Rose: I love you, Jack. Jack: Don't you do that, don't say your good-byes. Not yet, do you understand me? Rose: I'm so cold. Jack: Listen, Rose. You're gonna get out of here, you're gonna go on and you're gonna make lots of babies, and you're gonna w...
Juror #8: [answering Juror #4's remark about where the father's body was found] We're not, unless somebody else wants to; but *I'd* like to find out if an old man who drags one foot when he walks, 'cause he had a stroke last year, could get from his ...
Juror #3: It's these kids - the way they are nowadays. When I was a kid I used to call my father, "Sir". That's right. "Sir". You ever hear a kid call his father that anymore? Juror #8: Fathers don't seem to think it's important anymore. Juror #3: [l...
Juror #3: [as Juror 8 sets up an experiment to see if the old man could reach his front door in 15 seconds] What do you mean, *you* wanna try it? Why didn't his lawyer bring it up if it's so important? Juror #5: Well, maybe he just didn't think about...
October O love, turn from the changing sea and gaze, Down these grey slopes, upon the year grown old, A-dying 'mid the autumn-scented haze That hangeth o'er the hollow in the wold, Where the wind-bitten ancient elms infold Grey church, long barn, orc...
(M)uch as we might imagine we can leave the past behind, it has a nasty way of pressing its hoary old face against the window just as we were sitting down to the feast.
He was already beginning, as always happens at a respectable age, to take a firm stand for Raphael and the old masters––not because he was fully convinced of their lofty merit, but so as to shove them in the faces of young artists.
Shakespeare's bitter play [Troilus and Cressida] is therefore a dramatization of a part of a translation into English of the French translation of a Latin imitation of an old French expansion of a Latin epitome of a Greek romance. (p. 55)
There are stories — legends, really — of the “steady job.” Old-timers gather graduates around the flickering light of a computer monitor and tell stories of how the company used to be, back when a job was for life, not just for the business c...
When had I turned into a 5-yr-old girl? At the very least, I needed to get my libido under control before the song finished, because I didn’t think that my raging hard-on would be a good icebreaker. I thought smugly.
All around, grown men were getting out of cars and shoving at each other like fifteen-year-olds, the bunch of juiced-up, armchair quarterbacks ready to peanut-gallery it up: The closest they were going to get to the octagon was standing on the outsid...
Och, stop being so sensitive, Prentice; it isn't much fun getting old. One of the few pleasures that do come your way is to speak your mind... Certainly annoying your relatives is enjoyable too, but I expected better of you.
The thing about the old is that we never change so much as the young. We slip in degrees, adding rings like trees--a new wrinkle here, a shade less color there, but the young transform like caterpillars into butterflies. They become whole new people ...
Where do thoughts come from, Father?” King Mafferan looked deeply into his twelve-year-old eyes. “While I may not be sure all thoughts are my own, I am sure when I own them.
A quick butchers shows up Old Bill three-handed, also a particularly nasty female grass–-and if looks were acid baths the two she collects from us would reduce her to gristle quicker than Mrs. Durand-Deacon.
And once I realized that code I write never fucking goes away and I'm going to be a maintainer for life. I get comments about blog posts that are almost 10 years old. "Hey, I found this code. I found a bug," and I'm suddenly maintaining code.
Spartacus," I called, "how's it hanging?" Probably not too well. Once you're dead, had your organs removed, and are resurrected as an undead mummified cat, your testicles probably looked like old raisins that had rolled under the couch. Raisins didn'...
A man was leaning idly against an elm. ... The man, who towered over the poet even at his slanting angle, too old for a student and too worn for a faculty member, stared at him with the familiar, insatiable gleam of the literary admirer.
You need a break, a complete rest, recharge your batteries.' Recharge your batteries. What the hell does that mean? Nelson prides himself on not needing batteries. He's an old-fashioned, wind-up model.
In short, I ran away. I was about to fall in love. Aside from being opposed to getting involved with a guy, I'm a dried-up old man, just like he said. He's too dazzling to be with me. He's beyond me.
Surely it is a great thing to increase the numerous host of fixed stars previously visible to the unaided vision, adding countless more which have never before been seen, exposing these plainly to the eye in numbers ten times exceeding the old and fa...
