need the key. Gusteau: They want you to steal food? Remy: Yes. No... it's complicated. It's family. They don't have your ideals. Gusteau's Corn Puppies: [the cardboard Gusteaus start speaking] Gusteau's Barbecue Spare-Ribs: Ideals? Hah! If Chef Fancy Pants had any ideals you think I'd be hawkin' barbecue over here? Gusteau's Microwave Burritos: Or Microwave burritos? Gusteau's Tooth-Pickin' Chicken: Or tooth, I say, tooth-pickin' Chicken? S'about as French as a Corn Dog! Gusteau's Corn Puppies: Roof! Rumming Roon! Gusteau's Barbecue Spare-Ribs: Ha! We're inventin' new ways to sell out over here! Gusteau's Haggis Bites: Will ye' be wantin' some Haggis Bites, then? Gusteau: I cannot control how they use my image Remy, I am dead! Remy: Will you guys SHUT UP? I've got to think!
Praetor Shinzon: Some ideals are worth dying for, aren't they, Jean-Luc?
King Arthur: You may kill me... but you'll never destroy the ideals of Camelot. Ruber: Well, I've got to start somewhere.
It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched, for they are full of the truthless ideals which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real they are bruised and wounded. It looks as if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life.
A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.
The Duke: I don't like this ending... Zidler: Don't like the ending, my dear Duke? The Duke: Why should the courtesan chose the penniless sitar player over the maharajah who is offering her a lifetime of security? That's real love. Once the sitar player has satisfied his lust he will leave her with nothing. I suggest that the courtesan chose the maharajah. Toulouse-Lautrec: But, but tell me, that ending does not uphold the Bohemian ideals of truth, beauty, freedom, and... The Duke: [shouts] I don't care about your ridiculous dogma! Why shouldn't the courtesan chose the maharajah? Christian: [shouts] Because she doesn't love you!... Him... Hi-him, she doesn't love... she doesn't love him. The Duke: Oh, I see... Monsieur Zidler, the play will be rewritten with the courtesan choosing the maharajah and without the lovers' secret song. It will be rehearsed in the morning, ready for the opening tomorrow night... Zidler: But, my dear Duke, that will be quite impossible. Satine: Harold, the Duke is being treated appallingly. These silly writers let their imaginations run away with themselves. Why don't you and I have a little supper, and then we can tell Monsieur Zidler how we would like the story to end.
In the end idealism annoyed Bouvard.
What has our culture lost in 1980 that the avant-garde had in 1890? Ebullience, idealism, confidence, the belief that there was plenty of territory to explore, and above all the sense that art, in the most disinterested and noble way, could find the necessary metaphors by which a radically changing culture could be explained to its inhabitants.
The ideal of calm exists in a sitting cat.
The ideal has many names and beauty is but one of them.
I have tried to be a man of letters in love with ideas in order to be a wiser and more loving person, hoping to leave the world just a little better than I found it.
It's my duty as a human being to be pissed off
And, what's more, this 'precious' body, the very same that is hooted and honked at, demeaned both in daily life as well as in ever existing form of media, harrassed, molested, raped, and, if all that wasn't enough, is forever poked and prodded and weighed and constantly wrong for eating too much, eating too little, a million details which all point to the solitary girl, to EVERY solitary girl, and say: Destroy yourself.
Anything artistic should have some ambiguity to it. And, uh, you know, if there's only one way of interpreting it, it's probably closing in on propaganda. So, you know, it was just examining a world in which things are very desensitized, and it was sort of even asking the question of
For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!
This is an inevitable and easily recognizable stage in every revolutionary movement: reformers must expect to be disowned by those who are only too happy to enjoy what has been won for them.
You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements.
Love brings to light a lover's noble and hidden qualities-his rare and exceptional traits: it is thus liable to be deceptive of his normal qualities.
I am an absurd idealist. But I believe that all that must come true. For, unless it comes true, the world will be laid desolate. And I believe that it can come true. I believe that, by the grace of God, men will awake presently and be men again, and colour and laughter and splendid living will return to a grey civilisation. But that will only come true because a few men will believe in it, and fight for it, and fight in its name against everything that sneers and snarls at that ideal.
A man can do what he wants, but not want what he wants.
Whatever their future, at the dawn of their lives, men seek a noble vision of man's nature and of life's potential.
One great function of the arts is to keep ideals alive in a culture that does not yet realize them.
As long as your ideas of what's possible are limited by what's actual, no other idea has a chance.
The idealist withdrew himself, because he could not suffer the jostling of the human crowd; he had not the strength to fight and so called the battle vulgar; he was vain, and since his fellows would not take him at his own estimate, consoled himself with despising his fellows.
Love is an ideal thing, marriage a real thing
Anyone who fights for the future, lives in it today.
I am at liberty to vote as my conscience and judgment dictates to be right, without the yoke of any party on me... Look at my arms, you will find no party hand-cuff on them.
An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it will also make better soup.
Happiness consists not of having, but of being; not of possessing, but of enjoying.... Man is the creator of his own happiness. It is the aroma of life, lived in harmony with high ideals. For what a man has he may be dependent upon others; what he is rests with him alone.
I never ever thought that I was a giggler. I was the one who could hold it together but I didn't on this... - Ashley Jensen
2 - people who like it Add to favorite
They're not clothes that Ashley would wear. But the thing is, you can't stand out. At first I thought, ... - Ashley Jensen
1 - people who like it Add to favorite
I know what I look like. I'm not a babe who's automatically going to be the leading-lady type. I think ... - Ashley Jensen
0 - people who like it Add to favorite
Wow, that's a lot. Basically I have been trying to build a career for myself. I learned early on what to... - Alana Evans
The only person who beat me was Jenna Jameson and that kicks ass.... - Alana Evans
I've learned to think in terms of having a long career. Actors can have very long careers that last unti... - Bryce Dallas Howard
