So if I asked you about art you could give me the skinny on every art book ever written...Michelangelo? You know a lot about him I bet. Life's work, criticisms, political aspirations. But you couldn't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. And if I asked you about women I'm sure you could give me a syllabus of your personal favorites, and maybe you've been laid a few times too. But you couldn't tell me how it feels to wake up next to a woman and be truly happy. If I asked you about war you could refer me to a bevy of fictional and non-fictional material, but you've never been in one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watched him draw his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love I'd get a sonnet, but you've never looked at a woman and been truly vulnerable. Known that someone could kill you with a look. That someone could rescue you from grief. That God had put an angel on Earth just for you. And you wouldn't know how it felt to be her angel. To have the love be there for her forever. Through anything, through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand and not leaving because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term 'visiting hours' didn't apply to you. And you wouldn't know about real loss, because that only occurs when you lose something you love more than yourself, and you've never dared to love anything that much. I look at you and I don't see an intelligent confident man, I don't see a peer, and I don't see my equal. I see a boy. Nobody could possibly understand you, right Will? Yet you presume to know so much about me because of a painting you saw. You must know everything about me. You're an orphan, right? Do you think I would presume to know the first thing about who you are because I read 'Oliver Twist?' And I don't buy the argument that you don't want to be here, because I think you like all the attention you're getting. Personally, I don't care. There's nothing you can tell me that I can't read somewhere else. Unless we talk about your life. But you won't do that. Maybe you're afraid of what you might say.
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His golf bag does not contain a full set of irons.
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Ah, yes, divorce...from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet
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Marijuana enhances many things, colors, flavors, sensations, but you are certainly not f**king empowered. When you're stoned, you're lucky if you can find your own goddamn feet. The only way it's a performance-enhancing drug is if there's a big f**king Hershey bar at the end of the run. Then you'll be like a Swiss ski jumper going, I'm there!
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It has this scope that's outrageous, but yet at the core, these very intimate scenes, so that alone is interesting.
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Only in their dreams can men be truly free. Twas always thus and always thus will be.
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The Russians love Brooke Shields because her eyebrows remind them of Leonid Brezhnev.
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Ah, yes, divorce... from the Latin word meaning 'to rip a man's heart out through his wallet'.
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Carpe per diem - seize the check.
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The Russians love Brooke Shield because her eyebrows remind them of Leonid Brezhnev.
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We men are driven to meet Miss Right . . . or at least Miss Right Now.
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all of our love and support to Dana and her family during this challenging time.
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Cocaine is God's way of saying you're making too much money.
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When in doubt, go for the dick joke.
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We had gay burglars the other night. They broke in and rearranged the furniture.
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God gave man both a penis and a brain, unfortunately he didn't give enough blood supply to run to both at the same time.
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See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.
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It felt wonderful doing it. But that's rather like urinating in brown velvet pants. It can feel wonderful, but no one will watch.
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[I was] hoping for the fallout of girls that would go for him. I was kind of his fool. We went through the same wild times in New York, hitting everything. Massive p? hunt.
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She is not perfect. You are not perfect. The question is whether or not you are perfect for each other
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Gay robbers came in last night and rearranged the living room
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I'll always perform, because show business is in my blood. Or maybe it's in my feet. Wherever it is, I don't think I'll ever stop
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Real loss is only possible when you love something more than you love yourself
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Comedy is acting out optimism.
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Time is the best teacher, but unfortunately, it kills all of its students.
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She is not perfect. You are not perfect. The question is whether or not you are perfect for each other.
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When the media ask him [George W. Bush] a question, he answers, 'Can I use a lifeline?'
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What's right is what's left when everything is wrong.
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If women ran the world we wouldn't have wars, just intense negotiations every 28 days.
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You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.
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