[first lines] John Connor: [voiceover] The future has not been written. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. I wish I could believe that. My name is John Connor, they tried to murder me before I was born, when I was 13 they tried again. Machines from the future. Terminators. All my life my mother told me the storm was coming, Judgment Day, the beginning of the war between man and machines. Three billion lives would vanish in an instant, and I would lead what was left of the human race to ultimate victory. It hasn't happened, no bombs fell, computers didn't take control, we stopped Judgment Day. I should feel safe, but I don't, so I live off the grid - no phone, no address, no one and nothing can find me. I've erased all connections to the past, but as hard as I try I can't erase my dreams, my nightmares.
In a properly automated and educated world, then, machines may prove to be the true humanizing influence. It may be that machines will do the work that makes life possible and that human beings will do all the other things that make life pleasant and worthwhile
Summer: Well, I never thought I would make it here today. I would make a great class president because I promise to put two new pop machines in the cafeteria, and I'm also gonna get a glitter Bonne Bell dispenser for all the girls' bathrooms. Oh, and we're gonna get new cheerleading uniforms. Anyway, I think I'd be a great class president. So, who wants to eat chiminichangas next year? Not me. See, with me it will be summer all year long. Vote for Summer.
Master Control: [monitor activates] I am Master Control, computer of the future. Billy: Aaahh! [jumps on Grim's arms] Grim: That'd better be sweat dripping down your leg, boy. Master Control: I am programmed to run all of the machines at this attraction. My intelligence is beyond measure, I know everything there is to know, and I'm not too shabby at checkers. Grim: Wait, how can you know *everything*? Master Control: I just do, so there. Grim: If you know everything, then what's the meaning of life? Master Control: Life has no meaning, only machine intelligence is truly important on a cosmic scale. Grim: Hmm, I didn't think he'd get that one right. Billy: Oh, yeah? Then what's my favorite color? Master Control: Blue. Billy: What's the best kind of bean? Master Control: Pinto. Billy: Why is the sky blue? Master Control: Because of the refraction of sunlight through the water droplets in the sky. Billy: Why do I ask so many questions? Master Control: Because you're stupid! Billy: What's the color of my underwear? Master Control: White... [raises an eyebrow] Master Control: ... with pink frilly lace. Billy: [checks in his pants] Wow. It really does know everything.
Jerry Shaw: Coffee machines have timers... [referring to attaché case with ticking timer on the side] Rachel Holloman: Yes, Jerry, it's a coffee machine.
Narrator: Saturday evening, and the universe is much the same as at any other point in the history of the world. The planets and stars orbit and spin, and do everything that is expected of them. On earth, as the sun sets, millions prepare for a weekly event that is much less predictable. In sixty three countries around the world, dozens of lottery machines spin hundreds of lottery balls. It takes seconds for the winning numbers to be selected... seconds for the losers to realize they've lost. But for the winners, it is an event that will undoubtedly change their lives forever... lucky sods!
Councillor Harmann: I like to be reminded this city survives because of these machines. These machines keep us alive, while other machines are coming to kill us. Interesting, isn't it? The power to give life, and the power to end it.
Space Ghost: Hey, have you heard my famous story? [beat] Space Ghost: It starts in a couple of minutes. [beat] Space Ghost: Beat. A long beat. Dennis Miller: [laughing] C'mon, what, do you need an edit point, Space Ghost? Space Ghost: The race war had begun. [cartoon stock footage of missiles and robots appears] Space Ghost: Machines were building robot babies to replace other babies. Everyone knows what happened next. [cartoon stock footage of surfing teens] Space Ghost: The end! Dennis Miller: [laughs] Space Ghost: Written by Space Ghost! Robots by ILM... and Space Ghost! [beat] Space Ghost: George Lucas by Space Ghost! House lights up, people leave theater. Trash... everywhere.
[last lines] Roland: Once the machines were done with us, they started digging again. We made a quick pass to look for survivors. Link: You found one. Roland: Only one.
Aurora: Those tigers in the cage weren't real, right? Siberian tigers went extinct in 2017. The last one died in the Moscow Zoo. Toorop: What is she, a walking wildlife encyclopedia? Aurora: They were clones? Toorop: Second generation clones, not real tigers, copies of copies. Aurora: But they're living creatures, made by God. Toorop: No, they were organic machines made by man. Aurora: God made man in His image, so what man creates is also God's will.
Tom Jericho: Every day, our Typex machines have to be set the same way the Germans set their Enigmas. And figuring out the settings is the hard part. That's where the code breakers come in. Hester Wallace: What would Claire need to decipher the settings? Tom Jericho: She'd need a crib. Let's say this tombstone was in code. If I knew more or less who's buried here, I'd have a pretty good idea what the code meant. You try to work out the settings and then type the coded message into the Enigma machine. If the message comes out nonsense, the settings are wrong. If it comes out "Mary Jane Hawkins," you've broken Enigma for that day.
[after the machines stop attacking, at Zion] Niobe: What are they doing? [seeing Morpheus put his gun down] Niobe: What are *you* doing?
Sarah Connor: [Season 1 opening Intro] In the future my son will lead mankind in a war against Skynet, a computer system programmed to destroy the world. It has sent machines back through time to kill him, one to protect him. Today we fight to stop Skynet from ever being created. To change our future. To change his fate. The war to save mankind begins now!
Dr. Linda Lao: Perpetual motion machines are machines that are supposed to disobey one of the laws of thermodynamics. Unknown: You're just reading a bunch of stuff you read off the internet.
Councillor Harmann: Down here, sometimes I think about all those people still plugged into the Matrix and when I look at these machines I... I can't help thinking that in a way... we are plugged into them. Neo: But we control these machines; they don't control us. Councillor Harmann: Of course not. How could they? The idea is pure nonsense. But... it does make one wonder... just... what is control? Neo: If we wanted, we could shut these machines down. Councillor Harmann: [Of] course. That's it. You hit it. That's control, isn't it? If we wanted we could smash them to bits. Although, if we did, we'd have to consider what would happen to our lights, our heat, our air... Neo: So we need machines and they need us, is that your point, Councilor? Councillor Harmann: No. No point. Old men like me don't bother with making points. There's no point. Neo: Is that why there are no young men on the council? Councillor Harmann: Good point.
Amanda Dunfrey: You don't have much faith in humanity, do you? Dan Miller: None, whatsoever. Amanda Dunfrey: I can't accept that. People are basically good; decent. My god, David, we're a civilized society. David Drayton: Sure, as long as the machines are working and you can dial 911. But you take those things away, you throw people in the dark, you scare the shit out of them - no more rules.
As for myself: I had come to the conclusion that there was nothing sacred about myself or any human being, that we were all machines, doomed to collide and collide and collide. For want of anything better to do, we became fans of collisions. Sometimes I wrote well about collisions, which meant I was a writing machine in good repair. Sometimes I wrote badly, which meant I was a writing machine in bad repair. I no more harbored sacredness than did a Pontiac, a mousetrap, or a South Bend Lathe.
So, in the interests of survival, they trained themselves to be agreeing machines instead of thinking machines. All their minds had to do was to discover what other people were thinking, and then they thought that, too.
Mifune: How old are you, kid? Kid: Eighteen. Mifune: Should have said sixteen, I might have believed that. Kid: All right, I'm sixteen. Mifune: The minimum age for the Corp's eighteen. Sixteen's too young. Kid: The machines don't care how old I am. They'll kill me just the same. Mifune: ...Ain't that the goddamn truth. Kid: Please, Captain Mifune, give me a chance. I won't let you down. Mifune: You do, and you're gonna find that me and the machines got something in common.
Tank: Here you go, buddy; "Breakfast of Champions." Mouse: If you close your eyes, it almost feels like you're eating runny eggs. Apoc: Yeah, or a bowl of snot. Mouse: Do you know what it really reminds me of? Tasty Wheat. Did you ever eat Tasty Wheat? Switch: No, but technically, neither did you. Mouse: That's exactly my point. Exactly. Because you have to wonder: how do the machines know what Tasty Wheat tasted like? Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe what I think Tasty Wheat tasted like actually tasted like oatmeal, or tuna fish. That makes you wonder about a lot of things. You take chicken, for example: maybe they couldn't figure out what to make chicken taste like, which is why chicken tastes like everything. Apoc: Shut up, Mouse.
Bobby Green: [Bobby is doing stand up] Speaking of psychologists... Here something you do to a psychologist. You go in and tell him you were abducted by aliens and that they implanted all kinds of weird machines inside your body. Then you stand up, pull down your pants and take his picture with your penis!
People are more difficult to work with than machines. And when you break a person, he can't be fixed.
Machines were the ideal metaphor for the central pornographic fantasy of the nineteenth century, rape followed by gratitude.
All was still: dark crawlers with their frozen treads, bulldozers motionless as boulders, backhoes with bent necks and sleeping hearts and shove-mouth jaws pillowed on gravel. And tractors. An antique Case Model DEX in signature flambeau red, last year's twenty-foot-tall New Holland TV140 gleaming like a groomed thoroughbred, Minneapolis-Molines and John Deeres and Steigers and Fords and still, among them all, nothing quite like the Deutz.
Arlen Faber: [into answering machine] I hate answering machines for this very reason, you know, they're like life, you can't take anything back.
The World's Fair audience tended to think of the machine as unqualifiedly good, strong, stupid and obedient. They thought of it as a giant slave, an untiring steel Negro, controlled by Reason in a world of infinite resources.
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