to air, 9 December 2003
Are they the lucky ones? That's what you're thinking, isn't it? We're a long way from home. We've jumped way beyond the Red Line, into uncharted space. Limited supplies, limited fuel. No allies, and now, no hope? Maybe it would have been better for us to have died quickly, back on the Colonies with our families, instead of dying out here slowly, in the emptiness of dark space. Where shall we go? What shall we do? Life here began out there. Those are the first words of the sacred scrolls, and they were told to us by the Lords of Kobol, many countless centuries ago. And they made it perfectly clear that we are not alone in this universe. Elosha, there's a 13th colony of humankind, is there not?
Elosha:
Yes. The scrolls tell us a 13th tribe left Kobol in the early days. They travelled far and made their home upon a planet called Earth, which circled a distant and unknown star.
It's not unknown. I know where it is! Earth. The most guarded secret we have. The location was only known by the senior commanders of the fleet, and we dare not share it with the public. Not while there was a Cylon threat upon us. For now we have a refuge to go to. A refuge the Cylons know nothing about. It won't be an easy journey. It'll be long, and arduous. But I promise you one thing: on the memory of those lying here before you, we shall find it, and Earth shall become our new home. So say we all!
Cara Gee (by Hallie Lambert): 'Wer are The Belt. We are the strong', The Expanse, S3E9, Intransigence, Drummer's speech - 2015
to air, 6 June 2018, USA
This is your ship. This is your moment. You may think that you are scared. But you are not. That is your sharpness. That’s your power. We are Belters. Nothing in the world is foreign to us. The place we go is the place we belong. This is no different. No one has more right to this. None more prepared. Inulada go through the ring. Call it there own. But a Belter opened it. We are The Belt. We are strong. We are sharp and we don’t feel fear. This moment belongs to us. For Beltalowada!
Will Arnett (by Raphael Bob-Waksberg): '"I just got a free churro because my mom died", Bojack Horseman - 2018
to air 14 September 2018, USA
So I stopped at a Jack in the Box on the way here, and the girl behind the counter said, “Hiya! Are you having an awesome day?” Not, “How are you doing today?” No. “Are you having an awesome day?” Which is pretty… shitty, because it puts the onus on me to disagree with her, like if I’m not having an “awesome day,” suddenly I’m the negative one.
Usually when people ask how I’m doing, the real answer is I’m doing shitty, but I can’t say I’m doing shitty because I don’t even have a good reason to be doing shitty. So if I say, “I’m doing shitty,” then they say, “Why? What’s wrong?” And I have to be like, “I don’t know, all of it?” So instead, when people ask how I’m doing, I usually say, “I am doing so great.”
But when this girl at the Jack in the Box asked me if I was having an awesome day, I thought, “Well, today I’m actually allowed to feel shitty.” Today I have a good reason, so I said to her, “Well, my mom died,” and she immediately burst into tears. So now I have to comfort her, which is annoying, and meanwhile, there’s a line of people forming behind me who are all giving me these real judgy looks because I made the Jack in the Box girl cry. And she’s bawling, and she’s saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and I’m like, “It’s fine. It’s fine.” I mean, it’s not fine but, you know, it’s… fine. And I would like to order a Double Jack Meal, and I’ve kinda got somewhere to be, so maybe less with the crying and more with the frying, huh? [inhales] And the girl apologizes again and she offers me a free churro with my meal. And as I’m leaving, I think, “I just got a free churro because my mom died.” No one ever tells you that when your mom dies, you get a free churro.
[people murmuring]
[clears throat]
Anyway, I’m sorry, that’s not part of the… [clears throat] All right. Okay, here we go. Let’s do this. Here I am, BoJack Horseman, doing a eulogy, let’s go. Hey, piano man, can I get a, like an organ flourish? [organ plays] Nicely done. You know, I was a little worried I wouldn’t have the right accompaniment today. I guess it’s a good thing my mom was an organ donor! [rimshot plays] What happened to the organ? [horn ‘oogahs’] Okay, why just leave the comedy to the professionals? Okay? This is a funeral, sir, for my mother. Can you show a little respect? [trumpet whines] I’ll take it.
Beatrice Horseman, who was she? What was her deal? Well, she was a horse. Uh, she was born in 1938. She died in 2018. One time, she went to a parade, and one time, she smoked an entire cigarette in one long inhale. I watched her do it. Truly a remarkable woman.
[rustling]
Lived a full life, that lady. Just, all the way to the end, which is, uh, now I guess. Really makes you think, though, huh? Life, right? Goes by, stuff happens. Then you die. Okay, well that’s my time, you’ve been great! Tip your waitress! No, I’m just kidding around, there’s no waitress. But seriously, that’s all I have to say about my mother. No point beating a dead horse, right? So…
[inhales] Now what? I don’t know. Mom, you got any ideas? Anything? Mom? No? Nothing to contribute? Knock once if you’re proud of me.
Can I just say how amazing it is to be in a room with my mother, and I can just talk and talk without her telling me to shut up and make her a drink? Hey, Mom, knock once if you think I should shut up. No? You sure? I mean, I don’t want to embarrass you by making this eulogy into a me-logy, so, seriously, if you wanted me to sit down and let someone else talk, just knock. I will not be offended. No? Your funeral.
Sorry about the closed casket, by the way. She wanted an open casket, but uh, you know, she’s dead now, so who cares what she wanted? No, that sounds bad. I’m sorry. I-I think that if she could’ve seen what she looked like dead, she’d agree it’s better this way. She looked like this.
[groaning]
[mourners gasping]
Kinda like a pissed-off toy dinosaur. The coroner couldn’t get her eyes closed, so now her face is forever frozen in a mask of tremendous horror and anguish. Or as my mom called it, Tuesday! Tuesday! My mom called it Tuesday.
[woman coughs]
Hey, Mom, what did you think of that joke? You like that? You never did care for my comedy.
[clears throat]
Here’s a story. When I was a teenager, I performed a comedy routine for my high school talent show. There was this, uh, cool jacket that I wanted to wear because I thought it would make me look like Albert Brooks. For months, I saved up for this jacket. But when I finally had enough, I went to the store and it was gone. They had just sold it to someone else. So, I went home and I told my mother, and she said, “Let that be a lesson. That’s the good that comes from wanting things.” She was really good at dispensing life lessons that always seemed to circle back to everything being my fault.
But then, on the day of the talent show, my mother had a surprise for me. She had bought me the jacket. Even though she didn’t know how to say it, I know this meant that she loved me.
Now that’s a good story about my mother. It’s not true, but it’s a good story, right? I stole it from an episode of Maude I saw when I was a kid, where she talks about her father. I remember when I saw it, thinking, “That’s the kind of story I want to tell about my parents when they die.” But I don’t have any stories like that. All I know about being good, I learned from TV. And in TV, flawed characters are constantly showing people they care with these surprising grand gestures. And I think that part of me still believes that’s what love is. But in real life, the big gesture isn’t enough. You need to be consistent, you need to be dependably good. You can’t just screw everything up and then take a boat out into the ocean to save your best friend, or solve a mystery, and fly to Kansas. You need to do it every day, which is so… hard.
When you’re a kid, you convince yourself that maybe the grand gesture could be enough, that even though your parents aren’t what you need them to be over and over and over again, at any moment, they might surprise you with something… wonderful. I kept waiting for that, the proof that even though my mother was a hard woman, deep down, she loved me and cared about me and wanted me to know that I made her life a little bit brighter. Even now, I find myself waiting.
Hey, Mom, knock once if you love me and care about me and want me to know I made your life a little bit brighter.
[owl chirping]
My mother did not go gentle into that good night. She went clawing and fighting and thrashing, hence the face.
[groaning]
[mourners gasping]
If you’d seen her, I swear to God the only thing you’d be thinking about right now is that I am nailing this impression.
[woman clears her throat]
[chairs squeak]
I was in the hospital with her those last moments, and they were truly horrifying, full of nonsencial screams and cries, but there was this moment, this one instant of strange calm, where she looked in my direction and said, “I see you.” That’s the last thing she said to me. “I see you.” Not a statement of judgment or disappointment, just acceptance and the simple recognition of another person in a room. “Hello there. You are a person. And I see you.”
Let me tell you, it’s a weird thing to feel at 54 years old, that for the first time in your life your mother sees you. It’s an odd realization that that’s the thing you’ve been missing, the only thing you wanted all along, to be seen. And it doesn’t feel like a relief, to finally be seen. It feels mean, like, “Oh, it turns out that you knew what I wanted, and you waited until the very last moment to give it to me.” I was prepared for more cruelty. I was sure that she would get in one final zinger about how I let her down, and about how I was fat and stupid and too tall to be an effective Lindy-hopper. How I was needy and a burden and an embarrassment—all that I was ready for. I was not ready for “I see you.” Only my mother would be lousy enough to swipe me with a moment of connection on her way out. But maybe I’m giving her too much credit. Maybe it wasn’t about connection. Maybe it was a… maybe it was an “I see you,” like, uh, “I see you.” Like, “You might have the rest of the world fooled, but I know exactly who you are.” That’s more my mom’s speed.
Or maybe she just literally meant “I see you. You are an object that has entered my field of vision.” She was pretty out of it at the end, so maybe it’s dumb to try to attribute it to anything.
[woman sighs]
Back in the 90s, I was in a very famous TV show called Horsin’ Around.
[man coughs]
Please hold your applause. And I remember one time, a fan asked me, “Hey, um, you know that episode where the horse has to give Ethan a pep talk after Ethan finds out his crush only asked him to the dance because her friends were having a dorkiest date contest? In all the shots of the horse, you can see a paper coffee cup on the kitchen counter, but in the shots of Ethan, the coffee cup’s missing. Was that because the show was making a statement about the fluctuant subjectivity of memory and how even two people can experience the same moment in entirely different ways?” And I didn’t have the heart to be, like, “No, man, some crew guy just left their coffee cup in the shot.” So instead, I was, like… “Yeah.”
And maybe this is like that coffee cup. Maybe we’re dumb to try to pin significance onto every little thing. Maybe when someone says, “I see you,” it just means, “I see you.” Then again, it’s possible she wasn’t even talking to me because, if I’m being honest, she wasn’t really looking at me. She was looking just past me. There was nobody else in the room, so I want to think she was talking to me, but, honestly, she was so far gone at that point, who knows what she was seeing? Who were you talking to, Mom? [sighs] Not saying, huh? Staying mum? No rimshot there? God, whatever I’m paying you, it’s too much.
Maybe she saw my dad. My dad died about ten years ago of injuries he sustained during a duel. When your father dies, you ask yourself a lot of questions. Questions like, “Wait, did you say he died in a duel?” and “Who dies in a duel?” The whole thing was so stupid. Dad spent his entire life writing this book, but he couldn’t get any stores to carry it or any newspapers to review it. Finally, I guess this one newspaper thought he was pretty hilarious, because they ran a review and tore him to shreds. So my father, ever the proud Mary, decided he would not stand for this besmirchment of his honor. He claimed the critic didn’t understand what it meant to be a man, so he demanded satisfaction in the form of pistols at dawn. He wrote the paper this letter, saying anyone who didn’t like his book, he would challenge to a duel, anyone in the world. He’d even pay for airfare to San Francisco and a night in a hotel. Well, eventually this found its way to some kook in Montana, who was as batshit as he was and took him up on the offer. They met at Golden Gate Park and agreed: ten paces, then shoot. But in the middle of the ten paces, Dad turned to ask the guy if he’d actually read the book and what he thought, but, not looking where he was going, tripped over an exposed root and bashed his head on a rock.
[murmur]
I wish I’d known to go to Jack in the Box then. Maybe I could have gotten a free churro. It would’ve been nice to have something to show for being the son of Butterscotch Horseman. My darling mother gave the eulogy. My entire life I never heard her say a kind word to or about my father, but at his funeral she said, “My husband is dead, and everything is worse now.”
“My husband is dead, and everything is worse now.” I don’t know why she said that. Maybe she felt like that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say at a funeral. Maybe she hoped one day someone would say that about her. “My mother is dead, and everything is worse now.” Or maybe she knew that he had frittered away all her inheritance, and replaced it with crippling debt, which is a pretty shitty thing to leave your widow with. “Bad news, you lost a husband, but don’t worry, you also lost the house!” Maybe Mom knew she’d have to sell all her fancy jewelry and move into a home. Maybe that’s what she meant by “everything is worse now.” Is that what you meant, Mom?
I gotta say, I’m really carrying this double act. At least with Penn and Teller, the quiet one does card tricks. Hey, piano man, when I say something funny to my mom, how about you give me one of those rimshots?
[rimshot plays]
Yeah, but not now. When I say something funny. Like, okay. What’s the difference between my mother and a disruptive expulsion of germs? One’s a coughin’ fit and the other fits a coffin! That’s an example of a funny thing.
[rimshot plays]
Thank you. Let’s try again. Hey, Mom. What’s the difference between my mother and a bunch of Easter eggs? One gets carried in a basket, the other gets buried in a casket!
[rimshot plays]
Ready for one more? Last one. What’s the difference between a first-year lit major and my mother, Beatrice Horseman? One is decently read, and the other’s a huge bitch!
[woman gasps]
[murmurs]
Yeah, might have gone a little too far with that one. That one might’ve been a little too “my mom’s a huge bitch” for the room. I’m sorry, Mother. You’re not a huge bitch. You were a huge bitch… and now you’re dead.
[woman sighs]
You know, the first time I ever performed in front of an audience, it actually was, uh, with my mom. She used to put on these shows with her supper club in the living room and she used to make… [inhales] She used to make me sing “The Lollipop Song.”
[organ playing tune]
Those parties, they were really something. There were skits and magic acts, and ethnically insensitive vaudeville routines, and the big finale was always a dance my mother did. She had this beautiful dress that she only brought out for these parties, and she did this incredible number. It was so beautiful and sad. Dad hated the parties. He’d lock himself in the study, and bang on the walls for us to keep it down, but he always came out to see Mom dance. He’d linger in the doorway, scotch in hand, and watch in awe, as this cynical, despicable woman he married… took flight. And as a child who was completely terrified of both my parents, I was always aware that this moment of grace, it meant something. We understood each other in a way. Me and my mom and my dad, as screwed up as we all were, we did understand each other. My mother, she knew what it’s like to feel your entire life like you’re drowning, with the exception of these moments, these very rare, brief instances, in which you suddenly remember… you can swim.
[flashback]
[partygoers laughing]
[classical music playing]
But then again, mostly not. Mostly you’re drowning. She understood that, too. And she recognized that I understood it. And Dad. All three of us were drowning, and we didn’t know how to save each other, but there was an understanding that we were all drowning together. And I would like to think that that’s what she meant when we were in the hospital and she said, “I see you.”
You know, the weird thing about both your parents being dead is it means that you’re next. I mean, you know, obviously it’s not like there’s a waitlist for dying. Any one of us could get run over by a Snapchatting teen at any moment. And you would think that knowing that would make us more adventurous, and kind, and forgiving. But it makes us small, and stupid, and petty.
I actually had a near-death experience recently. A stunt went bad and I fell off a building. I’m an actor, I do my own stunts. I’m on this new show Philbert. I’m Philbert. Star of the show. It hasn’t come out yet, but it’s already getting Emmy buzz. Oh, speaking of buzz… [inhales] I’m supposed to take two of these every morning, but my days are so screwed up ‘cause of the shooting schedule, I don’t even know what morning means anymore. There’s a joke in there somewhere, about a guy who’s been to so many funerals, he doesn’t even know what mourning means anymore. Let you guys figure that one out for yourselves. [gulps]
Anyway, you know what I thought, when I was falling off the building and I went into panic mode? The last thing that my stupid brain could come up with before I died? “Won’t they be sorry.” Cool thought, brain.
[rimshot plays]
No, that wasn’t… would you just… dial it back, all right?
I don’t even know what “they” I wanted to be sorry. My mom, even before she died, could barely remember who I was. And of course, my dad’s dead. The last conversation I ever had with him was about his novel. He was so certain this book was his legacy. Maybe he thought it would vindicate him for all the shitty things he ever did in his stupid worthless life. Maybe it did, I don’t know. I never read it, because why would I give him that?
I used to be on this TV show called Horsin’ Around. Seriously, though, hold your applause.
[man coughs]
Well held. It was written by my friend Herb Kazzaz, who’s also dead now, and it starred this little girl named Sarah Lynn. And it was about these orphans. And early on, the network had a note, “Maybe don’t mention they’re orphans so much, because audiences tend to find orphans sad and not relatable.” But I never thought that the orphans were sad. I-I always thought they were lucky, because they could imagine their parents to be anything they wanted. They had something to long for.
Anyway, we did this one season finale, where Olivia’s birth mother comes to town. And she was a junkie, but she’s gotten herself cleaned up, and she wants to be in Olivia’s life again. And of course, she’s like a perfect grown-up version of Olivia, and they go to the mall together and get her ears pierced like she’s always wanted and—sorry, spoiler alert for the season six finale of Horsin’ Around, if you’re still working your way through it. Anyway, the horse tries to warn her, “Be careful, moms have a way of letting you down.” But Olivia just thinks the horse is jealous, and when the mom says she’s moving to California, Olivia decides to go with her. And the network really juiced the cliffhanger: “Is Olivia gone for good?” But of course, because it’s a TV show, she was not gone for good. Of course, because it’s a TV show, Olivia’s mother had a relapse and had to go back to rehab, so Olivia had to hitchhike all the way home, getting rides from Mr. T, Alf, and the cast of Stomp. Of course, that’s what happened. Because, what are you gonna do, just not have Olivia on the show? You can’t have happy endings in sitcoms, not really, because, if everyone’s happy, the show would be over, and above all else, the show… has to keep going. There’s always more show. And you can call Horsin’ Around dumb, or bad, or unrealistic, but there is nothing more realistic than that. You never get a happy ending, ‘cause there’s always more show.
I guess until there isn’t.
[chuckles]
My mom would hate it if she knew that I spent so much time at her funeral talking about my old TV show. Or maybe she’d think it was funny that her idiot son couldn’t even do this right. Who knows? She left no instructions for what she wanted me to say. All I know is she wanted an open casket, and her idiot son couldn’t even do that right. I’m not gonna stand up here and pretend I ever understood how to please that woman, even though so much of my life has been wasted in vain attempts to figure it out. But I keep going back to that moment in the ICU when she looked at me, and… “I-C-U.”
“I… see… you.” Jesus Christ, we were in the intensive care unit. She was just reading a sign. My mom died and all I got was this free churro.
You know the shittiest thing about all of this? Is when that stranger behind the counter gave me that free churro, that small act of kindness showed more compassion than my mother gave me her entire goddamn life. Like, how hard is it to do something nice for a person? This woman at the Jack in the Box didn’t even know me. I’m your son! All I had was you! [inhales]
I have this friend. And right around when I first met her, her dad died, and I actually went with her to the funeral. And months later, she told me that she didn’t understand why she was still upset, because she never even liked her father. It made sense to me, because I went through the same thing when my dad died. And I’m going through the same thing now. You know what it’s like? It’s like that show Becker, you know, with Ted Danson? I watched the entire run of that show, hoping that it would get better, and it never did. It had all the right pieces, but it just—it couldn’t put them together. And when it got canceled, I was really bummed out, not because I liked the show, but because I knew it could be so much better, and now it never would be. And that’s what losing a parent is like. It’s like Becker.
Suddenly, you realize you’ll never have the good relationship you wanted, and as long as they were alive, even though you’d never admit it, part of you, the stupidest goddamn part of you, was still holding on to that chance. And you didn’t even realize it until that chance went away.
My mother is dead, and everything is worse now, because now I know I will never have a mother who looks at me from across a room and says, “BoJack Horseman, I see you.” But I guess it’s good to know. It’s good to know that there is nobody looking out for me, that there never was, and there never will be. No, it’s good to know that I am the only one that I can depend on. And I know that now and it’s good. It’s good that I know that. So… it’s good my mother is dead.
[gulps, sighs]
Well. No point beating a dead horse. Beatrice Horseman was born in 1938, and she died in 2018, and I have no idea… what she wanted. Unless she just wanted what we all want… to be seen.
Is this Funeral Parlor B?
Christopher Evan Welch (by Charlie Kaufman): 'Everything is more complicated than you think', Funeral Monologue from Synecdoche, New YorK - 2008
To air, 23 May 2008, USA
You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is. It's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to, but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is, I feel so angry, and the truth is, I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is, I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why. Maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.
Andrew Scott (by Phoebe Walter-Bridge): 'Love is awful, it's painful'. Priest's speech, Fleabag finale - 2019
to air 8 April 2019
Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.
Robert Sheehan (by Howard Overman): 'We f*cked up bigger and better than any generation that came before us', Nathan's speech, Misfits - 2009
to air 17 December 2009, United Kingdom
She's got you thinking this is how you're supposed to be. Well, it's not! We're young. We're supposed to drink too much. We're supposed to have bad attitudes and shag each other's brains out. We are designed to party. This is it. Yeah, so a few of us will overdose or go mental. But Charles Darwin said you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And that's what it's all about - breaking eggs! And by eggs, I do mean, getting twatted on a cocktail of Class A's. If you could just see yourselves! It breaks my heart. You're wearing cardigans! We had it all. We fucked up bigger and better than any generation that came before us. We were so beautiful! We're screw-ups. I'm a screw-up and I plan to be a screw-up until my late 20s, maybe even my early 30s. And I will shag my own mother before I let her... or anyone else, take that away from me!
William Shatner (by Gene Roddenberry): 'Risk is our business', Star Trek - Return to Tomorrow - 1968
to air 9 February 1968, USA
They used to say if man could fly, he'd have wings. But he did fly. He discovered he had to. Do you wish that the first Apollo mission hadn't reached the moon, or that we hadn't gone on to Mars and then to the nearest star? That's like saying you wish that you still operated with scalpels and sewed your patients up with catgut like your great-great-great-great-grandfather used to. I'm in command. I could order this. But I'm not because, Doctor McCoy is right in pointing out the enormous danger potential in any contact with life and intelligence as fantastically advanced as this. But I must point out that the possibilities, the potential for knowledge and advancement is equally great. Risk. Risk is our business. That's what the starship is all about. That's why we're aboard her. You may dissent without prejudice. Do I hear a negative vote?
Kyle Chandler (by Peter Berg): 'We will all fall', Friday Night Lights S01E01 - 2006
Aired 14 February 2006
Give all of us gathered here tonight the strength to remember that life is so very fragile. We are all vulnerable. And we will all, at some point in our lives... fall. We will all fall. We must carry this in our hearts... that what we have is special. That it can be taken from us... and that when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls. We will now all be tested. It is these times... it is this pain... that allows us to look inside ourselves.
Ian McShane (by Ricky Jay): 'I don't look f+cking backwards', Deadwood S01E11 - 2004
air date, 6 June 2004
Now, I see what the fuck's in front of me, and I don't pretend it's somethin' else. I was fuckin' her and now I'm gonna fuck you, if you don't piss me off or open your yap at the wrong fuckin' time. The only time you're to open - you're supposed to open your yap is so I can put my fuckin' prick in it. Otherwise, you shut the fuck up. Now, hold onto that, huh? (Hands bottle over) Point is, the minister's gotta fuckin' die. I mean, that's the—that's the fuckin' point. He's gonna die sooner or later I mean, he's makin' a fuckin' jerk of himself, and, I mean, well, why—why go on with that? Who's—who's gonna benefit from that, huh? No, you just gotta kill it and put an end to it. You -- you don't linger on about it, you don't fuckin' go around weepin' about it, and you don't, you know, behave like a kid with a sore thumb, you know, a loco suckin' it, now "mmm, my poor fucking thumb!" I mean, you—you gotta behave like a grown fuckin' man, huh? You gotta shut the fuck up. Don't be sorry, don't look fuckin' back, because, believe me, no one gives a fuck. You understand? (Whore: Yeah) You shut the fuck up, huh? Gimme that! (Grabs bottle) Hey, you suck my dick and shut the fuck up, huh? Come here. Come on. Now then, here. The place where I found you, huh, is where this warrant's from. Could you believe that I may have stuck a knife in someone's guts 12 hours before you got on the wagon we headed out for fuckin' Laramie in? No! Because I don't look fuckin' backwards. I do what I have to do and go on. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, what? You got a stagecoach to catch or somethin', huh? Slow the fuck up. Did you know the orphanage part of the building you lived in, behind it, she ran a whorehouse, huh? Oh, so you knew? So, so what are you fuckin' lookin' at then, huh? God. Now, I'll tell you somethin' you don't know. Before she ran a girls orphanage, fat Mrs. Fucking Anderson ran the boys orphanage on fucking Euclid avenue, as I would see her fat ass waddling out the boys dormitory at 5 o'clock in the fucking mornin', every fuckin' morning she blew her stupid fuckin' cowbell and woke us all the fuck up. And my fuckin' mother dropped me the fuck off there with 7 dollars and 60 some odd fuckin' cents on her way to suckin' cock in... in Georgia. And I didn't get to count the fuckin' cents before the fuckin' door opened, and there, Mrs. Fat Ass Fuckin' Anderson, who sold you to me. I had to give her 7 dollars and 60 odd fuckin' cents that my mother shoved in my fuckin' hand before she hammered 1,2,3,4 times on the fuckin' door and scurried off down fuckin' Euclid Avenue , probably 30 fuckin' years before you were fuckin' born. Then around Cape Horn and up to San Francisco, where she probably became Mayor or some other type success story, unless by some fucking chance she wound up as a ditch for fuckin' cum. Now, fucking go faster, hmm? (grunting) Okay, go ahead and spit it out. You don't need to swallow. You just spit it out. Mmm. Anyways.
Rob Lowe (by Aaron Sorkin): "Education is the silver bullet', The West Wing S01E18 - 2000
Episode aired 5 April 2000, USA
Mallory, education is the silver bullet. Education is everything. We don't need little changes, we need gigantic, monumental changes. Schools should be palaces. The competition for the best teachers should be fierce. They should be making six-figure salaries. Schools should be incredibly expensive for government and absolutely free of charge to its citizens, just like national defense. That's my position. I just haven't figured out how to do it yet.
Ray Liotta (by Phil Alden Robinson): 'Man, I did love this game', Field of Dreams - 1989
Released 5 May 1989, USA
Shoeless Joe Jackson:
Man, I did love this game. I'd have played for food money. It was the game... The sounds, the smells. Did you ever hold a ball or a glove to your face?
Ray Kinsella:
Yeah.
Shoeless Joe Jackson:
I used to love travelling on the trains from town to town. The hotels... brass spittoons in the lobbies, brass beds in the rooms. It was the crowd, rising to their feet when the ball was hit deep. Shoot, I'd play for nothing!
Jack Black (by Mike White): 'The word is run by The Man!', School of Rock - 2003
released 3 October 2003, USA
Give up, just quit, because in this life, you can’t win. Yeah, you can try, but in the end you’re just gonna lose, big time, because the world is run by the Man. The Man, oh, you don’t know the Man. He’s everywhere. In the White House… down the hall… Ms. Mullins, she’s the Man. And the Man ruined the ozone, he’s burning down the Amazon, and he kidnapped Shamu and put her in a chlorine tank! And there used to be a way to stick it to the Man. It was called rock ‘n roll, but guess what, oh no, the Man ruined that, too, with a little thing called MTV! So don’t waste your time trying to make anything cool or pure or awesome ’cause the Man is just gonna call you a fat washed up loser and crush your soul. So do yourselves a favor and just GIVE UP!
Meryl Streep (by Kurt Luedtke) : 'He was not mine', eulogy from 'Out of Africa' - 1985
Released 20 December 1985, USA
Now take back the soul of Denys George Finch-Hatton whom you have shared with us. He brought us joy. We loved him well. He was not ours. He was not mine.
Bruce Boxleitner and Andreas Katsulas (By J. Michael Straczynski): 'We are one', Babylon 5 The Paragon of Animals - 1998
Aired 4 February 1998
Preamble: ISA Declaration of Principles (First Edition)
The universe speaks in many languages, but only one voice.
The language is not Narn, or Human, or Centauri, or Gaim or Minbari. It speaks in the language of hope. It speaks in the language of trust. It speaks in the language of strength and the language of compassion.
It is the language of the heart and the language of the soul.
But always it is the same voice. It is the voice of our ancestors, speaking through us, And the voice of our inheritors, waiting to be born. It is the small, still voice that says, ‘We are one’.
No matter the blood.
No matter the skin.
No matter the world.
No matter the star:
We are one.
No matter the pain.
No matter the darkness.
No matter the loss.
No matter the fear
We are one.
Here, gathered together in common cause, we agree to recognize this singular truth and this singular rule: That we must be kind to one anothe>
Because each voice enriches us and ennobles us and each voice lost diminishes us.
We are the voice of the Universe, the soul of creation, the fire that will light the way to a better future.
We are one.
Gladys Spencer (by Robert Holmes): 'You stand now at the dawn of a new age', Doctor Who, The Ark in Space Part 3 - 1975
Aired 8 February 1975
starts at 0.37
Hello, Space Station Nerva. This is the Earth High Minister. The fact that you are hearing my voice in a message recorded thousands of years before the day in which you are now living, is a sure sign that our great undertaking, the salvation of the human race, has been rewarded with success.
WOMAN [OC]: You have slept longer than the recorded history of mankind, and you stand now at the dawn of a new age. You will return to an Earth purified by flame, a world that we cannot guess at. If it be arid, you must make it flourish. If it be stony, you must make it fertile. The challenge is vast, the task enormous, but let nothing daunt you.
HARRY: Sounds like a sort of pre-match pep talk.
WOMAN [OC]: Remember, citizen volunteers, that you are the proud standard bearers of our entire race. Of the millions that walk the world today, you are the chosen survivors. You have been entrusted with a sacred duty, to see that human culture, human knowledge, human love and faith, shall never perish from the universe.
(Noah smashes his green appendage against the console, trying to kill the alien thing.)
WOMAN [OC]: Guard what we have given you with all your strength. And now, across the chasm of the years, I send you the prayers and hopes of the entire world. God speed you to a safe landing.
(Vira returns to her duty.)
John Belushi: 'Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?', Bluto's Big Speech - 1980
Released 28 July 1978 (USA)
D-Day (Bruce McGill): "War's over, man. Wormer dropped the big one
Bluto: What? Over? Did you say 'over'? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!...
It ain't over now, 'cause when the goin' gets tough, the tough get goin'. Who's with me? Let's go! Come on!...(He ran to the front door but no one followed him)
Bluto (returning): What the f--k happened to the Delta I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts, huh? This could be the greatest night of our lives, but you're gonna let it be the worst. 'Ooh, we're afraid to go with you, Bluto, we might get in trouble.' (shouting) Well, just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I'm not gonna take this. Wormer, he's a dead man! Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer...
Otter (Tim Matheson): Dead! Bluto's right. Psychotic, but absolutely right. We gotta take these bastards. Now, we could fight 'em with conventional weapons. That could take years and cost millions of lives. No, in this case, I think we have to go all out. I think this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part.
We're just the guys to do it...LET'S DO IT!
Gene Hackman (by Angelo Pizzo): 'Don't get caught up thinking about winning or loosing this game'. Coach Dale pre game address, 'Hoosiers' - 1986
Released (USA) 27 February 1987
Coach Norman Dale introduces 1953-54 Hickory High School Hustlers
Coach Dale: There's a tradition in tournament play to not talk about the next step until you've climbed the one in front of you. I'm sure going to the State finals is beyond your wildest dreams, so let's just keep it right there.
Forget about the crowds, the size of the school, their fancy uniforms, and remember what got you here. Focus on the fundamentals that we've gone over time and time again.
And most important, don't get caught up thinking about winning or loosing this game. If you put your effort and concentration into playing to your potential, to be the best that you can be, I don't care what the scoreboard says at the end of the game, in my book we're gonna be winners!
Okay?!!
[Players begin to clap up motivation]
Alright!!
Let's go!!
Let's go!!
Let me hear it!!!
Sarah Michelle Gellar (by Joss Whedon): 'So I say we change the rule', 'Chosen', Buffy the Vampire Slayer - 2003
Aired 20 May 2003, USA
I hate this. I hate being here. I hate that you have to be here. I hate that there's evil and that I was chosen to fight it. I wish a whole lot of the time that I hadn't been. I know a lot of you wish I hadn't been, either. This isn't about wishes. This is about choices. I believe we can beat this evil. Not when it comes. Not when its army is ready. Now. Tomorrow morning, I'm opening the seal. I'm going down into the Hellmouth and I am finishing this once and for all. Right now, you're asking yourself what makes this different. What makes us anything more than a bunch of girls being picked off one by one? It's true. None of you have the power that Faith and I do.
So here's the part where you make a choice. What if you could have that power, now? In every generation, one Slayer is born, because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule. They were powerful men. This woman is more powerful than all of them combined. So I say we change the rule. I say my power, should be *our* power. Tomorrow, Willow will use the essence of this scythe to change our destiny. From now on, every girl in the world who might be a Slayer, will be a Slayer. Every girl who could have the power, will have the power. Can stand up, will stand up. Slayers, every one of us. Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?
Roseanne Barr: 'I learned that dreams don't work without action', Closing Monologue 'Into That Good Night Pt2' - 1997
Final episode aired 20 May 1997, USA
Everyone wonders where creative people get their inspiration.
Actually, I've found it's all around you. Take Leon for instance... Leon is not really as cool as I made him. He's the only gay guy I know who belongs to the Elk's Club... Then there's Scott. He really is a probate lawyer I met about a year ago and introduced to Leon. I guess I didn't get too creative there...
A lot of kids have called my son a nerd but, as I told him, they called Steven Spielberg a nerd too. A lot of times nerds are really artists who just listen to the beat of a different drum...
My mom came from a generation where women were supposed to be submissive about everything. I never bought into that, and I wish mom hadn't either. I wish she had made different choices. So I think that's why I made her gay. I wanted her to have some sense of herself as a woman... Oh yeah, and she's nuts...
My sister, in real life, unlike my mother, is gay. She always told me she was gay, but for some reason, I always pictured her with a man. She's been my rock, and I would not have made it this far without her. I guess Nancy's kind of my hero too... Cause she got out of a terrible marriage and found a great spiritual strength. I don't know what happened to that husband of hers but in my book I sent him into outer space...
When Becky brought David home a few years ago I thought, "This is wrong!" He was much more Darlene's type... When Darlene met Mark, I thought he went better with Becky... I guess I was wrong. But I still think they'd be more compatible the other way around. So in my writing, I did what any good mother would do. I fixed it...
I lost Dan last year when he had his heart attack. He's still the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. I miss him... Dan and I always felt that it was our responsibility as parents to improve the lives of our children by 50% over our own. And we did. We didn't hit our children as we were hit, we didn't demand their unquestioning silence, and we didn't teach our daughters to sacrifice more than our sons. As a modern wife, I walked a tight rope between tradition and progress, and usually, I failed, by one outsider's standards or another's. But I figured out that neither winning nor losing count for women like they do for men. We women are the one's who transform everything we touch. And nothing on earth is higher than that.
My writing's really what got me through the last year after Dan died. I mean at first I felt so betrayed as if he had left me for another women. When you're a blue-collar woman and your husband dies it takes away your whole sense of security. So I began writing about having all the money in the world and I imagined myself going to spas and swanky New York parties just like the people on TV, where nobody has any real problems and everything's solved within 30 minutes. I tried to imagine myself as Mary Richards, Jeannie, That Girl. But I was so angry I was more like a female Steven Segal wanting to fight the whole world.
For a while I lost myself in food and a depression so deep that I couldn't even get out of bed till I saw that my family needed me to pull through so that they could pull through. One day, I actually imagined being with another man. But then I felt so guilty I had to pretend it was for some altruistic reason. And then Darlene had the baby, and it almost died. I snapped out of the mourning immediately, and all of my life energy turned into choosing life.
In choosing life, I realized that my dreams of being a writer wouldn't just come true; I had to do the work. And as I wrote about my life, I relived it, and whatever I didn't like, I rearranged. I made a commitment to finish my story even if I had to write in the basement in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep. But the more I wrote, the more I understood myself and why I had made the choices I made, and that was the real jackpot. I learned that dreams don't work without action; I learned that no one could stop me but me. I learned that love is stronger than hate. And most important, I learned that God does exist. He and/or She is right inside you, underneath the pain, the sorrow, and the shame. I think I'll be a lot better now that this book is done.
Lisa Kudrow: 'It’s not just Reston speaking in code about gender, it’s everyone, yourself included', Scandal - 2013
aired 7 November 2013, USA
There’s something my grandmother used to do whenever I’d start dating someone. I would tell her his name and she would say, ‘Oh, what part of town does he live in?’ That was her way of asking if my boyfriend was white. Oh yeah, my grandmother was an out and out racist, so I know what prejudice looks like. It’s not about experience, James, it’s about gender. Reston’s saying I don’t have the balls to be president and he means that literally. It’s offensive. It’s offensive to me and to all the women and to all the women whose votes he’s asking for.
“I’m sorry, are you saying Governor Reston is sexist?”
Yes, yes I am. It’s not just Reston speaking in code about gender, it’s everyone, yourself included.
“Excuse me?
The only reason we’re doing this interview in my house is because you requested it. This was your idea and yet here you are thanking me for inviting you into my lovely home. That’s what you say to the neighbor lady who baked you chocolate chip cookies. This pitcher of iced tea isn’t even mine, it’s what your producer set here. Why? Same reason you called me a Real Life Cinderella Story. It reminds people that I’m a woman without having to use the word. For you it’s an angle, I get that and I’m sure you think it’s innocuous, but it’s not.
“Congresswoman Marcus…”
Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking. You’re promoting stereotypes James. You’re advancing this idea that women are weaker than men. You’re playing right into the hands of Reston and into the hands of every other imbecile who thinks a woman isn’t fit to be Commander and Chief. Yes Governor I’m talking about you. Seven years I served in the United States Army, which is seven more years than Governor Reston ever served. A fact you conveniently omitted from my intro. How about soldier, Lieutenant ...
“Yeah that was an oversight, I’m sorry.”