http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
She stuck out her feet, which were clad in low-topped sneakers. On the soles were patterns of circles and lines. “He complimented me on my sneakers,” she said. “Isn’t that dippy?”
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092007/quotes
IMDb
The Internet Movie Database
Memorable quotes for
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986)
Gillian: You're not from the military are you? Trying to teach whales to retrieve torpedoes or some dipshit stuff like that?
Kirk: No, ma'am. No dipshit.
Gillian: Well, good. That was one thing, I would have dropped you off right here.
http://movie.subtitlr.com/subtitle/show/458933
Night of the Comet (1984)
Here, Samantha, you and your sister share a lot of secrets.
I want you to share this one with her.
If it were up to me, I couldn't care less what she did.
But if your father makes it back home without some Sandinista
blowing his brains out,
he's gonna hold me responsible for any kind of trouble
you two girls get into.
What we have here is a chain of command.
The Major jumps on me, I jump on you.
Did you get that? Okay.
1984 film "Night of the Comet" DVD video:
DJ voice recording tape: Well, it's time to reach into the old mailbag here. Got a letter from
Samantha: Beam me up, Scotty.
Hector: Okay, girls. Hold it right there. You, the blonde, get into the light.
Regina: Wait. Why don't you just let my sister go. And maybe you and I can work something out.
Samantha: I'm not going anywhere!
Regina: Shut up!
Hector: You got the wrong idea. You, into the light. I'll give you to five. One, two... No? All right. Let's try it this way. Five, four, three -
Samantha: Okay, okay. Do you get a lot of dates this way?
Hector: Open your eyes. Okay. Hey, I know what you're thinking, but -
Regina: That you're a cretin?
Hector: Sweetheart, you haven't seen those freaked-out zombies running around here?
Regina: Yeah, I was jumped by one.
Hector: Well, you got off lucky. Me and this girl pulled into town this morning.
Samantha: You don't work here?
Hector: No. I drive a truck. I was heading to San Diego with this girl I picked up. We were looking for a gas station. That's when we spotted one of those... Whatever they are. Looked like it was eating... Looked like it was eating a cat.
Samantha: A dead cat?
Hector: Semi-dead.
Samantha: Who'd want to eat a live cat?
Hector: Beats the shit out of me. This girl freaked out. Took off running. I spotted her about twenty minutes later. Looked like one of those things had -
Samantha: What?
Hector: Torn her apart.
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
After Stu had gone over to Larry’s, Frannie rushed upstairs to the bedroom. In the corner of the closet was the sleeping bag she had carried across the country strapped to the back of her motorcycle. She had kept her personal belongings in a small zipper bag. Most of these belongings were now distributed through the apartment she and Stu shared, but a few still hadn’t found a home and rested at the foot of the sleeping bag. There were several bottles of cleansing cream—she had suffered a sudden rash of skin outbreaks after the deaths of her mother and father, but that had now subsided—a box of Stayfree Mini Pads in case she started spotting (she had heard that pregnant women sometimes did), two boxes of cheap cigars, one marked IT’S A BOY! and the other marked IT’S A GIRL! The last item was her diary.
She drew it out and looked at it speculatively. She had entered in it only eight or nine times since their arrival in Boulder, and most of the entries had been short, almost elliptical. The great outpouring had come and gone while they were still on the road… like afterbirth, she thought a little ruefully. She hadn’t entered at all in the last four days, and suspected that the diary might eventually have slipped her mind altogether, although she had firmly intended to keep it more fully when things settled down a little. For the baby. Now, however, it was very much on her mind once more.
The way people get when they convert to religion… or read something that changes their lives… like intercepted love letters…
Suddenly it seemed to her that the book had gained weight, and that the very act of turning back the pasteboard cover would cause sweat to pop out on her brow and… and…
She suddenly looked back over her shoulder, her heart beating wildly. Had something moved in here?
A mouse, scuttering behind the wall, maybe. Surely no more than that. More likely just her imagination. There was no reason, no reason at all, for her to suddenly be thinking of the man in the black robe, the man with the coathanger. Her baby was alive and safe and this was just a book and anyhow there was no way to tell if a book had been read, and even if there was a way, there would be no way to tell if the person who had read it had been Harold Lauder.
Still, she opened the book and began to turn slowly through its pages, getting shutterclicks of the recent past like black-and-white photographs taken by an amateur. Home movie of the mind.
Tonight we were admiring them and Harold was going on about color & texture & tone and Stu gave me a very sober wink. Evil me, I winked back…
Harold will object on general principles, of course. Damn you, Harold, grow up!
… and I could see him getting ready with one of his Patented Harold Lauder Smartass Comments…
(my God, Fran, why did you ever say all those things about him? to what purpose?)
Well, you know Harold… his swagger… all those pompous words & pronouncements… an insecure little boy…
That was July 12. Wincing, she turned past it rapidly, fluttering through the pages now, in a hurry to get to the end. Phrases still leaped up, seeming to slap at her: Anyway, Harold smelled pretty clean for a change… Harold’s breath would have driven away a dragon tonight… And another, seeming almost prophetic: He stores up rebuffs like pirate treasure. But to what purpose? To feed his own feelings of secret superiority and persecution? Or was it a matter of retribution?
Oh, he’s making a list… and checking it twice… he’s gonna find out… who’s naughty and nice…
Then, on August 1, only two weeks ago. The entry started at the bottom of a page. No entry last night, I was too happy. Have I ever been this happy? I don’t think so. Stu and I are together. We
End of the page. She turned to the next one. The first words at the top of the page were made love twice. But they barely caught her eye before her glance dropped halfway down the page. There, beside some blathering about the maternal instinct, was something that caught her eyes and froze her almost solid.
It was a dark, smeary thumbprint.
She thought wildly: I was riding on a motorcycle all day long, every day. Sure, I took care to clean up every chance I got, but your hands get dirty and…
She put out her hand, not at all surprised to see that it was shaking badly. She put her thumb on the smudge. The smudge was a lot bigger.
Well, of course it is, she told herself. When you smear something around, it naturally gets bigger. That’s why, that’s all that is…
But this thumbprint wasn’t that smeared. The little lines and loops and whorls were still clear, for the most part.
And it wasn’t grease or oil, there was no use even kidding herself that it was.
It was dried chocolate.
Paydays, Fran thought sickly. Chocolate-covered Payday candy bars.
For a moment she was afraid to do so much as turn around—afraid that she might see Harold’s grin hanging over her shoulder like the grin of the Cheshire cat in Alice. Harold’s thick lips moving as he said solemnly: Every dog has his day, Frannie. Every dog has his day.
- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 6:12 PM Pacific Time USA Monday 09 April 2012
