tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-380164492024-02-19T09:02:41.104-08:00Ripping Film Quotes..."By necessity, by proclivity, and by delight, we all quote." R.W.Emerson ///"I shall never be ashamed to quote a bad author if what he says is good." Seneca///
"Quotation is the highest compliment you can pay to an author." Samuel Johnson ///"Next to the originator of a good sentence is the first quoter of it." R.W.E.Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-68463765283978807172010-02-05T06:32:00.000-08:002010-02-05T06:42:23.259-08:00Rather than love, than money, than faith, than fame, than fairness...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqY0C5FELXSUyiSypCjzjFAPItJZigUMGI5L79NGczRs0VdPFdqXxTNeSYuXTcTdCnOYn9EzQNN8sWMnn4AgYNLNucUIfd30RMfHY_v6-pSZVq3-amv2HF2umcAsz23S-W5pV2Dw/s1600-h/into_the_wild_movie_poster.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434767782686034690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 271px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqY0C5FELXSUyiSypCjzjFAPItJZigUMGI5L79NGczRs0VdPFdqXxTNeSYuXTcTdCnOYn9EzQNN8sWMnn4AgYNLNucUIfd30RMfHY_v6-pSZVq3-amv2HF2umcAsz23S-W5pV2Dw/s400/into_the_wild_movie_poster.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">There is a pleasure in the pathless woods<br />There is a rapture on the lonely shore<br />There is society, where none intrudes,<br />By the deep sea, and music in its roar;<br />I love not man the less, but Nature more...<br />(Lord Byron)</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div align="right"><br /><br />And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind death stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.<br /><br /><br />I will miss you too, but you are wrong if you think that the joy of life comes principally from the joy of human relationships. God's place is all around us, it is in everything and in anything we can experience. People just need to change the way they look at things.<br /><br /><br />It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations. Absolute freedom. And the road has always led west.</div><div align="right"></div><div align="right"></div><div align="right"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />I'm going to paraphrase Thoreau here... rather than love, than money, than faith, than fame, than fairness... give me truth.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"><br /><br />Happiness only real when shared.</div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-59114570091233996522008-09-21T16:54:00.000-07:002008-09-21T17:20:45.221-07:00You see...I'm not a monster, I'm just ahead of the curve<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHbxfwwQAqKIvH44ijkioRzPN3dNlo_06kDU1o8JL0juxiHKhQr43WNP3uNGq-Q7ePgu2QLXp0k9Hl3EavSef12j14fgyhddX0xtCCcOQTVQacp8d9AINLmufITqbegyls4elEw/s1600-h/joker.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHbxfwwQAqKIvH44ijkioRzPN3dNlo_06kDU1o8JL0juxiHKhQr43WNP3uNGq-Q7ePgu2QLXp0k9Hl3EavSef12j14fgyhddX0xtCCcOQTVQacp8d9AINLmufITqbegyls4elEw/s400/joker.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248632297630267202" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Alfred: A long time ago, I was in Burma, my friends and I were working for the local government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of the tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So we went looking for the stones. But in six months, we never found anyone who traded with him. One day I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine... The bandit had been throwing them away.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Bruce Wayne: Then why steal them? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Alfred: Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker (to Rachel): A little fight in you. I like that. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Batman: Then you're going to love me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">--------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker: You just couldn't let me go could you? This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. You truly are incorruptible aren't you? You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness, and I won't kill you, because you're just too much fun. I think you and I are destined to do this forever.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">---------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker: Do you wanna know why I use a knife? Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the... little... emotions. In... you see, in their last moments, people show you who they really are. So in a way, I know your friends better than you ever did. Would you like to know which of them were cowards? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Batman: What did you do? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker: I took Gotham's white knight, and brought him down to our level. It wasn't hard. Y'see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little...push.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-----------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker: You'll see, I'll show you, that when the chips are down, these uh... civilized people, they'll eat each other. You see, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker: Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it. You know, I just do things. The mob has plans, the cops have plans, Gordon's got plans. You know, they're schemers. Schemers trying to control their worlds. I'm not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are. So, when I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know that I'm telling the truth. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">--------</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Jocker: It's the schemers that put you where you are. You were a schemer, you had plans, and uh, look where that got you. I just did what I do best. I took your little plan and I turned it on itself. Look what I did to this city with a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets. You know what I noticed? Nobody panics when things go according to plan. Even if the plan is horrifying. If tomorrow I tell the press that like a gang banger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics, because it's all, part of the plan. But when I say that one little old mayor will die, well then everyone loses their minds.</span><br /></span></div></div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-89360552778782997762008-06-24T17:22:00.000-07:002008-06-24T19:40:29.552-07:00Charlie Wilson's War<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5HBPbqORTGHuRGhULcvQe5U0UbRuYPZmg0YxZmLOWcdP-1u8a5zA472zyXk57spi6Aq0rXXjoajpnLtfD_iN40ptK-tu-ZsNOhJ7lJlxygQhkJkaI5e1sfqQ9atOkk7aAagmWw/s1600-h/wilson.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215613540562065138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5HBPbqORTGHuRGhULcvQe5U0UbRuYPZmg0YxZmLOWcdP-1u8a5zA472zyXk57spi6Aq0rXXjoajpnLtfD_iN40ptK-tu-ZsNOhJ7lJlxygQhkJkaI5e1sfqQ9atOkk7aAagmWw/s400/wilson.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="LINE-HEIGHT: 17pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust Avrakotos: There's a little boy and on his 14th birthday he gets a horse... and everybody in the village says, "How wonderful. The boy got a horse". And the Zen master says, "we'll see." Two years later, the boy falls off the horse, breaks his leg, and everybody in the village says, "how terrible." And the Zen master says, "We'll see." Then a war breaks out and all the young men have to go off and fight... except the boy can't cause his legs messed up. And everyone in the village says, "How wonderful"...and the Zen master says, "We'll see."<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-------------<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Joanne Herring: Why is Congress saying one thing and doing nothing?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Charlie Wilson: Well, tradition mostly.<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-----------<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Charlie: You mean to tell me that the U.S. strategy in Afghanistan is to have the Afghans keep walking into machine gun fire 'til the Russians run out of bullets?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: That's Harold Holt's strategy, not U.S. strategy.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Charlie: What is U.S. strategy?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Charlie: Most strictly speaking, we don't have one. But we're working on it.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Charlie: Who's 'we'?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: Me and three other guys.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> -----------<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Joanne: May I ask what it is that I've done to make you dislike me, Mr. Avrakotos?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust:I like you just fine, Mrs. Herring, it's just been my experience that when people with money and too much free time get involved in politics, pretty soon, I forget who it is I'm supposed to be shooting at.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> ------------<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Joanne: Are you Catholic, Mr. Avrakatos?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: Greek Orthodox.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Joanne: Still a Christian, though.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: Imagine my relief.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-------------<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: Promises were made!<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Cravely:Not by me.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: I've been with the company for twenty-four years. I was posted in Greece for fifteen. I've advised and armed the Hellenic Army. I've neutralized champions of communism. I've spent the past three years... learning Finnish!! Which would come in handy here in Virginia, and I'm never ever sick at sea. So I wanna know why... I'm not gonna be your Helsinki station chief!<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">------------<br /></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Gust: Excuse me, what the fuck?</span></span><!--EndFragment--></p>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-84757777199767294032008-06-22T14:51:00.000-07:002008-06-22T16:07:48.723-07:00I feel it in my fingers...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4ueWPaKN2Mg03sBWE8In8PcA0r6k2BjeApJjQnJ7GXI8C_YI7bWwvClT6AYrvtDXfMhjHHNHqyuqEK-NbJ2LnoD1BLvhRORek5CMSxspBJWSopsyfMUSLzWDWr60oVyuNt24YQ/s1600-h/love+actually.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4ueWPaKN2Mg03sBWE8In8PcA0r6k2BjeApJjQnJ7GXI8C_YI7bWwvClT6AYrvtDXfMhjHHNHqyuqEK-NbJ2LnoD1BLvhRORek5CMSxspBJWSopsyfMUSLzWDWr60oVyuNt24YQ/s400/love+actually.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214841379220185362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">(recently saw this one... found it oddly funny.)<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sam: Worse than the total agony of being in love?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">----</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Juliet: Banoffee pie? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mark: No, thanks. <br />Juliet: Thank God. You would've broken my heart if you'd said yes. <br />Mark: Oh, right, well, lucky you.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">----</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Billy Mack: Oh yeah... hiya kids. Here is an important message from your Uncle Bill. Don't buy drugs...... Become a pop star, and they giv'em to you for free!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">----</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Daniel: So, let's go. We can definetly crack this. Remember... I was a kid once too. So come on, it's someone from school, right?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sam: Yeah.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">D: Aha, good, good. And what does she - he feel about you?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">S: SHE doesn't even know my name. And even if she did, she'd despise me. She's the coolest girl in school and everyone worships her because she's heaven.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">D: Good. Good. Well... Basically, you're fucked, aren't you?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-----</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px;font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sam: Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love.</span></span></div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-53000883262259730372008-01-09T18:34:00.000-08:002008-01-30T21:14:53.828-08:00Venus<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfaLu9bsFXztYG4Ox03CDXOsKxEAf7pt57-uxOlofCv30K8nn9xZchitLKzPDCe_VbvW9RMkKwiwixc2Os9-_23DT6aB103dSMRAo5jmBlF5_w-luBFI2E-RaSAvRMo3UJcmLVA/s1600-h/2186573352.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153673739762908466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfaLu9bsFXztYG4Ox03CDXOsKxEAf7pt57-uxOlofCv30K8nn9xZchitLKzPDCe_VbvW9RMkKwiwixc2Os9-_23DT6aB103dSMRAo5jmBlF5_w-luBFI2E-RaSAvRMo3UJcmLVA/s400/2186573352.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div>Maurice: I am about to die and I know nothing about myself. <div>Ian: You have been loved, Maurice. You've been adored.</div><div>Maurice: Yes. And so have you Ian, a little bit. Except you didn't always noticed it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Maurice: My dear, would you pass me my trousers?<br /></div><div>Jessie: What is that?</div><div>M: A catheter</div><div>J: Oh, my god!</div><div>M: I think it's leaking.</div><div>J: I don't want it n my shoes! You're always dripping, Maurice. There's always bits of you where there shouldn't be.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Maurice: For most men, the woman's body is the most beautiful thing they will ever see.</div><div>Jessie: What's the most beautiful thing a girl sees?</div><div>Maurice: Her first child.</div><div></div><div></div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-60251009609567225562007-11-13T05:48:00.000-08:002007-11-13T05:53:39.988-08:00How many wrongs...?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiii-s7blHZVc9mVwj5nRZJJehKrxIzZ6duZSh0H8Ncut_hZB2aeotasU9zYBIS6xh-OUXjnJIqC7n8BfPtxck09UX3QgNR-CVZMT_fUvt3ramgG4CpdApVHV_89zWZvOsRzmsmxg/s1600-h/braveone.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132322555473016562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiii-s7blHZVc9mVwj5nRZJJehKrxIzZ6duZSh0H8Ncut_hZB2aeotasU9zYBIS6xh-OUXjnJIqC7n8BfPtxck09UX3QgNR-CVZMT_fUvt3ramgG4CpdApVHV_89zWZvOsRzmsmxg/s400/braveone.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div>I always believed that fear belonged to other people. Weaker people. It never touched me. And then it did. And when it touches you, you know... that it's been there all along. Waiting beneath the surfaces of everything you loved. </div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-26202381720344947142007-10-09T19:26:00.000-07:002007-10-09T19:32:01.345-07:00Aufwiedersehen Lenin!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkJQYgIHinZ35raZqcEx3By1AQOv3bXvOViGHxtlQQxVC66YJI_-wXp8M8QqljEYuNmzB8gY2asBEwNTp0mPaejHd8VzP5oN_t8c7i93pe3lwwVBIvBfdQ_MZ42sp-qzrOPQf9w/s1600-h/goodbye3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119529913106760290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkJQYgIHinZ35raZqcEx3By1AQOv3bXvOViGHxtlQQxVC66YJI_-wXp8M8QqljEYuNmzB8gY2asBEwNTp0mPaejHd8VzP5oN_t8c7i93pe3lwwVBIvBfdQ_MZ42sp-qzrOPQf9w/s400/goodbye3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div>Der Wind der Wende wehte bis zu den Ruinen unserer Republik.<br />Der Sommer war gekommen und Berlin war der schönste Ort auf Erde.<br />Wir hatten das Gefühl das Zentrum der Welt zu sein. Dort, wo sich etwas bewegte, und wir bewegten uns damit auch. Die Zukunft lag in unsren Händen, unwissend und viel versprechend.</div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-10437149873919981882007-08-24T15:27:00.000-07:002007-08-24T15:47:19.920-07:00I am you!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRZPDHUDul4dR_x4vDTthWmhw1Nihzy_4DRfSFHaZSmMpirrWqeZOiRcAJyTzqYVtmH7CzixA_T_FFTHg_E-S5_6t9MxzcQdeeKwEqbo9BnyNciBfpEmDfIekzR_nXlwR1V7e9g/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102401773944430258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRZPDHUDul4dR_x4vDTthWmhw1Nihzy_4DRfSFHaZSmMpirrWqeZOiRcAJyTzqYVtmH7CzixA_T_FFTHg_E-S5_6t9MxzcQdeeKwEqbo9BnyNciBfpEmDfIekzR_nXlwR1V7e9g/s400/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><ul><li>Is there anything that you have done that is good, Nicholas? You came to Africa to play the white man. But we aren't a game. We're real. This room is real. Your death will be the first real thing that has happened to you.<br /></li><br /><li>They take you to a tree and hang you by your skin. Each time you scream the evil comes out of you. Sometimes, it can take three days for your evil to be spent. Pull him up.<br /></li><br /><li>I know who you are and what you are. I am you!<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102401778239397570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhnVOZpngmconG_b-bOwuC-TwuFqxdlctd0gSnv3PwpgBO02P4tHtORWUXByNsUbC2RxjVxZAG9Z8y8TjGwo3FSKhWnStoNnirzBWd012_0ByJMes3-nFMe78Z1gAxbnp07LEMQ/s400/lastkingofscotland.jpg" border="0" /></li></ul>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-67303952237326705202007-07-09T17:51:00.000-07:002007-07-09T18:06:47.751-07:00Quel est donc ce lien entre nous?<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jGlKiVaTZQx4lvRBiwU2PPaGjy6x4cYdDeudS4upa1iWaMndhVvWrzOlftkhlE58MeZpltggZ1y99R7UcfMUa_MNTsFCoe7uEUKoIgUUXxn-ljdNbtYplAToLx-0kUyzFbS3Uw/s1600-h/affiche_Paris__je_t_aime.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085366200549629922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jGlKiVaTZQx4lvRBiwU2PPaGjy6x4cYdDeudS4upa1iWaMndhVvWrzOlftkhlE58MeZpltggZ1y99R7UcfMUa_MNTsFCoe7uEUKoIgUUXxn-ljdNbtYplAToLx-0kUyzFbS3Uw/s400/affiche_Paris__je_t_aime.jpg" border="0" /></a> Quel est donc<br />Ce lien entre nous<br />Cette chose indéfinissable ?<br />Où vont ces destins qui se nouent<br />Pour nous rendre inséparables ?<br /><br />On avance<br />Au fil du temps<br />Au gré du vent...<br />On vit au jour le jour<br />Nos envies, nos amours<br />On s'en va sans savoir<br />On est toujours<br />Dans la même histoire...<br /><br />Quel est donc<br />Ce qui nous sépare<br />Qui par hasard nous réunit ?<br />Pourquoi tant d'allers, de départs<br />Dans cette ronde infinie ?<br /><br />On avance<br />Au fil du temps<br />Au gré du vent... ainsi...<br />On vit au jour le jour<br />Nos envies, nos amours<br />On s'en va sans savoir<br />On est toujours<br />Dans la même histoire...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzAM7YrBVfCQDoYAj-1i7w3K7HQrW1Iu8m1_V9_cYO7eeGvayesWLCvoGgnQw29bc0uCUXXtieHSbnRISTANXboAywFC8kEmjqX4Vl-ctt-iTHroz5m4mDn1yjYtOgLFc1OgXlQ/s1600-h/paris-je-t-aime-5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085366204844597234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzAM7YrBVfCQDoYAj-1i7w3K7HQrW1Iu8m1_V9_cYO7eeGvayesWLCvoGgnQw29bc0uCUXXtieHSbnRISTANXboAywFC8kEmjqX4Vl-ctt-iTHroz5m4mDn1yjYtOgLFc1OgXlQ/s400/paris-je-t-aime-5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w8EsmmS7-zdHkc1GTy28W7TiS4uRb8710Ixf3-sRR_YRZlBXSlrq4gwlxO_mHRSeLoakaqbvRCN9Br_ag4ImeroR4NNnRuiDIACcaV7RuqwQNbmfwHPvxUeyJFeHVw3nj5n25Q/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085366204844597250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w8EsmmS7-zdHkc1GTy28W7TiS4uRb8710Ixf3-sRR_YRZlBXSlrq4gwlxO_mHRSeLoakaqbvRCN9Br_ag4ImeroR4NNnRuiDIACcaV7RuqwQNbmfwHPvxUeyJFeHVw3nj5n25Q/s400/1.jpg" border="0" /></a></div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-59654247555794976932007-07-08T18:55:00.001-07:002007-07-08T19:03:40.115-07:00I'll learn how to swim<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja999Z-BI0S1ZR7ZIz1ySEvzXCLdcocoJiW-IXj5pgpCA0fqs9KLhfA9BQAxw-eRnuAdUkAHQyEJvfXqQ_2vd8FxwXCZepKFbfx96BT1ZDl3j6ZIIwAKnOaCouswI3fO813FyylQ/s1600-h/18.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085010744761245650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja999Z-BI0S1ZR7ZIz1ySEvzXCLdcocoJiW-IXj5pgpCA0fqs9KLhfA9BQAxw-eRnuAdUkAHQyEJvfXqQ_2vd8FxwXCZepKFbfx96BT1ZDl3j6ZIIwAKnOaCouswI3fO813FyylQ/s400/18.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Josef: I thought um, you and I, maybe we could go away somewhere. Together. One of these days. Today. Right now. Come with me.<br />Hanna: No, I don't think that's going to be possible.<br />Josef: Why not?<br />Hanna: Because I think that if we go away to someplace together, I'm afraid that... one day, maybe not today, maybe, maybe not tomorrow either, but one day, suddenly I may begin to cry and cry so very much that nothing or nobody can stop me and the tears will fill the room and I won't be able to breath and I will pull you down with me and we'll both drown.<br />Josef: I'll learn how to swim, Hanna. I swear, I'll learn how to swim. </div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-32779249175461261852007-06-25T18:54:00.000-07:002007-07-14T12:14:26.183-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Nz3Mt3dYbK4VcwcA8p8Kbw4YSlU8LvT-GKsQDY8f-rc-IE7yMpJAGI0L1xILCqAL599kH5hxNg6CqK1oJv8vCenCmmbzN8Xaki71mDAJY1I_JOFnWYFYyEHzKpqJdgMf8xWipA/s1600-h/la+tigre.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074624059239396914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Nz3Mt3dYbK4VcwcA8p8Kbw4YSlU8LvT-GKsQDY8f-rc-IE7yMpJAGI0L1xILCqAL599kH5hxNg6CqK1oJv8vCenCmmbzN8Xaki71mDAJY1I_JOFnWYFYyEHzKpqJdgMf8xWipA/s400/la+tigre.jpg" border="0" /></a> Se muore lei, per me tutta questa messa in scena del mondo che gira, posso anche smontare, portare via, schiodare tutto, arrotolare tutto il cielo e caricarlo su un camion col rimorchio, possiamo spengere questa luce bellissima del sole che mi piace tanto... ma tanto... lo sai perchè mi piace tanto? Perchè mi piace lei illuminata dalla luce del sole, tanto... portar via tutto questo tappeto, queste colonne, questo palazzo...<br />Attilio (La tigre e la neve)Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-52323853027821808622007-06-10T18:18:00.000-07:002007-06-10T18:28:17.674-07:00And above all, not hurting the object of your love.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2MhIaSLaCe9IL0RZFKCX5HSYGiEd79rFBR8xkcEnL8q4gJMuDYYqN3dDlg8zJiEGoPqCB8YQldDkh_7-4FbkqudHHOBaGg461Cvl9OTGzWvWZdhlRZhDRZH2qstAzMdlvkag3ZQ/s1600-h/brad_pitt5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074611651078878754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2MhIaSLaCe9IL0RZFKCX5HSYGiEd79rFBR8xkcEnL8q4gJMuDYYqN3dDlg8zJiEGoPqCB8YQldDkh_7-4FbkqudHHOBaGg461Cvl9OTGzWvWZdhlRZhDRZH2qstAzMdlvkag3ZQ/s400/brad_pitt5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>William Parrish: Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels.<br />I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back.<br />Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all.<br />You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Joe Black: I don't care Bill. I love her.<br />William Parrish: How perfect for you - to take whatever you want because it pleases you. That's not love.<br />Joe Black: Then what is it?<br />William Parrish: Some aimless infatuation which, for the moment, you feel like indulging - it's missing everything that matters.<br />Joe Black: Which is what?<br />William Parrish: Trust, responsibility, taking the weight for your choices and feelings, and spending the rest of your life living up to them. And above all, not hurting the object of your love.<br />Joe Black: So that's what love is according to William Parrish?<br />William Parrish: Multiply it by infinity, and take it to the depth of forever, and you will still have barely a glimpse of what I'm talking about.</div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-49825055958707244272007-05-25T13:20:00.000-07:002007-05-25T13:47:34.623-07:00Grbavica: Land of My Dreams<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyurqVtFBR9HwDQz90ipfAKrcZMaeInGp2ARk1lvhn2MA86tpmYBKT4u7Vaz81eVwdPhjsNDy2ASDbQ9nIHDAYCAP5qbgb3o_epz_0Ye10SWLY3StfhEs7d38HsBqWBhrH4Y-v0A/s1600-h/gravbica.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068596937811873250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyurqVtFBR9HwDQz90ipfAKrcZMaeInGp2ARk1lvhn2MA86tpmYBKT4u7Vaz81eVwdPhjsNDy2ASDbQ9nIHDAYCAP5qbgb3o_epz_0Ye10SWLY3StfhEs7d38HsBqWBhrH4Y-v0A/s400/gravbica.bmp" border="0" /></a><br />Sarajevo ljubavi moja<br />Zajedno smo rasli grade ja i ti,<br />isto plavo nebo poklonilo nam stih,<br />ispod Trebevica sanjali smo sne,<br />ko ce brze rasti ko ce ljepsi biti.<br />Ti si bio velik a rodio se jas<br />Igmana uz osmijeh slao si mi san<br />djecak koji raste zavolio te tad<br />ostao je ovde vezan za svoj grad.<br />Bilo gdje da krenem o tebi sanjamputevi me svi tebi vode,<br />cekam s nekom ceznjom na svijetla tvoja<br />Sarajevo ljubavi moja,<br />Pjesme svoje imas i ja ih pjevam<br />zelim da ti kazem sta sanjam<br />radosti su moje i sreca tvoja<br />Sarajevo ljubavi moja.<br /><br />Kada prodju zime i dodje lijepi maj<br />djevojke su ljepse ljubavi im daj<br />setaliste tamno uzdasima zri<br />neke oci plave neke rijeci njezne.<br />Sad je djecak covjek i zima pokri brijeg<br />park i kosa bijeli al otici ce snijeg<br />proljece i mladost ispunice tad<br />Sarajevo moje jedini moj grad.</div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Sarajevo, love of mine<br />We grew up together city, you and me<br />the same blue sky gave us rhymes<br />under Trebevic we dreamt dreams<br />who will grow faster who will be nicer.<br />You were great, and I was born<br />From Igman with a smile you sent me my dreams<br />A boy growing up fell in love with you then<br />He stayed here, connected to his city<br />Wherever I turn, I dream of you<br />All roads lead me to you<br />I wait with some longing for your lights<br />Sarajevo love of mine<br /><br />You have your songs, and I sing them<br />I want to tell you what I dream<br />The pleasures are mine and happiness yours<br />Sarajevo love of mine<br />When the cold passes and fine May comes<br />The girls are nicer, give them love<br />Walk the walk ways with sighs in the dark<br />Some blue eyes, some tender words<br />Now the boy is a man and the winter covers the mounatin<br />The park and hair is grey, but the snow will go away<br />Spring and youth will then fill<br />my Sarajevo, my only city</span></em></div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUopT8kCB0GVQvJ5WKrmEo8k2T1HqYYjoV9gizrjdqVYL0PYNzgt1gALIyVbpLxq6nIKyFq6OjYYgG_zkn3v9v9Lpq87ELmffxzkKOfnsFZugSn7RrDO6HsOs3040Hr3wz1u9pw/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068596242027171282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUopT8kCB0GVQvJ5WKrmEo8k2T1HqYYjoV9gizrjdqVYL0PYNzgt1gALIyVbpLxq6nIKyFq6OjYYgG_zkn3v9v9Lpq87ELmffxzkKOfnsFZugSn7RrDO6HsOs3040Hr3wz1u9pw/s400/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-57445825990865512252007-05-25T13:10:00.000-07:002007-05-25T13:19:50.098-07:00Il y a longtemps que je t'aime...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYU2G77yT_aTMxPY2C0FFXT6Z_Rz_ojd88MXnQthkFbyI_5awLudPIZ9LTnPWhwd_c0S-Pp8hmD-uZbRCeshghC1DiOhdmz0fSxVTjWNqOihjtviLy8pDXMMY3aJ9sPxi9KOWvug/s1600-h/thepaintedveil_posterbig.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068595017961491890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYU2G77yT_aTMxPY2C0FFXT6Z_Rz_ojd88MXnQthkFbyI_5awLudPIZ9LTnPWhwd_c0S-Pp8hmD-uZbRCeshghC1DiOhdmz0fSxVTjWNqOihjtviLy8pDXMMY3aJ9sPxi9KOWvug/s400/thepaintedveil_posterbig.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">A la claire fontaine, m'en allant promener,<br />J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle que je m'y suis baigné.<br />Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublirai,<br /><br />Sous les feuilles d'un chêne, je me suis fait sécher.<br />Sur la plus haute branche, un rossignol chantait.<br />Chante, rossignol, chante, toi qui as le coeur gai.<br />Tu as le coeur à rire, moi je l'ai-t-à pleurer.<br /><br />J'ai perdu ma maitresse sans l'avoir mérité.<br />Pour un bouquet de roses que je lui refusai.<br />Je voudrais que la rose fût encore au rosier.<br />Et moi et ma maîtresse dans les mêm's amitiés.<br />Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublirai.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068595022256459202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivihuCSvBTvoG-2ENDHPnoawjuDUOy_7AVwbAD3NGmW5WzlaxkyyhuMFAorcBv1viWkpqHlgc2MzY6aexCMZ6Aq4ziv0kddznsGgK9bhviodRRtU0zN1p8vdZvxRQKCNJsD6fSbQ/s400/veil5.jpg" border="0" />Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-3171617668469079762007-04-25T07:15:00.000-07:002007-04-25T07:29:21.110-07:00Mar Adentro<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCm64O-4ENta1IREGW2loySsgnlXFoYHiSAH6_B23WhVYn80CJfpsvOjZdlm8qFL4y_jga1udMb4oS0TC6G-Kb57Kpbpyrcatlw0HPWvQB4CtzLI2GmdCqSyPPh8-cyIPpNU24Q/s1600-h/the_sea_inside_inner.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057371615092314194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCm64O-4ENta1IREGW2loySsgnlXFoYHiSAH6_B23WhVYn80CJfpsvOjZdlm8qFL4y_jga1udMb4oS0TC6G-Kb57Kpbpyrcatlw0HPWvQB4CtzLI2GmdCqSyPPh8-cyIPpNU24Q/s400/the_sea_inside_inner.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div>"Mar adentro, mar adentro.<br />Y en la ingravidez del fondo, donde se cumplen los sueños.<br />Se juntan dos voluntades para cumplir un deseo.<br />Un beso enciende la vida con un relámpago y un trueno.<br />Y en una metamorfosis mi cuerpo no es ya mi cuerpo.<br />Es como penetrar al centro del universo.<br />El abrazo más pueril y el más puro de los besos,<br />hasta vernos reducidos en un único deseo.<br />Tu mirada y mi mirada<br />como un eco repitiendo sin palabras: más adentro, más adentro.<br />Hasta el más allá del todo por la sangre y por los huesos.<br />Pero me despierto siempre y siempre quiero estar muerto.<br />Para seguir con mi boca enredada en tus cabellos".<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Ramón Sampedro (Mar Adentro)</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Me resisto a caer en esa inercia en la que sólo puedo agradecer lo que se me da porque no me queda más remedio que aceptarlo".<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Ramón Sampedro (Mar Adentro)</span></div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-43438539116649219392007-03-14T17:47:00.000-07:002007-03-14T18:27:08.005-07:00Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukt1V3cr4p3DPhnedMl-EZdx0cK1h1CyVjgd1iaRhfverT1ftpd1uCnwVJA3Ysgivi0Zz0CXWvMRP7cK-_So_0lKWdSgYXlcPGvg9eHMlokYR57Rzgna2Ejv8U3doEfYzQJzKyg/s1600-h/vendetta.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041950337103692274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukt1V3cr4p3DPhnedMl-EZdx0cK1h1CyVjgd1iaRhfverT1ftpd1uCnwVJA3Ysgivi0Zz0CXWvMRP7cK-_So_0lKWdSgYXlcPGvg9eHMlokYR57Rzgna2Ejv8U3doEfYzQJzKyg/s400/vendetta.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>V: Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine- the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke.<br />But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why?<br />Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame?<br /></div><div>Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease.<br />There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. </div><div></div><div>Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. </div><div></div><div>But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgotten.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Evey Hammond: Who are you?<br />V: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask.<br />Evey Hammond: Well I can see that.<br />V: Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.</div><br /><div>V: Violence can be used for good.<br />Evey Hammond: What are you talking about?<br />V: Justice.</div><br /><div>Evey Hammond: Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici.<br />V: By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.</div><br /><div>Delia Surridge: Thank you. Is it meaningless to apologize?<br />V: Never</div><br /><div>V: This may be the most important moment of your life... commit to it<br /><br />V: I, like God, do not play with dice and do not believe in coincidence.</div><br /><div>V: The only thing that you and I have in common, Mr. Creedy, is we're both about to die.<br /><br />V: What was done to me was monstrous.<br /><br />V: Did you think to kill me? There’s no flesh or blood within this cloak to kill. There’s only an idea and ideas are bulletproof.</div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-4487583261004858922007-02-25T16:00:00.000-08:002007-03-14T18:14:51.176-07:00Are you up for a pint?<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NbcK2UWZkn5TOZoB6P5PeSN0gDKwxf8JtxIO4ZFyo4own-HWczU79E9dARIsa0bmbJV2oXvxDLfY5gTcpy5NGUgO53Sh_J6sEsTDimYHnAi9XhfhZE-FGgd85aep3IrKQgcXTg/s1600-h/neddivne.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035582763237852242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NbcK2UWZkn5TOZoB6P5PeSN0gDKwxf8JtxIO4ZFyo4own-HWczU79E9dARIsa0bmbJV2oXvxDLfY5gTcpy5NGUgO53Sh_J6sEsTDimYHnAi9XhfhZE-FGgd85aep3IrKQgcXTg/s320/neddivne.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="left">Jackie O'Shea: Michael O'Sullivan was my great friend. But I don't ever remember telling him that. The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead.<br />What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral. To sit at the front and hear what was said, maybe say a few things yourself. Michael and I grew old together...but at times, when we laughed, we grew young.<br />If he was here now, if he could hear what I say, I'd congratulate him on being a great man, and thank him for being a friend.<br /></div><div align="left">Jackie: There will be cursing in heaven tonight, Ned Devine.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZ9MZmC8QrYesF3TYh_8bFzs-VEk9TxhbJikZE9pVESauHSRq20PNeEvbv8miwfa_N9F9l-Br33nIeSQKIRCcAV9gYgY4nT7uWb7ZzbzmuGBcL3kVo7xD_7vtccjx_9Nw1Mp-ZQ/s1600-h/ned.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035583596461507682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZ9MZmC8QrYesF3TYh_8bFzs-VEk9TxhbJikZE9pVESauHSRq20PNeEvbv8miwfa_N9F9l-Br33nIeSQKIRCcAV9gYgY4nT7uWb7ZzbzmuGBcL3kVo7xD_7vtccjx_9Nw1Mp-ZQ/s320/ned.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div></div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-35521116811017020642007-02-21T19:28:00.000-08:002007-02-21T19:36:53.608-08:00Is it any fun?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARCaAChhLl4TpRu59sZWcRnfYkOW46N7ekgbuzvLrhlZ9uL6DDGH96amLNTGtDESH93MMBT-aXphnF6D9DYWleFIyoWFj5LIUbLNNwHF9RyhRYswolHE8iIGUJHDpeca21mtKfA/s1600-h/holland.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034197079388981506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARCaAChhLl4TpRu59sZWcRnfYkOW46N7ekgbuzvLrhlZ9uL6DDGH96amLNTGtDESH93MMBT-aXphnF6D9DYWleFIyoWFj5LIUbLNNwHF9RyhRYswolHE8iIGUJHDpeca21mtKfA/s320/holland.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div>Glenn Holland: I'm 60 years old, Gene. What are you going to do: write me a recommendation for the morgue? </div><br /><div>Glenn Holland: Well, I guess you can cut the arts as much as you want, Gene. Sooner or later, these kids aren't going to have anything to read or write about.<br /></div><br /><div>Glenn Holland: The day they cut the football budget in this state, that will be the end of Western Civilization as we know it!</div><br /><div>Gertrude Lang: So it might be easy for him to think himself a failure. But he would be wrong, because I think that he's achieved a success far beyond riches and fame. Look around you. There is not a life in this room that you have not touched, and each of us is a better person because of you. We are your symphony Mr. Holland. We are the melodies and the notes of your opus. We are the music of your life.</div><br /><div>Glenn Holland: You work for 30 years because you think that what you do makes a difference, you think it matters to people, but then you wake up one morning and find out, well no, you've made a little error there, you're expendable. I should be laughing.</div><br /><div>Glenn Holland: Playing music is supposed to be fun. It's about heart, it's about feelings, moving people, and something beautiful, and it's not about notes on a page. </div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1170905274795410252007-02-07T17:17:00.000-08:002007-02-07T19:27:54.886-08:00...hearts of men are easily corrupted.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/1600/916853/ring.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/320/369841/ring.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It began with the forging of the Great Rings.<br />Three were given to the Elves; immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings.<br />Seven, to the Dwarf Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls.<br />And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power.<br /><br />For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern over each race. But they were all of them deceived, for a new ring was made.<br /><br />In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a master ring, to control all others. And into this ring he poured all his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all.<br /><br />One by one, the free peoples of Middle Earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth.<br />Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone.<br />It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's sword. And Sauron, enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated.<br /><br />The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the ring of power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur, to his death. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost.<br /><br />History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, the ring ensnared another bearer.<br /><br />The ring came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels under the Misty Mountains, and there it consumed him. The ring gave to Gollum unnatural long life. For five hundred years it poisoned his mind; and in the gloom of Gollum's cave, it waited. Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power perceived. Its time had now come. It abandoned Gollum.<br /><br />But then something happened that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable. A hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.<br /><br />For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all...Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1169510372166209012007-01-22T15:51:00.000-08:002007-01-22T15:59:32.173-08:00Ain't love grand?<div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/1600/314421/untitled.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/320/33262/untitled.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />She'll only break your heart, it's a fact. And even though I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly, you'll still pursue her... Ain't love grand?</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">(Great expectations)</div>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1169409535575542532007-01-21T11:49:00.000-08:002007-01-21T12:01:46.106-08:00From physical, metaphysical, illusional...and back.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/1600/283598/nash2.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/320/305610/nash2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Classes will dull your mind, destroy the potential for authentic creativity.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">John Nash</span><br /><br />I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Alicia</span><br /><br />Find a truly original idea. It is the only way I will ever distinguish myself. It is the only way I will ever matter.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">John Nash</span><br /><br />I've gotten used to ignoring them and I think, as a result, they've kind of given up on me. I think that's what it's like with all our dreams and our nightmares, Martin, we've got to keep feeding them for them to stay alive.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">John Nash</span><br /><br />There's no point in being nuts if you can't have a little fun.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">John Nash</span><br /><br />Imagine if you suddenly learned that the people, the places, the moments most important to you were not gone, not dead, but worse...they've never been.<br />What kind of hell would that be?<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Dr. Rosen</span><br /><br />I've made the most important discovery of my life. It's only in the mysterious equation of love that any logical reasons can be found.<br />I'm only here tonight because of you.<br />You are the only reason I am... you are all my reasons.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">John Nash</span>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1167019110307584172007-01-14T19:55:00.000-08:002007-01-14T15:03:24.790-08:00Latest 5<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/1600/137405/5.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/320/344434/5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />"Even the lowest whisper can be heard over armies... when it's telling the truth."<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Edmond Zuwanie (The Interpreter)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />I trust people. I just don't trust the devil inside them.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Stella (The Italian Job)</span><br /><br />I don't want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Alvy Singer (Annie Hall)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />-What if you had to tell someone the most important thing in the world, but you knew they'd never believe you?<br />-I'd try<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Doug Carlin (Dèjá vú)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">-We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are. I'm no different.<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Leonard Shelby (Memento)</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><br /></span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1167692175439609072007-01-01T14:36:00.000-08:002007-01-01T15:16:50.216-08:00Non...merci<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/1600/568339/cyrano_de_bergerac.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/320/244936/cyrano_de_bergerac.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Et que faudrait-il faire?<br /><br />Chercher un protecteur puissant, prendre un patron, et comme un lierre obscur qui circonvient un tronc et s'en fait un tuteur en lui léchant l'écorce, grimper par ruse au lieu de s'élever par force?<br />Non, merci.<br /><br />Dédier, comme tous le font, des vers aux financiers? Se changer en bouffon dans l'espoir vil de voir, aux lèvres d'un ministre, naître un sourire, enfin, qui ne soit pas sinistre?<br />Non, merci.<br /><br />Déjeuner, chaque jour, d'un crapaud? Avoir un ventre use par la marche? Une peau qui plus vite, à l'endroit des genoux, devient sale? Exécuter des tours de souplesse dorsale?. . .<br />Non, merci.<br /><br />D'une main flatter la chèvre au cou cependant que, de l'autre, on arrose le chou, et, donneur de séné par désir de rhubarbe, avoir son encensoir, toujours, dans quelque barbe?<br />Non, merci!<br /><br />Se pousser de giron en giron, devenir un petit grand homme dans un rond, et naviguer, avec des madrigaux pour rames, et dans ses voiles des soupirs de vieilles dames?<br />Non, merci!<br /><br />Chez le bon éditeur de Sercy faire éditer ses vers en payant?<br />Non, merci!<br /><br />S'aller faire nommer pape par les conciles que dans des cabarets tiennent des imbéciles?<br />Non, merci!<br /><br />Travailler a se construire un nom sur un sonnet, au lieu d'en faire d'autres?<br />Non, merci!<br /><br />Ne découvrir du talent qu'aux mazettes? Être terrorisé par de vagues gazettes, et se dire sans cesse 'Oh, pourvu que je sois dans les petits papiers du "Mercure François"?'<br />Non, merci!<br /><br />Calculer, avoir peur, être blême, aimer mieux faire une visite qu'un poème, rédiger des placets, se faire présenter?<br />Non, merci! non, merci! non, merci!<br /><br />Mais. . .chanter, rêver, rire, passer, être seul, être libre, avoir l'oeil qui regarde bien, la voix qui vibre, mettre, quand il vous plaît, son feutre de travers, pour un oui, pour un non, se battre,--ou faire un vers!<br />Travailler sans souci de gloire ou de fortune, à tel voyage, auquel on pense, dans la lune!<br />N'écrire jamais rien qui de soi ne sortit, et modeste d'ailleurs, se dire mon petit, soit satisfait des fleurs, des fruits, même des feuilles, si c'est dans ton jardin à toi que tu les cueilles!<br />Puis, s'il advient d'un peu triompher, par hasard, ne pas être obligé d'en rien rendre à César, vis-à-vis de soi-même en garder le mérite.<br />Bref, dédaignant d'être le lierre parasite. Lors même qu'on n'est pas le chêne ou le tilleul.<br />Ne pas monter bien haut, peut-être, mais tout seul!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(Cyrano de Bergerac)</span>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1166043362840314272006-12-13T12:30:00.000-08:002006-12-16T13:35:06.536-08:00Le Fabuleux destin d' Amélie Poulain<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/1600/822390/amelie.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2709/4145/320/390263/amelie.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"La vie n'est que l'interminable répétition d'une représentation qui n'aura jamais lieu."<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">L'écrivain raté </span><br /><br /><br />"Sans toi les émotions d'aujourd'hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d'autrefois."<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Hipolito </span><br /><br /><br />"La chance c' est comme le tour de France, on attend longtemps et puis ça passe vite, quand le moment vient il faut sauter barrière, sans hésiter."<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">L'homme de verre </span><br /><br /><br />"Au moins, vous ne risquait pas d'être un legume parce que même un artichaud a du coeur"<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Amélie</span><br /><br /><br />"Jeune fille timide, elle cultive un goût particulier pour tous les petits plaisirs de la vie : plonger la main au plus profond d'un sac de grain, briser la croûte des crèmes brulées avec le dos de sa petite cuillère ou faire des ricochets sur le canal Saint-Martin."<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Narrateur </span><br /><br /><br />"Amélie a soudain le sentiment étrange d'être en harmonie totale avec elle-même. Tout est parfait en cet instant. La douceur de la lumière, ce petit parfum dans l'air, la rumeur tranquille de la ville. Elle inspire profondément et la vie lui paraît alors si simple et si limpide qu'un élan d'amour comme un désir d'aider l'humanité entière la submerge tout à coup..."<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Narrateur </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38016449.post-1166041106777927842006-12-13T12:04:00.000-08:002006-12-14T15:54:02.580-08:0011 Favourite Cartoon Quotes..more to comeIf you find a mate in life, you should be loyal. In your case, grateful.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Manfred (Ice Age) </span><br /><br />You know? This whole ice age thing is getting old. You know what I could go for? A global warming.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Sid (Ice Age) </span><br /><br />Ah, you know me, I'm too lazy to hold a grudge.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Sid (Ice Age)<br /></span><br />Parents: Please do not leave your children unattended. All unattended children will be eaten.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Traffic Vulture (Ice Age: The Meltdown) </span><br /><br />Manfred: So, still think she's the girl for me?<br />Sid: Sure. She's tons of fun, and you're no fun at all. She completes you.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(Ice Age: The Meltdown) </span><br /><br />Shrek: Well it's no wonder you don't have any friends.<br />Donkey: Wow, only a true friend would be that truely honest.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(Shrek I)</span><br /><br />Where's my super-suit, woman!?<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Frozone (The incredibles)</span><br /><br />Well, folks, it looks like we're up chocolate creek without a popsicle stick.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Gingerbreadman (Shrek II)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />Marlin: What happened?<br />Crush: Saw the whole thing, dude. First you were all like "whoa", and we were like "whoa", and you were like "whoa..."<br />Marlin: What are you talking about?<br />Crush: You, Mini-Man, takin' on the jellies. You've got serious thrill issues, dude. Awesome. Marlin: Oh, my stomach. Ohh.<br />Crush: Oh, man. Hey, no hurling on the shell, dude, ok? Just waxed it.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(Finding Nemo)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I was so ready to get out, so ready to taste that ocean, I was willing to put you in harm's way to get there. Nothing should be worth that.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Gill (Finding Nemo)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />Buzz: I just want you to know that even though you tried to terminate me, revenge is not an idea we promote on my planet.<br />Woody: Oh. Well, that's good.<br />Buzz: But we're not on my planet, are we?<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(Toy Story)</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>Caraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970433384572851204noreply@blogger.com0