It takes a special kind of plane to become a firefighter.
I feel your fear growing. You will be dead soon…
In brightest day, in blackest night…
…and when you are gone, I will destroy everything you ever loved…
…no evil shall escape my sight…
…your family, your home, your planet will be no more.
…let those who worship evil’s might…
Your entire human race will be wiped out, because you, Hal Jordan, were afraid.
…beware of my power, GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!
Sometimes you got to get through your fear to see the beauty on the other side.
Difficult, not impossible.
All more proof you’re insane.
Why do you look so impressed?
Why, Mr. Anderson? Why, why? Why do you do it? Why, why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you’re fighting… for something? For more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although… only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can’t win. It’s pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?
Because I choose to.
I love French wine, like I love the French language. I have sampled every language, French is my favorite. Fantastic language. Especially to curse with. Nom de dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperie de connard d’enculer ta mère. It’s like wiping your arse with silk. I love it.
You look frightened. There’s a large number of lonely men out there.
Don’t worry, I won’t let them rape you.
Professor Minerva McGonagall:
[to Harry, Ron, & Hermione]
Why is it, when something happens, it is always you three?
Believe me, Professor. I’ve been asking myself the same question for six years.