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Pic of the Day: “Effective immediately, your licence to kill is revoked, and I require you to hand over your weapon. Now. I need hardly remind you that you’re still bound by the Official Secrets Act.” “I guess it’s, uh… a farewell to arms.”
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Pic of the Day: “The sniper was a woman.” “I noticed.” “Some of the best KGB shots are women.” “Um-hum.” “Did you…” “I’d rather not talk about it.”
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Pic of the Day: “What did Columbo whisper to you at the restaurant?” “That you were a spy, and to find out more about you.” “And have you?” “Have I ever!”
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Pic of the Day: “Which bullet has my name on it? The first or the last?” “I have never failed on a mission, Commander. Any mission.” “In that case, Major, one of us is bound to end up gravely disappointed, because neither have I.”
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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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