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Pic of the Day: “You and I are in the loneliest profession. We are artists. There’s no one better.”
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Pic of the Day: “Hi, I’m Plenty.” “But of course you are.” “Plenty O’Toole.” “Named after your father, perhaps?”
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Pic of the Day: “It’s all right. It’s quite all right, really. She’s having a rest. We’ll be getting on soon. There’s no hurry, you see. We have all the time in the world.”
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Pic of the Day: “James Bond. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ernst Stavro Blofeld. They told me you were assassinated in Hong Kong.” “Yes, this is my second life.” “You only live twice, Mr. Bond.”
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Pic of the Day: “That gun, it looks more fitting for a woman.” “You know much about guns, Mr. Bond?” “No, but I know a little about women.”
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Pic of the Day: “The mechanism is… Oh James, James… will you make love to me all the time in England?” “Day and night. Go on about the mechanism.”
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Pic of the Day: “I don’t believe that story about Josey Wales.” “You don’t?” “No, sir, I don’t. I don’t believe no five pistoleros can do in Josey Wales.” “Maybe it was six. Could’ve even been ten.” “I think he’s still alive.” “Alive? No sir.” “I think I’ll go down to Mexico, and try to find him.” “And then?” “He’s got the first move. I owe him that. I think I’ll try to tell him the war is over. What do you say, Mr. Wilson?” “I reckon so. I guess we all died a little in that damn war.”
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Pic of the Day: “He was growing into middle age, and was living then in a bungalow on Woodland Avenue. He installed himself in a rocking chair and smoked a cigar down in the evenings as his wife wiped her pink hands on an apron and reported happily on their two children. His children knew his legs, the sting of his mustache against their cheeks. They didn’t know how their father made his living, or why they so often moved. They didn’t even know their father’s name.”
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Pic of the Day: “Ready? Okay, when we get outside and we get to the horses, whatever happens, just remember one thing… hey, wait a minute.” “What?” “You didn’t see Lefors out there, did you?” “Lefors? No.” “Oh, good. For a moment there I thought we were in trouble.”
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Pic of the Day: “You don’t have to do me no favors, pappy.” “If I was doing you a favor, I’d let ’em hang you right now and get it all over with. But I don’t want you to get off that light. I want you to go on, being a big, tough gunny. I want you to see what it means to have to live like a big, tough gunny. So don’t thank me yet, partner. You’ll see what I mean.”
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Pic of the Day: “And Frank?” “Frank sent us.” “Did you bring a horse for me?” “Well… looks like we’re… looks like we’re shy one horse.” “You brought two too many.”
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Pic of the Day: “You’re not going to use the story, Mr. Scott?” “No, sir. This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”
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Pic of the Day: “I want you to round up every vicious criminal and gunslinger in the west. Take this down. I want rustlers, cut throats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers, and Methodists!” “Could you repeat that, sir?”
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Pic of the Day: “Well, you’ll have to forgive me, my kitchen ain’t in operation yet, but I could take you up to the restaurant up there if you’re hungry enough.” “I’m hungry enough I could eat a bloody horse.” “Well, at Sheehan’s place you probably will.”
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Pic of the Day: “Jack, I’m going to tell you something. The world that you and Paul live in doesn’t exist. Maybe it never did… out there in the real world. And it’s got real borders and real fences, real laws and real trouble. And you either go by the rules or you lose. You lose everything.” “You can always keep something.”
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Pic of the Day: “You risk your skin catching killers and the juries turn them loose so they can come back and shoot at you again. If you’re honest you’re poor your whole life and in the end you wind up dying all alone on some dirty street. For what? For nothing. For a tin star.”
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