“Get her,” Boots said.
“Preferred mode of driving,” Duke added.
“At least the cops won’t be able to see us in the dark without lights.” Norman risked another peek back.
“Give the kid a doughnut.” Duke casually teased a cigarette from a pack with his teeth. “Hey, miss?”
“The name’s Dee-Dee.”
“Miss Dee-Dee. Do you know where these tracks are headed?”
“They run for miles. Only people use them are farmers.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m trying to help, you lummox.”
“Lummox.” Duke grinned back at Norman– an alarming action, as he wasn’t looking where he was driving. “You’ve picked up a live one there, boy.
Dee-Dee fumed. “He didn’t pick me up!”
“Say, he’s not boned you yet?”
“No!”
Boots turneed around to smirk. “He will soon enough. Normy can’t get enough. The guy’s a fucking love machine.”
Duke laughed. “That’s ’cause he’s been saving it up for years.”

(He’s Scottish, so the “Sassenach and “Mo Duinne” are Gaelic words )

The setup: Tamora, the empress, has just given birth. Although she and the emperor are “fair,” the baby is black.
Her sons (Chiron and Demetrius) and her lover Aaron (who is black) just got the news:

  Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done?
  Aaron: That which thou canst not undo.
  Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother.
  Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.

That’s right – Shakespeare wrote “yo mama” jokes!
[Sorry about the double-post -- line breaks got messed up]

The setup: Tamora, the empress, has just given birth. Although she and the emperor are “fair,” the baby is black.
Her sons (Chiron and Demetrius) and her lover Aaron (who is black) just got the news:

  Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done?  Aaron: That which thou canst not undo.  Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother.  Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.

That’s right – Shakespeare wrote “yo mama” jokes!

It’s the last scene in the Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. It’s the last conversation between Bod and his adopted ghost mother.

–

“Do you know what you’re going to do now?” she asked.

“See the world,” said Bod. “Get into trouble. get out of trouble again. Visit jungles and volcanoes and deserts and islands. And People. I want to meet an awful lot of people.

Mistress Owens made no immediate reply. She stared up at him, and then she began to sing a song that Bod remembered, a song she used to sing to him when he was a tiny thing, a song that she had used to lull him to sleep when he was small.

“Sleep my little babby-oh
Sleep until you waken
When you wake you’ll see the world
If I’m not mistaken. . .”

“You’re not,” whispered Bod. “And I shall.”

Kiss a lover
Dance a measure,
Find your name
And buried treasure. . .”

Then the last lines of the song came back to Mistress Owens, and she sang them to her son.

Face your life
Its pain, its pleasure,
Leave no path untaken”

“Leave no path untaken,” repeated Bod. “A difficult challenge, but I can try my best.”

He tried to put his arms around his mother then, as he had when he was a child, although he might as well have been trying to hold mist, for he was alone on the path.

He took a step forward, though the gate that took him out of the graveyard. He thought a voice said, “I am so proud of you, my son,” but he might, perhaps, have imagined it.

The midsummer sky was already beginning to lighten in the east, and that was the way that Bod began to walk: down the hill, towards the living people, and the city, and the dawn.

There was a passport in his bag, money in his pocket. There was a smile dancing on his lips, although it was a wary smile, for the world is a bigger place than a little graveyard on a hill; and there would be dangers in it and mysteries, new friends to make, old friends to rediscover, mistakes to be made and many paths to be walked before he would, finally, return to the graveyard or ride with the Lady on the broad back of her great grey stallion.

But between now and then, there was Life; and Bod walked into it with his eyes and heart wide open.

“You’ll stay with me?”
“Until the very end,” said James.
“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.
“We are a part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”
Harry looked closely at his mother.
“Stay close to me,” he said quietly.

Harry talking to his parents, Sirius and Lupin using the Resurrection Stone before he walks to his death.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling, pg 560-561, Chapter 34: The Forest Again, UK edition.

I used my downtime to explain the story of Kiss Me, Kate to Hucky, which was clearly going to be a challenge. The signs that Mamita and I downloaded from the Internet had certainly covered basic English, but I wasn’t sure how well they embraced Cole Porter lyrics.
“Now, the scene you just saw,” I began, pointing to the stage.
“Was about you and T.C.,” he concluded, nodding like he already knew.
“What?”
“She pretends she doesn’t like him and he pretends he doesn’t care.”
I had no handy rebuttal to that particular allegation and wouldn’t have been able to come up with one if I’d been given a week’s notice. So I countered with the only safe reply I could think of.
“The toilet is not working properly.”

DOD: Yes, but I mean -
JED: Look, there isn’t any point.
DOD: I mean-
JED: It’s all finished now anyway. It’s over, we just don’t know it.
DOD: If I thought for a minute that you were-
JED: Yeah.
DOD: I mean…
Kenny: It’s meaningless. Meaning less. Less and less. Why bother?
DOD: But do you know what I”m talking about(shouts)? DO you know what I mean?

I also liked this from the same book, page 172

Proteus was ‘asleep somewhere’ according to a rather vague Kara but Jill’s unpronounceable child was up long past her bedtime and had to be force-fed her rice-carrot-wax sludge before falling asleep with her head on the table, by which time she had acquired an almost feverish complexion.
‘You should try Heinz toddler jars,’ Bob said earnestly to Jill, who said, equally earnestly,”Never”.

‘Babies should eat what we eat,’ Sara said.
‘I think we should just eat babies,’ Terri murmured, a remark which, luckily for her went unheard.

When Bee woke up, there was a girl standing in her room.
“You are me,” the girl said.
Then she was gone.

It’s from The Waters and the Wild by Francesca Lia Block.

Batgril Fists of Fury

Oracle: “I’m not sure. They fought at some temple devoted to the worship of Shiva, and Batgirl won. Oh, but first Shiva killed her and then brough her back to life.”

Spoiler: *Pauses a beat.* “What?”

As soon as we were far enough away from our group’s new base camp, Janna asked me what the plan was for Jimmy’s birthday.
“I bought him a pony,” I told her.
She slapped me on the shoulder. “That’s not fair – I bought him a pony, too!”
“Did you take the tag off? Can you still return it?”
“I bought it used?”
“You bought my boyfriend a used pony?”
“Yes,” Janna replied, looking skyward.

This short–very short–dialogue takes place after Mr. Darcy has saved Jane and her family from zombies, and has walked with Jane for some distance. Mr. Darcy wants Jane to come inside, but she refuses. She then remember that she has his rifle on he back and his ammunition in her pocket.

She remembered the lead ammunition in her pocket and offered it to him. “Your balls, Mr. Darcy?”

He reached out and closed her hand around them, and offered, “They belong to you, Miss Bennet.”

Upon this, their colour changed, and they were forced to look away from one another, lest they laugh.

“A couple of hours later, I was sitting opposite the Major and his little memsahib at breakfast in the dining-room, and the knowledge that not long ago I had seen that same little memsahib without a stitch on her made my spine creep. I kept my head down and pretended neither of them were there.

“Ha!” The Major cried suddenly. “Aren’t you the young fellow who had his head sticking through the port-hole this morning?”

“Who mea?”I murmured, keeping my nose in the cornflakes.

“Yes, you!” the Major cried, triumphant. “I never forget a face!”

“I-I was just getting a breath of air,” I mumbled.

“You were getting a darn sight more than that!” the Major cried out, grinning. “You were getting an eyeful of the memsahib, that’s what you were doing.”

The whole of our eight people suddenly became silent and looked in my direction. I felt my cheeks beginning to boil.

“I can’t say I blame you,” the Major went on, giving his wife an enormous wink. It was his turn to be proud and gallant now. “In fact, I dno’t blame you at all. Would _you_ blame him?” he asked, addressing the rest of the table. After all, we’re only young once. And as the poet say…” he paused, giving his dreadful wife another colossal wink…”a thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

“Oh, do shut up, said the wife, loving it.”

“Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identicle and our hearts are open.”

(Eugenia Spence:) “Give yourself to me, Gemma, and you will never be alone again. You’ll be worshipped. Adored. Loved. But you must give yourself to me- a willing sacrifice.”
(Gemma:) Tears slipped down my face. “Yes,” I murmur.
“Gemma, don’t listen,” Cirice says hoarsely, and for a moment, I don’t see Eugenia: I see only the tree, the blood pumping beneath its pale skin, the bodies of the dead hanging from it like chimes.
I gasp, and Eugenia is before me again. “Yes, this is what you want Gemma. Try as you might, you cannot kill this part of yourself. The solitude of the self that waits under the stairs of your soul. Always there, no matter how much you’ve tried to get rid of it. I understand. I do. Stay with me and never be lonely again.”
“Don’t listen…to that…b****,” Circe croaks, and the vies tighten around her neck.
“No, you’re wrong,” I say to Eugenia as if coming out of a long sleep. “/You/ couldn’t kill this part of yourself. And you couldn’t accept it, either.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she says, sounding uncertain for the first time.
“That’s why they were able to take you. They found your fear.”
“And what, pray, is it?”
“Your pride. You couldn’t believe you might have some of the same qualities as the creatures themselves.”
“I am not like them. I am their hope. I sustain them.”
“No. You tell yourself that. That’s why Circe told me to search my dark corners. So I wouldn’t be caught off guard.”
Circe laughs, a splintered cackle that finds a way under my skin.
“And what about you, Gemma?” Eugenia purrs. “Have you ’searched’yourself, as you say?”
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve made mistakes,” I say, my voice growing stronger, my fingers feeling for the dagger again. “But I’ve done good, too.”
“And yet, you’re still alone. All that trying and still you stand apart, watching from the other side of the glass. Afraid to have what you truly want because /what if it’s not wnough after all?/ What if you get it and you still feel alone and apart? So much better to wrap yourself up in the longing. The yearning. The relentlessness. Poor Gemma. She doesn’t quite fit, does she? Poor Gemma- all alone.”
…
“Gemma, you’re not alone,” Circe gasps, and my hand touches metal.
“No, I’m not. I’m like everyone else in this stupid, bloody, amazing world. I’m flawed. Impossibly so. But hopeful. I’m still me.” I’ve got it now. Sure and strong in my grip. “I see through you. I see the truth.”

BJ: You know the oncoming film Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby?
CF: I do know it, yes.
BJ: (Pause. Rustling paper) Do … Oh. (More rustling paper) Do you think the book of Fever Pitch has spored a confessional gender?
CF: Excuse me?
BJ: Has. Spored. A. Confessional. Gender.
CF: Spored a confessional gender?
BJ: Yes.
CF: Well. Certainly Nick Hornby’s style has been very much imitated and I think it’s a very appealing, er, gender whether or not he actually, um … spored it.

And AS EVERYONE KNOWS John Green wrote “Paper Towns”.

They were silent. Samuel looked at Lindsey.

“Buckley,” my father called from the adjoining room, “come play Monopoly with me.”

My brother had never been invited to play Monopoly. Everyone said he was too young, but this was the magic of Christmas. He rushed into the family room, and my father picked him up and sat him on his lap.

“See this shoe?” my father said.

Buckley nodded his head.

“I want you to listen to everything I say about it, okay?”

“Susie?” my brother asked, somehow connecting the two.

“Yes, I’m going to tell you where Susie is.”

I began to cry up in heaven. What else was there for me to do?

“This shoe was the piece Susie played Monopoly with,” he said. “I play with the car or sometimes the wheelbarrow. Lindsey plays with the iron, and when you mother plays, she likes the cannon.”

“Is that a dog?”

“Yes, that’s a Scottie.”

“Mine!”

“Okay,” my father said. He was patient. He had found a way to explain it. He held his son in his lap, and as he spoke, he felt Buckley’s small body on his knee-the very human, very warm, very alive weight of it. It comforted him. “The Scottie will be your piece from now on. Which piece is Susie’s again?”

“The shoe?” Buckley asked.

“Right, and I’m the car, your sister’s the iron, and your mother is the cannon.”

My brother concentrated very hard.

“Now let’s put all the pieces on the board, okay? You go ahead and do it for me.”

Buckley grabbed a fist of pieces and then another, until all the pieces lay between the Chance and Community Chest cards.

“Let’s say the other pieces are our friends?”

“Like Nate?”

“Right, we’ll make your friend Nate the hat. And the board is the world. Now if I were to tell you that when I rolled the dice, one of the pieces would be taken away, what would that mean?”

“They can’t play anymore?”

“Right.”

“Why?” Buckley asked.

He looked up at my father; my father flinched.

“Why?” my brother asked again.

My father did not want to say “because life is unfair” or “because that’s how it is”. He wanted something neat, something that could explain death to a four-year-old He placed his hand on the small of Buckley’s back.

“Susie is dead,” he said now, unable to make it fit in the rules of any game. “Do you know what that means?”

Buckley reached over with his hand and covered the shoe. He looked up to see if his answer was right.

“My father nodded. You won’t see Susie anymore, honey. None of us will.” My father cried. Buckley looked up into the eyes of our father and did not really understand.

~”The Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold

(sorry I chose such a tragic one! But it’s such a great scene.)

There is a man who has finally formulated in his head that all the decisions in lis life here horribly awry rooted in one decision of his past. So, on a trip to Darfur, he veers off speech and says he will not leave until a woman (who, consequently, is God) finds her brother. So when his superiors–read, the president–calls him to demand the the F is going on, he proposes a hypothetical situation to the president.
He goes on this rant, on the phone, about the base decision that has turmoiled his life until now. It’s this huge, race issue past that involves the death of a friend and his government supressing him back then. At the end of the phonecall, before the scene ends, it’s just priceless.

“Any then you realize that you’re the only black person on this plane.”

Pause.

“How would you feel? How would you talk? How would you behave, you silver-spoon master-of-the-universe MFer?”

Pause.

“Hypothetically speaking.”
–
I just love the pauses since it’s a phonecall

ARROWETTE: You have to either answer a question truthfully or do a dare. I used to play it at school all the –

IMPULSE: I’ll go first!

ARROWETTE: Uhm, okay. Truth or dare?

IMPULSE: DARE!

ARROWETTE: Okay. You have to… uh… hmmm. You, uh… Uh…look, maybe you want to do truth.?.?

IMPULSE: No, dare. I’m ready. Let’s go. DARE me. I dare you to dare me.

I love this dialogue because it is so perfectly and exactly what each of these characters is and would do. Dialogue that flows completely natural can sometimes sparkle for me more than high-tension or quotable scenes.

“If you’re going to suggest I try dropping twenty feet down a pitch dark
tower in the hope of hitting a couple of greasy little steps which might
not even still be there, you can forget it,” said Rincewind sharply.
“There is an alternative, then.”
“Out with it, man.”
“You could drop five hundred feet down a pitch black tower and hit stones
which certainly are there,” said Twoflower.
Dead silence from below him. Then Rincewind said, accusingly, “That was sarcasm.”