[Picard puts his hand on the Phoenix] Captain Jean-Luc Picard: It's a boyhood fantasy... I must have seen this ship hundreds of times in the Smithsonian but I was never able to touch it. Lieutenant Commander Data: Sir, does tactile contact alter your...
Upham: So where are you from, Captain? What'd you do before the war? Captain Miller: What's the pool up to? Upham: [chuckles] Uh... up over three hundred, sir. Captain Miller: Well, when it gets up to five hundred, I'll give you the answers and we'll...
The Terminator: In three years, Cyberdyne will become the largest supplier of military computer systems. All stealth bombers are upgraded with Cyberdyne computers, becoming fully unmanned. Afterwards, they fly with a perfect operational record. The S...
Combo: [Walking with Shaun, Gadget, Meggy and Banjo, noticing three Indian boys playing football in a corner] Look at these little fuckin' sewer rats, look. Fuckin' vermin. Boys! [the boys group together, but Meggy snatches the ball from them] Combo:...
Doug MacRay: Hey, next time you guys wanna take pictures of me, just call ahead. You know, we can do better than a barbecue. A calender shoot... you know, maybe topless, lubed up. Whatever you guys are into. The FBI car antenna's are half inch matte ...
Robert: I say we fight. Solomon Northup: The crew is fairly small. If it were well planned, I believe they could be strong armed. Clemens: Three can't stand against a whole crew. The rest here are niggers, born and bred slaves. Niggers ain't got the ...
Queen Gorgo: I am not here to represent Leonidas; his actions speak louder than my words ever could. I am here for all those voices which cannot be heard: mothers, daughters, fathers, sons - three hundred families that bleed for our rights, and for t...
Robbie Turner: Have you been in touch with your family? Cecilia Tallis: No I told you I wouldn't. Leon waited outside the hospital last week. I just pushed past him. Robbie Turner: Cee, you don't owe me anything. Cecilia Tallis: Robbie didn't you rea...
Telegram Girl: [dancing wildly, while singing in an absurdly high soprano] A-a-a-a-a-a-A-a-a-a-a-a-a-A-a-a-a-a-a-a-A-A! Mrs Ida Lowry requests the pleasure of your COMPANYYYY! At her APARTMENT TONIIIIGHTT! For eight thirtee-EE-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-EE, to M...
I have been in love with painting ever since I became conscious of it at the age of six. I drew some pictures I thought fairly good when I was fifty, but really nothing I did before the age of seventy was of any value at all. At seventy-three I have ...
You can tell a lot about a country by its prisons. In hippy-dippy Socialist Sweden, rapists and murders (all three of them) while away their days making arts and crafts in what are essentially taxpayer-funded mental health clinics. The Swedes’ theo...
Usually, the murmur that rises up from Paris by day is the city talking; in the night it is the city breathing; but here it is the city singing. Listen, then, to this chorus of bell-towers - diffuse over the whole the murmur of half a million people ...
The thing in jazz that will get Bix Beiderbecke out of his bed at two o’clock in the morning, pick that cornet up and practice into the pillow for another two or three hours, or that would make Louis Armstrong travel around the world for fifty plus...
...The discrepancy is that the ethical self should be found immanently in the despair, that the individual won himself by persisting in the despair. True, he has used something within the category of freedom, choosing himself, which seem to remove th...
Húrin soon marked that Túrin did not wear the knife, and he asked him whether his warning had made him fear it. Then Túrin answered: ‘No; but I gave the knife to Sador the woodwright.’ ‘Do you then scorn your father’s gift?’ said Morwen;...
When we are meditating in a haunted graveyard, or even in our rooms, frightening external and internal appearances may arise during Chöd practice. If this happens, check the two 'superstitions'—the external, frightening appearance, and the interna...
History, lie of our lives, mire of our loins. Our sins, our souls. Hiss-tih-ree: the tip of the pen taking a trip of three steps (with one glide) down the chronicle to trap a slick, sibilant character. Hiss. (Ss.) Tih. Ree. He was a pig, a plain pig,...
With that Nox turned a knob. There was a delay, but that was how the machine worked. First it gathered information about the subject, feeling, sensing—like a fighter in a ring, circling his opponent. Kaleb sensed it, too. It was as if a doctor palp...
She was a woman with a broom or a dust- pan or a washrag or a mixing spoon in her hand. You saw her cutting piecrust in the morning, humming to it, or you saw her setting out the baked pies at noon or taking them in, cool, at dusk. She rang porcelain...
There’s one kind of writing that’s always easy: Picking out something obviously stupid and reiterating how stupid it obviously is. This is the lowest form of criticism, easily accomplished by anyone. And for most of my life, I have tried to avoid...
The bistro was his secret weapon in tracking down murderers. Not just in Three Pines, but in every town and village in Quebec. First he found a comfortable café or brasserie, or bistro, then he found the murderer. Because Armand Gamache knew somethi...
