Harry Potter: It was you! Ron Weasley: Well, yeah. Obviously. Harry Potter: And the doe. That was you as well. Ron Weasley: No. I reckoned it was you. Harry Potter: My Patronus is a stag. Ron Weasley: Right. [raising his arms up and fake antlers with...
[Romilda Vane and Harry are staring at each other across the library] Hermione Granger: [snaps her fingers] Hey! She's only interested in you because she thinks you're the Chosen One. Harry Potter: But I am the Chosen One. [Hermione smacks him on the...
[in a drinking game] Gimli: It's the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy woman. [he burps] Legolas: I feel something. A slight tingle in my fingers. I think it's affecting me. Gimli: What did I say? He can't hold his liquor. [Gimli passes out...
Agent Smith: We're willing to wipe the slate clean, give you a fresh start. All that we're asking in return is your cooperation in bringing a known terrorist to justice. Neo: Yeah. Well, that sounds like a pretty good deal. But I think I may have a b...
Janet: Do you know what I would do if someone did that to me? I would kill him, I wouldn't hesitate. I would stab him 78 times. I would chop off his fingers, slash his throat open, carve numbers in his chest, gouge out his eyes, I swear to God!... Bu...
Lisa: The last thing Mrs. Thorwald would leave behind would be her wedding ring. Stella, do you ever leave yours at home? Stella: The only way somebody would get that would be to chop off my - finger. Let's go down to the garden and find out what's b...
Doug the Head: Avi, I'm not telepathic. Cousin Avi: Well you're plenty fucking stupid, I'll give you that. Do you know why they call him Franky "Four Fingers" Doug? Because he makes stupid bets with dangerous people, and when he doesn't pay up, they ...
Rooster Cogburn: [after singing for a long time] That was "Johnny in the Low Ground." There are very few fiddle tunes I have not heard. Once heard they are locked in my mind forever. It is a sadness to me that I have sausage fingers that cannot crowd...
Emmett Quincy: Don't you go flappin' your gums, Moon! If you blow, I will kill you! Moon: I'm played out, Quincy! We seen Ned and Hayes two days ago... [Quincy draws a boot knife and cuts Moon's fingers off, then stabs him in the heart. Rooster immed...
The Dude: Nobody calls me Lebowski. You got the wrong guy. I'm the Dude, man. Blond Treehorn Thug: Your name's Lebowski, Lebowski. Your wife is Bunny. The Dude: My... my wi-, my wife, Bunny? Do you see a wedding ring on my finger? Does this place loo...
Two words from him, and I had seen my pouting apathy change into I’ll play anything for you till you ask me to stop, till it’s time for lunch, till the skin on my fingers wears off layer after layer, because I like doing things for you, will do a...
why do we feel alone?" he asked quietly and defeated, "because in this world, we are told we need someone else to make us feel something, to show us good and to make us feel valuable." "why is that you think?" "because we haven't learnt to love ourse...
Lestat: I despise you! I ought to destroy you-finish what I started when I made you. Turn you into ashes and sift them through my hands. You know that I could do it! Like that! Like the snap of mortal fingers, I could do it. Burn you as I burnt your ...
There is a value in repetition. When we repeat certain phrases and even actions, like fingering prayer beads, we create a quiet rhythm within our spirits. The beating of our heart is a repetition as is the rhythm of our breathing. All of life has its...
I'm leaning against the bookshelves when it occurs to me that one thing here is real-the books. I reach behind me and let my fingers trail over the rough leather of their antique spines, then pull one free. Nobody here reads them; the books are for d...
Hide the miles between us Run to me Like you run your Fingers through my hair Desire in every digit, in every touch. Run to me Like rivers run in springtime Filled with renewing love As they do with the melting snow. Fly to me As the birds fly the co...
Shakespeare is getting flyblown; a paternal government might well forbid writing about him, as they put his monument at Stratford beyond the reach of scribbling fingers. With all this buzz of criticism about, one may hazard one's conjectures privatel...
Without emotion, what's the point of being human?
at what point do the rationalizations strip you of your humanity?
Rien ne sert de courir il faut partir à point
If you die, angel, it means I'm already dead.
