**Favorite Movie Lines**

[archangel]

 

The Speech

Somewhere in England

June 5th, 1944

 

 

"Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit. Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American."

 

The General paused and looked over the crowd. "You are not all going to die," he said slowly. "Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle. Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he's not, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood. Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men. Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen."

 

"All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call "chicken shit drilling". That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a fuck for a man who's not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sockful of shit!" The men roared in agreement.

 

Patton's grim expression did not change. "There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily", he roared into the microphone, "All because one man went to sleep on the job". He paused and the men grew silent. "But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did". The General clutched the microphone tightly, his jaw out-thrust, and he continued, "An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse shit. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking!"

 

"We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world", Patton bellowed. He lowered his head and shook it pensively. Suddenly he snapped erect, faced the men belligerently and thundered, "Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do". The men clapped and howled delightedly. There would be many a barracks tale about the "Old Man's" choice phrases. They would become part and parcel of Third Army's history and they would become the bible of their slang.

 

"My men don't surrender", Patton continued, "I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back. That's not just bull shit either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another German before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!"

 

Patton stopped and the crowd waited. He continued more quietly, "All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, "Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands". But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, Goddamnit, Americans don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the 'G.I. Shits'."

 

Patton paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of brave men. One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, "Fixing the wire, Sir". I asked, "Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?" He answered, "Yes Sir, but the Goddamned wire has to be fixed". I asked, "Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?" And he answered, "No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!" Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds. And you should have seen those trucks on the rode to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts. Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable."

 

The General paused and stared challengingly over the silent ocean of men.

 

"Don't forget," Patton barked, "you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Germans. Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Third Army again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Patton'."

 

"We want to get the hell over there", Patton continued, "The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Japs and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned Marines get all of the credit."

 

Patton continued quietly, "Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin", he yelled, "I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler. Just like I'd shoot a snake!"

 

"When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't dig foxholes. I don't want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to dig one either. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cocksuckers by the bushel-fucking-basket. War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!"

 

"I don't want to get any messages saying, "I am holding my position." We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like shit through a tin horn!"

 

"From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that."

 

The General paused. His eagle like eyes swept over the hillside. He said with pride, "There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, "Well, your Granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana." No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, "Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie Patton!"

Edited August 11, 2006 by archangel

[The NZA]

Damn, i never read the whole thing...that's something.

[MusicManiac]

Love "Patton" ...Love it.

 

________________________

 

I miss John Candy...

 

 

 

Irv: Our Father, who art in Calgary, Bobsled be thy name. Thy kingdom come, gold medals won, on Earth as it is in Turn Seven. With Liberty and Justice for Jamaica and Haile Selassie. Amen.

 

Sanka Coffie: "The key elements to a successful sled team are a steady driver, and three strong runners to push the sled down the ice." ICE? Ice?

Derice Bannock: Well, it's kind of a winter sport, you know.

Sanka Coffie: You mean winter, as in ice?

Derice Bannock: Kind of.

Sanka Coffie: You mean winter, as in Eskimos and igloos and penguins and ICE?

Derice Bannock: Maybe.

Sanka Coffie: See you, mon.

 

 

Sanka Coffie: I'm the driver.

Irv: You're not. You're the brakeman.

Sanka Coffie: You don't understand, I am Sanka Coffie, I am the best pushcart driver in all of Jamaica! I must drive! Do you dig where I'm coming from?

Irv: Yeah, I dig where you're coming from.

Sanka Coffie: Good.

Irv: Now dig where I'm coming from. I'm coming from two gold medals. I'm coming from nine world records in both the two- and four-man events. I'm coming from ten years of intense competition with the best athletes in the world.

Sanka Coffie: That's a hell of a place to be coming from!

 

 

Irv: Derice, a gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without one, you'll never be enough *with* one.

[Turns to leave]

Derice Bannock: Hey coach, how will I know if I'm enough?

Irv: When you cross that finish line tomorrow, you'll know.

 

Irv: They've done everything you've asked of them! And they did it with all of you laughing in their face. Hey, it doesn't matter tomorrow if they come in first or fiftieth. Those guys have earned the right to walk into that stadium and wave their nation's flag. That's the single greatest honor an athlete can ever have.

 

 

 

Sanka Coffie: So what should we call her?

Junior Bevill: How about Tallulah.

Sanka Coffie: Tallulah, sounds like a 2 dollar hooker. Where did you come up with that.

Junior Bevill: It's my mother's name.

 

Sanka Coffie: Greetings, sled god.

 

 

Godspeed John. Thanks for the laughs.

Edited August 15, 2006 by MusicManiac

[alive she cried]

"Listen, you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a man who stood up."

 

The fuckin man

[Silent Bob]

I loved this conversation from Casino Royale, and now that the dvd's out I can finally quote the thing correctly.

 

So you're telling me it's a matter of probability and odds. I was worried there was some chance involved.

 

Oh, only if you assume the player with the best hand wins.

 

So there would be what you call "bluffing".

 

You've heard the term. Then you'll also know that in poker you never play your hand. You play the man across from you.

 

And you're good at reading people.

 

Yes, I am. Which is why I've been able to detect an undercurrent of sarcasm in your voice.

 

I'm now assured our money is in good hands.

 

You don't think this is a very good plan, do you?

 

So there is a plan! I got the impression we were risking millions of dollars and hundreds of lives on a game of luck. What else can you surmise, Mr. Bond?

 

About you, Miss Lynd? Well, your beauty's a problem. You worry you won't be taken seriously.

 

Which one can say of any attractive woman with half a brain.

 

True, but this one overcompensates by wearing slightly masculine clothing, being more aggressive than her female colleagues, which gives her a somewhat...prickly demeanor, and ironically enough, makes her less likely to be accepted and promoted by her male superiors, who mistake her insecurities for arrogance. Now I'd have normally gone with only child, but, um...you see, by the way you ignored the quip about your parents...I'm gonna have to go with orphan.

 

Alright. By the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever, and actually think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with such disdain. My guess is you didn't come from money, and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity, hence the chip on your shoulder. And since your first thought about me ran to orphan, that's what I'd say you are. ...oh, you are! Hm. I like this poker thing. And that makes perfect sense. Since MI6 looks for maladjusted young men that give little thought to sacrificing others in order to protect Queen and country. You know...former SAS types with easy smiles and expensive watches. Rolex?

 

Omega.

 

Beautiful. Now, having just met you, I...wouldn't go as far as calling you a cold-hearted bastard.

 

No, of course not.

 

But it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine. You think of women as disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits. So as charming as you are, Mr. Bond, I will be keeping my eye on our government's money and off your perfectly formed arse.

 

You noticed.

 

Even accountants have imagination. How was your lamb?

 

Skewered. One sympathizes.

 

Admittedly it's the two great actors that really make the scene work, but the dialogue is still pretty good. It's nice to actually see some smart writing in a Bond film again, it's been so long. Also see this briefer exchange from the next scene:

 

It's just last-minute details. Apparently, we're very much in love.

 

Do you usually leave it to porters to tell you this sort of thing?

 

Only when the romance has been necessarily brief. I'm Mr. Arlington Beech, professional gamber, and you're Miss Stephanie Broadchest, heire-

 

I am not!

 

Ah, you're gonna have to trust me on this.

 

Oh no I don't.

 

We've been involved for quite a while. Hm! Hence the shared suite!

 

But my family is strict Roman-Catholic. So for appearances sake, it'll be a two-bedroom suite.

 

I do hate it when religion comes between us.

 

Religion and a securely-locked door. Am I going to have a problem with you, Bond?

 

No. Don't worry. You're not my type.

 

Smart?

 

Single.