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Memorable quotes for
Legally Blonde (2001)
Elle's Mother: Honey, you were First Runner-Up at the "Miss Hawaiian Tropics" contest. Why are you going to throw that all away?
Elle: Going to Harvard is the only way I'm going to get the love of my life back.
Elle's Father: Oh, sweetheart, you don't need law school. Law school is for people who are boring and ugly and serious. And you, button, are none of those things.
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Biography for
Patricia Wettig
Date of Birth
4 December 1951
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Release dates for
As Long as They're Happy (1955)
Country Date
UK 15 March 1955 (London)
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Plot Summary for
As Long as They're Happy (1955)
The suburban peace of the Bentley household is shattered when John Bentley is informed by his wife Stella that their two married daughters, Pat and Corrine are in trouble and need funds to come home and bring their husbands, Peter, a penniless Parisian artist and Barnaby, a Texas cowboy, with them. And the youngest daughter, Gwen, has tricked an American singer, Bobby Denver, into visiting them on the pretext that it is the home of a noted British film magnate. When all the women in the household --- including the maid --- fall for the singer's charms, Bentley consults a crackpot psychiatrist, Dr. Schneider, who almost succeeds in ousting, not the singer, but Bentley's wife, with his advice to Bentley to make her jealous by living it up with Pearl, a showgirl recruited for the purpose.
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Release dates for
The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (1969)
Country Date
USA 31 December 1969
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Stephen King
The Langoliers [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
“I said not fifteen minutes ago that it felt like lunchtime. It now feels much later than that to me. Three in the afternoon, perhaps four. It isn’t breakfast my stomach is grumbling for right now; it wants high tea. I have a terrible feeling that it may start to get dark outside before our watches tell us it’s quarter to ten in the morning.”
“Get to it, mate,” Nick said.
“I think it’s about time,” Bob said quietly. “Not about dimension, as Albert suggested, but time. Suppose that, every now and then, a hole appears in the time stream? Not a time-warp, but a time-rip. A rip in the temporal fabric.”
“That’s the craziest shit I ever heard!” Don Gaffney exclaimed.
“Amen!” Craig Toomy seconded from the floor.
“No,” Bob replied sharply. “If you want crazy shit, think about how Albert’s violin sounded when you were standing six feet away from it. Or look around you, Mr Gaffney, just look around you. What’s happening to us... what we’re in... that’s crazy shit.”
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Release dates for
The Langoliers (1995) (TV)
Country Date
USA 14 May 1995
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Release dates for
"The Adventures of Superboy"
West of Alpha Centauri (1992)
Country Date
USA 2 February 1992
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The Adventures of Superboy (TV series 1988–1992)
West of Alpha Centauri (#4.13)
Gerard Christopher ... Clark Kent / Superboy
Release Date: 2 February 1992 (USA)
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Release dates for
"Mission: Impossible"
The Killer (1988)
Country Date
USA 23 October 1988
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Mission: Impossible (TV series 1988–1990)
The Killer (#1.1)
Peter Graves ... Jim Phelps
Release Date: 23 October 1988 (USA)
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Memorable quotes for
"Friends"
The One After the Superbowl: Part 1 (1996)
[to Joey's stalker who thinks he is Drake Remore]
Joey: I'm not Drake.
Ross: That's right, he's not Drake, he's Hans Remore, Drake's evil twin.
Erika Ford: Is this true?
Rachel: Yes, yes it is true. And I know this because... because he pretended to be Drake too, to sleep with me.
[Rachel throws water in his face]
Monica: And then he told me he would run away with me, and he didn't.
[Monica throws water in his face]
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/97924/King_-_The_Langoliers.html
Stephen King
The Langoliers [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
“There’s nothing you can do, you know,” Nick said. “It’s in God’s hands now, I’m afraid.”
“I do know that,” she said, “but I want to stay.”
“All right, Laurel.” He brushed at her hair gently with the palm of his hand. “It’s such a pretty name. You deserve it.”
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”
“We have a dinner date — you haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“No,” she said, still smiling. “I haven’t and I won’t.”
He bent down and brushed a kiss lightly across her mouth. “Good,” he said. “Neither will I.”
He went forward and she pressed her fingers lightly against her mouth, as if to hold his kiss there, where it belonged. Dinner with Nick Hopewell — a dark, mysterious stranger. Maybe with candles and a good bottle of wine. More kisses afterward — real kisses. It all seemed like something which might happen in one of the Harlequin romances she sometimes read. So what? They were pleasant stories, full of sweet and harmless dreams. It didn’t hurt to dream a little, did it?
Of course not. But why did she feel the dream was so unlikely to come true?
She unbuckled her own seatbelt, crossed the aisle, and put her hand on the girl’s forehead. The hectic heat she had felt before was gone; Dinah’s skin was now waxy-cool.
I think she’s going, Rudy had said shortly before they started their headlong take-off charge. Now the words recurred to Laurel and rang in her head with sickening validity. Dinah was taking air in shallow sips, her chest barely rising and falling beneath the strap which cinched the tablecloth pad tight over her wound.
Laurel brushed the girl’s hair off her forehead with infinite tenderness and thought of that strange moment in the restaurant, when Dinah had reached out and grasped the cuff of Nick’s jeans. Don’t you kill him... we need him.
Did you save us, Dinah? Did you do something to Mr Toomy that saved us? Did you make him somehow trade his life for ours?
She thought that perhaps something like that had happened... and reflected that, if it was true, this little girl, blind and badly wounded, had made a dreadful decision inside her darkness.
She leaned forward and kissed each of Dinah’s cool, closed lids. “Hold on,” she whispered. “Please hold on, Dinah.”
6
Bethany turned to Albert, grasped both of his hands in hers, and asked: “What happens if the fuel goes bad?”
Albert looked at her seriously and kindly. “You know the answer to that, Bethany.”
“You can call me Beth, if you want.”
“Okay.”
She fumbled out her cigarettes, looked up at the NO SMOKING light, and put them away again. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. We crash. End of story. And do you know what?”
He shook his head, smiling a little.
“If we can’t find that hole again, I hope Captain Engle won’t even try to land the plane. I hope he just picks out a nice high mountain and crashes us into the top of it. Did you see what happened to that crazy guy? I don’t want that to happen to me.”
She shuddered, and Albert put an arm around her. She looked up at him frankly. “Would you like to kiss me?”
“Yes,” Albert said.
“Well, you better go ahead, then. The later it gets, the later it gets.”
Albert went ahead. It was only the third time in his life that the fastest Hebrew west of the Mississippi had kissed a girl, and it was great. He could spend the whole trip back in a lip-lock with this girl and never worry about a thing.
“Thank you,” she said, and put her head on his shoulder. “I needed that.” “Well, if you need it again, just ask,” Albert said. She looked up at him, amused. “Do you need me to ask, Albert?” “I reckon not,” drawled The Arizona Jew, and went back to work.
7
Nick had stopped on his way to the cockpit to speak to Bob Jenkins — an extremely nasty idea had occurred to him, and he wanted to ask the writer about it.
“Do you think there could be any of those things up here?”
Bob thought it over for a moment. “Judging from what we saw back at Bangor, I would think not. But it’s hard to tell, isn’t it? In a thing like this, all bets are off.”
“Yes. I suppose so. All bets are off.” Nick thought this over for a moment. “What about this time-rip of yours? Would you like to give odds on us finding it again?”
Bob Jenkins slowly shook his head.
Rudy Warwick spoke up from behind them, startling them both. “You didn’t ask me, but I’ll give you my opinion just the same. I put them at one in a thousand.”
Nick thought this over. After a moment a rare, radiant smile burst across his face. “Not bad odds at all,” he said. “Not when you consider the alternative.”
8
Less than forty minutes later, the blue sky through which Flight 29 moved began to deepen in color. It cycled slowly to indigo, and then to deep purple. Sitting in the cockpit, monitoring his instruments and wishing for a cup of coffee, Brian thought of an old song: When the deep purple falls... over sleepy garden walls...
No garden walls up here, but he could see the first ice-chip stars gleaming in the firmament. There was something reassuring and calming about the old constellations appearing, one by one, in their old places. He did not know how they could be the same when so many other things were so badly out of joint, but he was very glad they were.
“It’s going faster, isn’t it?” Nick said from behind him.
Brian turned in his seat to face him. “Yes. It is. After awhile the ‘days’ and ‘nights’ will be passing as fast as a camera shutter can click, I think.”
Nick sighed. “And now we do the hardest thing of all, don’t we? We wait to see what happens. And pray a little bit, I suppose.”
“It couldn’t hurt.” Brian took a long, measuring look at Nick Hopewell. “I was on my way to Boston because my ex-wife died in a stupid fire. Dinah was going because a bunch of doctors promised her a new pair of eyes. Bob was going to a convention, Albert to music school, Laurel on vacation. Why were you going to Boston, Nick? Fess up. The hour groweth late.”
Nick looked at him thoughtfully for a long time and then laughed. “Well why not?” he asked, but Brian was not so foolish as to believe this question was directed at him. “What does a Most Secret classification mean when you’ve just seen a bunch of killer fuzzballs rolling up the world like an old rug?”
He laughed again.
“The United States hasn’t exactly cornered the market on dirty tricks and covert operations,” he told Brian. “We Limeys have forgotten more nasty mischief than you johnnies ever knew. We’ve cut capers in India, South Africa, China, and the part of Palestine which became Israel. We certainly got into a pissing contest with the wrong fellows that time, didn’t we? Nevertheless, we British are great believers in cloak and dagger, and the fabled MI5 isn’t where it ends but only where it begins. I spent eighteen years in the armed services, Brian — the last five of them in Special Operations. Since then I’ve done various odd jobs, some innocuous, some fabulously nasty.”
It was full dark outside now, and stars gleaming like spangles on a woman’s formal evening gown.
“I was in Los Angeles — on vacation, actually — when I was contacted and told to fly to Boston. Extremely short notice, this was, and after four days spent backpacking in the San Gabriels, I was falling-down tired. That’s why I happened to be sound asleep when Mr Jenkins’s Event happened.”
“There’s a man in Boston, you see... or was... or will be (time-travel plays hell on the old verb tenses, doesn’t it?)... who is a politician of some note. The sort of fellow who moves and shakes with great vigor behind the scenes. This man — I’ll call him Mr O’Banion, for the sake of conversation — is very rich, Brian, and he is an enthusiastic supporter of the Irish Republican Army. He has channelled millions of dollars into what some like to call Boston’s favorite charity, and there is a good deal of blood on his hands. Not just British soldiers but children in schoolyards, women in laundromats, and babies blown out of their prams in pieces. He is an idealist of the most dangerous sort: one who never has to view the carnage at first hand, one who has never had to look at a severed leg lying in the gutter and been forced to reconsider his actions in light of that experience.”
“You were supposed to kill this man O’Banion?”
“Not unless I had to,” Nick said calmly. “He’s very wealthy, but that’s not the only problem. He’s the total politician, you see, and he’s got more fingers than the one he uses to stir the pot in Ireland. He has a great many powerful American friends, and some of his friends are our friends... that’s the nature of politics; a cat’s cradle woven by men who for the most part belong in rooms with rubber walls. Killing Mr O’Banion would be a great political risk. But he keeps a little bit of fluff on the side. She was the one I was supposed to kill.”
“As a warning,” Brian said in a low, fascinated voice.
“Yes. As a warning.”
Almost a full minute passed as the two men sat in the cockpit, looking at each other. The only sound was the sleepy drone of the jet engines. Brian’s eyes were shocked and somehow very young. Nick only looked weary.
“If we get out of this,” Brian said at last, “if we get back, will you carry through with it?”
Nick shook his head. He did this slowly, but with great finality. “I believe I’ve had what the Adventist blokes like to call a soul conversion, old mate of mine. No more midnight creeps or extreme-prejudice jobs for Mrs Hopewell’s boy Nicholas. If we get out of this — a proposition I find rather shaky just now — I believe I’ll retire.”
“And do what?”
Nick looked at him thoughtfully for a moment or two and then said, “Well... I suppose I could take flying lessons.”
Brian burst out laughing. After a moment, Mrs Hopewell’s boy Nicholas joined him
1995 television miniseries "The Langoliers" DVD video: [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
02:24:35
American Pride pilot Captain Brian Engle: As a warning?
Nick Hopewell: Yeah, as a warning. Well, that's enough about me. What about you? What are you hiding you'd like to get off your chest?
