Sunday, May 30, 2004
Am I gonna get a Gmail address out of this or what?
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Whenever you find yourself thinking, “ This is very nice, or this is not so nice,” you are in fact grasping at the “nice” things. You are pushing away, or not caring for the “not so nice” things. For the Bodhisattva, these kinds of notions are absent in his mind because he sees very clearly. Things are really not so important with respect to him. He neither grasps at them nor runs from them. For some of us, we are completely occupied by our lives. We are blocked. Everything seems very important to us, and we try to make sense of everything from our own perspective, and with respect to our own self-interest. But to a Bodhisattva who really sees the meaning of life, everything is important, and yet at the same time, nothing holds importance for him because everything is as the Buddha said, impermanent and ever changeable. Things are not so solid, and in this context, nothing is important. But then, we all exist, following along in life, and we suffer, so it is important to try to help one another and those who are troubled. The emphasis is on our readiness, and our willingness to help one another.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
Butch: Will you hand me a towel, tulip?
Fabienne: Ah, I like that. I like tulip. Tulip is much better than mongoloid.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marsellus: In the fifth, your ass goes down. Say it.
Butch: In the fifth, my ass goes down.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mia: I do believe Marsellus Wallace, my husband, your boss, told you to take ME out and do WHATEVER I WANTED. I wanna dance, I wanna win. I want that trophy, so dance good.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Wolf: That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Normally, both of you would be dead as fucking fried chicken by now, but since I'm in a transitional period, I don't want to kill either one of your asses.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jimmie: Well, the thing on my mind right now isn't the good coffee in my cup, it's the dead nigger in my garage.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is irrelevant. What is relevant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jimmie: I'm gonna get divorced. No marriage counselling, no trial separation, divorced.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Honey Bunny: Any of you fuckin' pricks move, and I'll execute every mother fuckin' last one of ya.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent Vega: And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
Vincent Vega: No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: Then what do they call it?
Vincent Vega: They call it a "Royale" with cheese.
Jules: A "Royale" with cheese! What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent Vega: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "le Big-Mac".
Jules: "Le Big-Mac"! Ha ha ha ha! What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent Vega: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent: We should have shotguns for this.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Butch: You okay?
Marcellus: No. I'm pretty fuckin' far from being okay.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Whoa... whoa... whoa... stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
Vincent: Not the same thing, the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no ballpark either. Look maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his lady's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league, ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah. I got my technique down man, I don't tickle or nothin'.
Vincent: Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: How many?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: Would you give me a foot massage? I'm kinda tired.
Jules: Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Check out the big brain on Brett!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say "what" again. SAY "WHAT" AGAIN! I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker! Say "what" one more goddamn time!
Brett: He's b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's bald...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder]
Jules: DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH?
Brett: NO!
Jules: Then why you trying to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't!
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Jules shoots the guy on the couch during Brett's interrogation]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marcellus: No one needs to know about this except you, me and Mr.-soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing -pain-rapist here.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent Vega: That's a pretty fucking good milkshake. I don't know if it's worth five dollars but it's pretty fucking good.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Marcellus is telling Butch to take a dive.]
Marcellus: The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Ezekiel 25:17 among others]
Jules: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Vincent Vega goes up to Butch at the bar]
Butch: What're you looking at, friend?
Vincent Vega: I ain't your friend, palooka.
Butch: What did you say?
Vincent Vega: I think you heard me just fine, punchy.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[After a long pause in their conversation]
Mia Wallace: Don't you hate that?
Vincent Vega: Hate what?
Mia Wallace: Uncomfortable silences.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mia: Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to become comfortable?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lance: You're going to give her an injection of adrenaline directly to her heart.
Vincent: Then what happens?
Lance: I'm curious about that myself.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marcellus: I'm prepared to scour the the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a nigger waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Butch: I think I have a broken rib.
Fabienne: From giving me oral pleasure?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this?
Butch: It's a chopper, baby.
Fabienne: Whose chopper is this?
Butch: It's Zed's.
Fabienne: Who's Zed?
Butch: Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.
Fabienne: Ah, I like that. I like tulip. Tulip is much better than mongoloid.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marsellus: In the fifth, your ass goes down. Say it.
Butch: In the fifth, my ass goes down.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mia: I do believe Marsellus Wallace, my husband, your boss, told you to take ME out and do WHATEVER I WANTED. I wanna dance, I wanna win. I want that trophy, so dance good.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Wolf: That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Normally, both of you would be dead as fucking fried chicken by now, but since I'm in a transitional period, I don't want to kill either one of your asses.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jimmie: Well, the thing on my mind right now isn't the good coffee in my cup, it's the dead nigger in my garage.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is irrelevant. What is relevant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jimmie: I'm gonna get divorced. No marriage counselling, no trial separation, divorced.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Honey Bunny: Any of you fuckin' pricks move, and I'll execute every mother fuckin' last one of ya.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent Vega: And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
Vincent Vega: No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: Then what do they call it?
Vincent Vega: They call it a "Royale" with cheese.
Jules: A "Royale" with cheese! What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent Vega: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "le Big-Mac".
Jules: "Le Big-Mac"! Ha ha ha ha! What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent Vega: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent: We should have shotguns for this.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Butch: You okay?
Marcellus: No. I'm pretty fuckin' far from being okay.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Whoa... whoa... whoa... stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
Vincent: Not the same thing, the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no ballpark either. Look maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his lady's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league, ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah. I got my technique down man, I don't tickle or nothin'.
Vincent: Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: How many?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: Would you give me a foot massage? I'm kinda tired.
Jules: Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: Check out the big brain on Brett!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say "what" again. SAY "WHAT" AGAIN! I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker! Say "what" one more goddamn time!
Brett: He's b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's bald...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder]
Jules: DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH?
Brett: NO!
Jules: Then why you trying to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't!
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Jules shoots the guy on the couch during Brett's interrogation]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marcellus: No one needs to know about this except you, me and Mr.-soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing -pain-rapist here.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent Vega: That's a pretty fucking good milkshake. I don't know if it's worth five dollars but it's pretty fucking good.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Marcellus is telling Butch to take a dive.]
Marcellus: The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Ezekiel 25:17 among others]
Jules: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Vincent Vega goes up to Butch at the bar]
Butch: What're you looking at, friend?
Vincent Vega: I ain't your friend, palooka.
Butch: What did you say?
Vincent Vega: I think you heard me just fine, punchy.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[After a long pause in their conversation]
Mia Wallace: Don't you hate that?
Vincent Vega: Hate what?
Mia Wallace: Uncomfortable silences.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mia: Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to become comfortable?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lance: You're going to give her an injection of adrenaline directly to her heart.
Vincent: Then what happens?
Lance: I'm curious about that myself.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Marcellus: I'm prepared to scour the the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a nigger waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Butch: I think I have a broken rib.
Fabienne: From giving me oral pleasure?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this?
Butch: It's a chopper, baby.
Fabienne: Whose chopper is this?
Butch: It's Zed's.
Fabienne: Who's Zed?
Butch: Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.
