[last lines] Narrator: He smelled like licorice and old books, she thought to herself, as tears rolled from her eyes, the color of muddy puddles.
Hilario: Even if we had the guns, we know how to plant and grow, we don't know how to kill. Old Man: Then learn, or die!
Jack Skellington: [singing with false pomp] And I, *Jack*, the *Pumpkin King*, grow tired of the same old thing.
Elizabeth Bennet: Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony, which is why I will end up an old maid.
Cutter: You settled on a name yet? Robert Angier: Yes, I have. The Great Danton. Cutter: Bit old-fashioned isn't it? Robert Angier: No. It's sophisticated.
The Old Man: My friends, I've had this dream for more than a decade now, a dream which I've invited you all to share with me.
Alan-A-Dale: Oh, incidentally, I'm Alan-A-Dale, a minstrel. That's an old time folk singer. My job is to tell it like it is, or was, or whatever.
Kyoami: Why stay with this mad old man? If the rock you stay on starts to roll, jump clean. Or you'll go with it and be squashed. Only a fool stays aboard.
Cardinal Roark: Will that bring you satisfaction, my son? Killing a helpless, old, fart? Marv: Killing? No. No satisfaction. Everything up until the killing, will be a gas.
Gracchus: This republic of ours is something like a rich widow. Most Romans love her as their mother but Crassus dreams of marrying the old girl to put it politely.
[Looking at a salvaged hand mirror] Old Rose: This was mine. How extraordinary! And it looks the same as it did last time I saw it... The reflection's changed a bit.
Terence Fletcher: We have a squeaker today, class. His name is Andrew Nieman, he's 19 years old. Isn't he cute?
I pitch Mint to everyone from investors to engineers, young and old, and I do it pretty much the same way: Here's the problem in the market place, here's how we solve it, and here's how we make money.
Record sales don't really mean anything. For us, the pressure is imagining some 15-year-old kid in Cincinnati who buys our album and doesn't feel like he wasted his pocket money.
I made a penny for each paper delivered every day, plus 2 cents for Sunday papers. I had 120 customers. For a 10-year-old kid in the 1940s, that was a lot of money.
I want to sit with 80- and 90-year-old people more than anyone. They have played this game before. Not one of them has told me, 'I wish I had more money.'
If there is a public perception at all, they see the producer as a big old guy who smokes a cigar and has lots of money and lots of power. That's not what a producer is and, if it ever was what a producer was, it certainly hasn't been for a long time...
Now that I'm gettin' old enough to get some money, I'd like to have some money. I don't get much made, I need to conquer a big chunk of money. Not quit playin' but quit playin' so hard.
If you give people unlimited time and money, they'll do things the same old way. But if they have to achieve the goal in a brief time, they'll either give up or try something new.
Mafia guys are all just insecure people who want their money. They're like little seven-year old kids when they don't get their way. I knew guys like that growing up in New Jersey.
The sacred rights of mankind are not to be rummaged for among old parchments or musty records. They are written, as with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature, by the hand of the divinity itself; and can never be erased or obscured by mortal...
