All comes down to today

I don’t know what to say, really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives. All comes down to today, and either, we heal as a team, or we’re gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play. Until we’re finished. We’re in hell right now, gentlemen. Believe me. And, we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell… one inch at a time. Now I can’t do it for ya, I’m too old. I look around, I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I’ve made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. I, uh, I’ve pissed away all my money, believe it or not. I chased off anyone who’s ever loved me. And lately, I can’t even stand the face I see in the mirror. You know, when you get old, in life, things get taken from you. I mean, that’s… that’s… that’s a part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losin’ stuff. You find out life’s this game of inches, so is football. Because in either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it. One half second too slow, too fast and you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when add up all those inches, that’s gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing! Between living and dying! I’ll tell you this, in any fight it’s the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I’m gonna have any life anymore it’s because I’m still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that’s what living is, the six inches in front of your face. Now I can’t make you do it. You’ve got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now I think ya going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. Your gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it your gonna do the same for him. That’s a team, gentlemen, and either, we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. That’s football guys, that’s all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?

Any Given Sunday (1999) – Tony D’Amato (Al Pacino)

What will your verse be?

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, „O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.“ That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

–John Keating, Dead Poets Society

Coffee’s for closer’s only

Alec Baldwin: Let me have your attention for a moment. ‘Cause you’re talkin’ about what…you’re talkin’ ’bout…bitchin’ about that sale you shot, some son of a bitch don’t want to buy land, somebody don’t want what you’re selling, some broad you’re trying to screw, so forth, let’s talk about something important. Are they all here?
Kevin Spacey: All but one.
Baldwin: Well, I’m going anyway. Let’s talk about something important. (sees Lemmon pouring coffee). Put that coffee down. Coffee’s for closer’s only. You think I’m fuckin’ with you? I am not funkin’ with you. I’m here from downtown. I’m here from Mitch and Murray. And I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Levine?
Jack Lemmon: Yeah.
Baldwin: You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch.
Ed Harris: I don’t gotta listen to this shit.
Baldwin: You certainly don’t pal ’cause the good news is you’re fired. The bad news is you got all you got, just one week to regain your job, starting with tonight, starting with tonight’s sits. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. ‘Cause we’re adding a little something to this month’s sale contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anybody want to see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is your fired. You get the picture? You laughing now? You got leads. Mitch and Murray paid good money. Get their names to sell them. You can’t close the leads you’re given, you can’t close shit, you are shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it ’cause you are going out.
Lemmon: The leads are weak.
Baldwin: The leads are weak. The fuckin’ leads are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in this business 15 years …
Harris: What’s your name?
Baldwin: Fuck you, that’s my name. You know why mister? Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight, I drove an 80,000 dollar BMW. That’s my name. (To Lemmon) And your name is you’re wanting. You can’t play in the man’s game, you can’t close them? Then go home and tell your wife your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life. Get them to sign on the line which is dotted. You hear me you fuckin’ faggots.
(Flips the blackboard)
ABC. A, Always, B, Be, C, Closing. Always be closing. Always be closing. AIDA. Attention. Interest. Decision. Action. Attention. Do I have your attention? Interest. Are you interested? I know you are ’cause it’s fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks. Decision. Have you made your decision for Christ? And action. AIDA. Get out there. You got the prospects coming in, you think they came in to get out of the rain? A guy don’t walk on the lot lest he wants to buy. They’re sitting out there waiting to give you their money. Are you going to take it? Are you man enough to take it? (To Harris) What’s the problem, pal?
Harris: You, boss, you’re such a hero, you’re so rich, how come you’re coming down here and wasting your time with such a bunch of bums?
Baldwin: You see this watch? You see this watch?
Harris: Yeah.
Baldwin: That watch costs more than your car. I made 970,000 dollars last year, how much you make? You see pal, that’s who I am, and you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father. Fuck you, go home and play with your kids. You want to work here, close. You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cock-sucker. You can’t take this, how can you take the abuse you get on a sit. If you don’t like it, leave. I can go out there tonight, the materials you got, make myself 15,000 dollars. Tonight. In two hours. Can you? Can you?
Go and do likewise. AIDA. Get mad you son-of-a-bitch. Get mad. You know what it takes to sell real-estate? It takes brass balls to sell real estate. Go and do likewise, gents. The money’s out there, you pick it up, it’s yours, you don’t, I got no sympathy for you. You want to go out on those sits tonight and close, close, it’s yours, if not, you’re going to be shining my shoes. And you know what you’ll be saying. Bunch of losers sitting around in a bar: “Oh yeah, I used to be a salesman. It’s a tough racket.“
These are the new leads. These are the Glengarry leads. And to you, they’re gold. And you don’t get them. Why? Because to give them to you is just throwing them away. They’re for closers.  I’d wish you good luck, but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it. (To Harris) And to answer your question, pal: Why am I here? I came here because Mitch and Murray asked me to, they asked me for a favor. I said the real favor, follow my advice and fire your fuckin’ ass because a loser is a loser.

Glengarry Glen Ross

Gone With the Wind

„If you say ‘war’ just once more, I’ll go in the house and shut the door. I’ve never gotten so tired of any one word in my life as ‘war’.“
Scarlett looked at her father in the fading light, and, without knowing why, she found it comforting to be in his presence. There was something vital and earthy and coarse about him that appealed to her. She did not realize that this was because she possessed in some degree the same qualities.
„Some day I’m going to do and to say everything I want to do and say, and if people don’t like it I don’t care. “

Margaret Mitchell – „Gone With the Wind“

Jonathan Trager died last night

Dean: Jonathan Trager, prominent television producer for ESPN, died last night from complications of losing his soul mate and his fiancee. He was 35 years old. Soft-spoken and obsessive, Trager never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of his life, he revealed an unknown side of his psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the Agatha Christie-like pursuit of his long reputed soul mate, a woman whom he only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure. Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Trager secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, its a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Asked about the loss of his dear friend, Dean Kansky, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author and executive editor of the New York Times, described Jonathan as a changed man in the last days of his life. „Things were clearer for him,“ Kansky noted. Ultimately Jonathan concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call „fatum“, what we currently refer to as destiny.

Serendipity (2001)

Let me try not to think.

„There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral–immoral from the scientific point of view.“
„Why?“
„Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly–that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self. Of course, they are charitable. They feed the hungry and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion–these are the two things that govern us. And yet–“
„Just turn your head a little more to the right, Dorian, like a good boy,“ said the painter, deep in his work and conscious only that a look had come into the lad’s face that he had never seen there before.
„And yet,“ continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days, „I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream–I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal– to something finer, richer than the Hellenic ideal, it may be. But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the
self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had
passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have fined you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame–“
„Stop!“ faltered Dorian Gray, „stop! you bewilder me. I don’t know what to say. There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. Don’t speak. Let me think. Or, rather, let me try not to think.“

The Picture of Dorian Gray
Oscar Wilde

To Josephine

In addition to being a brilliant military mind and feared ruler, Napolean Bonaparte (1763 – 1821) was a prolific writer of letters – he reportedly wrote as many as 75,000 letters in his lifetime.

Spring 1797

To Josephine,

I love you no longer; on the contrary, I detest you. you are a wretch, truly perverse, truly stupid, a real Cinderella. You never write to me at all, you do not love your husband; you know the pleasure that your letters give him yet you cannot even manage to write him half a dozen lines, dashed off in a moment! What then do you do all day, Madame? What business is so vital that it robs you of the time to write to your faithful lover? What attachment can be stifling and pushing aside the love, the tender and constant love which you promised him? Who can this wonderful new lover be who takes up your every moment, rules your days and prevents you from devoting your attention to your husband?

Beware, Josephine; one fine night the doors will be broken down and there I shall be. In truth, I am worried, my love, to have no news from you; write me a four page letter instantly made up from those delightful words which fill my heart with emotion and joy. I hope to hold you in my arms before long, when I shall lavish upon you a million kisses, burning as the equatorial sun.

Your move, chief.

Sean Maguire: Thought about what you said to me the other day, about my painting. Stayed up half the night thinking about it. Something occurred to me… fell into a deep peaceful sleep, and haven’t thought about you since. Do you know what occurred to me?
Will Hunting: No.
Sean Maguire: You’re just a kid, you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talkin’ about.
Will Hunting: Why thank you.
Sean Maguire: It’s all right. You’ve never been out of Boston.
Will Hunting: Nope.
Sean Maguire: So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. And I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, „once more unto the breach dear friends.“ But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms „visiting hours“ don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don’t see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared s**tless kid. But you’re a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my f***ing life apart. You’re an orphan right? [Will nods] You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally… I don’t give a s**t about all that, because you know what, I can’t learn anything from you, I can’t read in some f***in’ book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t want to do that do you sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.

– Good Will Hunting

How long…

How long do u have to wait for that special someone to come in your life?Do u have to wait days, weeks, months, or even years? You have no idea, love can strike at anytime, and happen at anyplace!
In a health class room, or in a shopping mall.
Nobody knows how or when it will happen, but when it does. You will know from that very moment on, that you found love and u have love. And when you find it, dont ever let it go! Because if you do, you will think of the what ifs and the could ofs, all the time and never know how you and your love could of been. Hold you love as if you have to hold on to your life! because once you let go, your life is gone! No more extreme happiness, and joy, just average days with no one to share it with! Dont let yourself do that, find the one you truly love and stick with them through the hard and easy , the hurtful and horror, because at the end you will only have two words to say to that one you love

I do.

Kyle Warnock

I lecture on insignificance

Fame is a terminal disease. It screws you up worse than your mom and dad. Somewhere in the late twentieth century the pursuit of fame became a way of life. Suddenly everyone wanted to be fa¬mous. Newscasters, journalists, weather men, astrologers, cooks, interns, even lawyers for God’s sake, everyone went nuts trying to grab their fifteen minutes of fame promised by the pop philosophy of Andy Warhol. It replaced life after death as mankind’s greatest illu¬sion. Fame! You’ll live forever. Fame! Your chance to revenge your parents. Fame! Take that, you nasty kids who were so cruel to me at school. Fame! A chance to screw yourself across the flickering face of history.
Fame, fame, fame, fame, fame.
This syphilis of the soul was caused of course by the arrival of television and the instant attention of the new mass media. If the medium was the message, then the message was crap, for the TV screens were filled from morning to night with a constant twenty-four-hour shit storm. No one was spared. Not presidents, not princes, not popes, not people’s representatives. Knickers off, panties down, coming live at you in ten, nine, eight . . . Kiss and tell, kiss and sell, bug your neighbors, tape your friends, grab an agent and sell, sell, sell. Intimacy? Privacy? Forget it. Notoriety? Shame? No such thing. Fame. That’s the name of the game. Private life was washed away under the tidal wave of freedom of speech. It didn’t matter whether you were famous for murdering a president or inventing a pudding, now fame could travel at the speed of light, everyone was just a sound bite from stardom.
No one remembers the name of the anarchist who started World War One by murdering the archduke in Sarajevo in 1914. Everyone remembers Lee Harvey Oswald. Fame! A rifle shot away. Providing you have television. Fame, the intellectual equivalent of waving at the camera. „Look at me, Ma! I’m here. I’m real. I’m on TV.“ Sad, sick, and deplorable, isn’t it? I mean in the 1990s even agents be¬came famous, for Christ’s sake. And what do we call the famous? Stars! I mean hello. Have we no sense of irony? Look up-look up at the real stars. Billions of them? Billions and billions of the buggers. Don’t we get it? There is no fame. There is no immortality. There is no life after death. There are just millions of tiny grains of sand scraping away at each other. We’re on the planet Ozymandias, peo¬ple! Look on my works ye mighty and despair! The grains of time, grinding away at our insignificance . . . well you get the picture. You’re intelligent. You’ve read this far at least.
But who the fuck are you to lecture us on our insignificance? I hear you ask. Not unreasonably. OK, my name is Reynolds. Given name William. Better known as Bill. Actually, Professor Bill, which is better than William, and much better than the quite awful Billy. And that’s what I do: I lecture on insignificance.

From „The Road to Mars“ by Eric Idle

To be, or not to be

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. – Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.

William Shakespeare

Tribute to Chuck Norris facts

Chuck Norris doesn’t wear a watch, HE decides what time it is.
Chuck Norris counted to infinity – twice.
Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
There is no chin under Chuck Norris’ Beard. There is only another fist.
Guns don’t kill people. Chuck Norris kills People.
Chuck Norris once vacationed in the Virgin Islands. Since then, they are called „The Islands“.
The Dead Sea is so called because Chuck Norris once swam in it.
Kids in college smoke marijuana. Chuck Norris smokes kids…
When Chuck Norris reads a bedtime story you sleep forever.
Chuck Norris does not read books, he stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
Chuck Norris can crush diamonds into liquid form.
A meteor did not kill the dinosaurs, Chuck Norris ate them all.
Lions hunt in groups, Chuck Norris hunt groups of lions alone.
Chuck Norris invented gravity to give himself a challenge
God created the Earth. Chuck Norris created God.
Chuck Norris doesn’t walk on water, he prefers to fly
The bible was originally named „Chuck Norris and friends“
God once said, „Let There Be Light“, and Chuck Norris said „Say Please…“
Chuck Norris has the original signed Bible
Chuck Norris can kick start a car.
Chuck Norris once played Russian roulette with a fully load gun and won.
Chuck Norris is allowed to talk about Fight Club.
Chuck Norris wasn’t born with feet, just boots.
Chuck Norris can clap with one hand.
When an episode of Walker Texas Ranger was aired in France, the French surrendered to Chuck Norris just to be on the safe side.
While urinating, Chuck Norris is easily capable of welding titanium.
Wilt Chamberlain claims to have slept with more than 20,000 women in his lifetime. Chuck Norris calls this „a slow Tuesday.“
Chuck Norris ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, and got one.
Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door.
If, by some incredible space-time paradox, Chuck Norris would ever fight himself, he’d win. Period.
Chuck Norris doesn’t step on toes. Chuck Norris steps on necks.
Chuck Norris can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. At night.
Chuck Norris once kicked a horse in the chin. Its decendants are known today as Giraffes.
When Chuck Norris plays Monopoly, it affects the actual world economy.
Chuck Norris sleeps with a pillow under his gun.
Aliens DO indeed exist. They just know better than to visit a planet that Chuck Norris is on.