Ana Movie Quotes

She was born under the sign of Gemini. And that stands for the good and evil twin. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde both hiding and residing inside her heart. Her good twin was not bad at all. But her evil twin was even better, and showed up to be way too fatal!

You don’t fool me anymore, Alex Volkov. I’ve been thinking about it, the way you noticed all those things about me. How you agreed to look after me, even though you could’ve said no. How you stayed in to watch those movies with me when you thought I was upset and let me stay the night in your bed after I fell asleep. And I’ve come to a conclusion. You want the world to think you have no heart when in reality, you have a multilayered one: a heart of gold encased in a heart of ice. And the one thing all hearts of gold have in common? They crave love.

Some people might say it was too early for Christmas movies, but those people would be wrong. It was October, which meant it was practically December.

Right.” Ava closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alex, bring me a knife.” I paled. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I held up one hand and drew Jules closer to me with the other. “I’m your only brother. You love me. Remember when I gave you the last of my Milk Duds at the movie theater? Good times.

I was used to being alone. Even when I was surrounded by people, a part of me isolated itself until I felt like I was watching a movie of my life instead of living it.

Ana remembers the teachings of the Sección Femenina: “Do not pretend to be equal to men.” They also teach that purity is absolute. Women’s bathing suits must reach the knees. If a girl is discovered in a movie theater with a boy but no chaperone, her family is sent a yellow card of prostitution.

But this wasn’t a movie. It was real life, and sometimes, that meant loose ends didn’t get tied up.

It’s like watching a movie of your life play out before your eyes. Sometimes it’s a drama. Sometimes it’s a horror.

Someone once said hell was other people. They were right. Specifically, hell was watching other people swan around an ice rink, drinking hot chocolate and making googly eyes at each other like they were in the middle of a goddamn Hallmark movie. It wasn’t even Christmas season, for fuck’s sake. It was worse. It was Valentine’s Day. A muscle flexed in my jaw as Bridget’s laughter floated over, joined by Steffan’s deeper laugh, and the urge to murder someone—someone male with blond hair and a name that began with S—intensified. What was so fucking hilarious, anyway? I couldn’t imagine anything being that funny, least of all something Steffan the Saint said.

It was the twenty-first century. I shouldn’t have to date someone to stay relevant. But as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. There was a reason celebrities always magically entered relationships before a big album drop or movie premiere, and why unmarried politicians rarely won campaigns.

I love you, Sloane, and if you think I'm letting you go that easily, you're mistaken. I've spent half my life running from the hard stuff and taking the easy way out because I'd never wanted anything enough to work for it. Then I met you, and I finally understood what people meant when they said love is worth fighting for. I know it sounds like a cliché, and if you heard this in a movie, you'd probably write a scathing review about it but I mean it. I've learned to fight for what’s important, and there's nothing in this world that's more important to me than you. Not the club, not my inheritance, not my reputation.

First, any term applied to God is only ana analogy; when this is forgotten, any God-defining term is sacrilegious.

That night Ana Iris and I go to a movie. We cannot understand the English but we both like the new theater’s clean rugs.

❝Now we lived together in a townhouse with a pet fish and a rooftop movie theater, and we were nauseatingly, disgustingly blissful.❞

I'm gaining weight in the role I was not even casted or stole! I put weight for the castaway I didn't even choose to play!

I’d never heard of the movie, but according to Greta’s granddaughter—yes, I’d resorted to asking a high schooler for help—it was “super cute.

Why does Kubrick always chill our blood, and make us huddled up scared stiff with eyes wide shut? Because even dead he's still "Shinnying" with his old hand and his eye-catching plots.

He’s taking you to a cabin in the woods. What is this, a horror movie?” “You wouldn’t say that if you knew him.” “Really?” “Look, I said I was sorry. And I am. I should’ve been here at nine.

You’re early, but that’s okay because the movie just finished. You know, the male lead kind of reminds me of you. Super grumpy with daddy issues and a perpetual frown—until he finds the love of his life, of course.

Love made the world go round, all right. In endless, tedious cycles that produced horrid songs, even more horrid movies, and annual abominations like Valentine’s Day. I rarely found it anything other than poisonous.

Kika changed seats, pulling a chair and joining Ana at her table. Gang member, very likely, even if she seemed to dabble in unorthodox outfits. Not that Ana wanted that to be the case, but the way this conversation was going there were few other options to consider, though movie extra from a remake of Gilda might fit the bill. She had the femme fatale aura down pat.

Life is like a movie. Just roll up a film. When you finish it, just be kind and rewind. Don't live it to regret in the end, give it some room for reflections, meditate then leave like you were just starting it again. Life is like a book, all unique and exclusive, filled with blank pages ready to be written, with many thoughts and creativity. So roll up your sleeve. Be bright and rewrite!

Great characters- They are pivotal for a great plot. THEN a solid plot: Why then? If you do not have great characters it is impossible to create a good plot, nonetheless a solid one. Once you have built great characters for the scenes, there you have it. It’s just like the movies, you cannot have a great film if the characters are frail and their lines are weak as well. I guess great world-building comes along with a good plot. If there is something that will work fine in a novel is how you will develop from the theme. You’ve got to establish a good timeline, and from there it comes a world. You see the technical matters don’t match or matter as much to me. Even a poorly written story, if there is a good plot and great characters on it will make a divine combination There are simply many cases of it over the mainstream and that even reached the big screen.

One of my favorite album covers is On the Beach. Of course that was the name of a movie and I stole it for my record, but that doesn't matter. The idea for that cover came like a bolt from the blue. Gary and I traveled around getting all the pieces to put it together. We went to a junkyard in Santa Ana to get the tail fin and fender from a 1959 Cadillac, complete with taillights, and watched them cut it off a Cadillac for us, then we went to a patio supply place to get the umbrella and table. We picke up the bad polyester yellow jacket and white pants at a sleazy men's shop, where we watched a shoplifter getting caught red-handed and busted. Gary and I were stoned on some dynamite weed and stood there dumbfounded watching the bust unfold. This girl was screaming and kicking! Finally we grabbed a local LA paper to use as a prop. It had this amazing headline: Sen. Buckley Calls For Nixon to Resign. Next we took the palm tree I had taken around the world on the Tonight's the Night tour. We then placed all of these pieces carefully in the sand at Santa Monica beach. Then we shot it. Bob Seidemann was the photographer, the same one who took the famous Blind Faith cover shot of the naked young girl holding the airplane. We used the crazy pattern from the umbrella insides for the inside of the sleeve that held the vinyl recording. That was the creative process at work. We lived for that, Gary and I, and we still do.

Cities have characters, pathologies that can make or destroy or infect you, states of mind that run through daily life as surely as a fault line. Chandler’s “mysterious something” was a mood of disenchantment, an intense spiritual malaise that identified itself with Los Angeles at a particular time, what we call noir. On the one hand noir is a narrow film genre, born in Hollywood in the late 1930s when European visual style, the twisted perspectives and stark chiaroscuros of German Expressionism, met an American literary idiom. This fruitful comingling gave birth to movies like Double Indemnity, directed by Vienna-born Billy Wilder and scripted by Raymond Chandler from a James M. Cain novella. The themes — murderous sex and the cool, intricate amorality of money — rose directly from the psychic mulch of Southern California. But L.A. is a city of big dreams and cruelly inevitable disappointments where noir is more than just a slice of cinema history; it’s a counter-tradition, the dark lens through which the booster myths came to be viewed, a disillusion that shadows even the best of times, an alienation that assails the sense like the harsh glitter of mica in the sidewalk on a pitiless Santa Ana day. Noir — in this sense a perspective on history and often a substitute for it — was born when the Roaring Twenties blew themselves out and hard times rushed in; it crystallized real-life events and the writhing collapse of the national economy before finding its interpreters in writers like Raymond Chandler.

Clevinger was one of those people with lots of intelligence and no brains, and everyone knew it except those who soon found it out. In short, he was a dope. He often looked to Yossarian like one of those people hanging around modern museums with both eyes together on one side of a face. It was an illusion, of course, generated by Clevinger’s predilection for staring fixedly at one side of a question and never seeing the other side at all. Politically, he was a humanitarian who did know right from left and was trapped uncomfortably between the two. He was constantly defending his Communist friends to his right-wing enemies and his right-wing friends to his Communist enemies, and he was thoroughly detested by both groups, who never defended him to anyone because they thought he was a dope. He was a very serious, very earnest and very conscientious dope. It was impossible to go to a movie with him without getting involved afterwards in a discussion on empathy, Aristotle, universals, messages and the obligations of the cinema as an art form in a materialistic society. Girls he took to the theater had to wait until the first intermission to find out from him whether or not they were seeing a good or a bad play, and then found out at once. He was a militant idealist who crusaded against racial bigotry by growing faint in its presence. He knew everything about literature except how to enjoy it. Yossarian tried to help him. ‘Don’t be a dope,’ he had counseled Clevinger when they were both at cadet school in Santa Ana, California.

Everything is in constant mutation, expanding and contracting. All we hear, see or think is a projection of our own…or someone else’s brain. We create our own realities. My reality is different from everyone else’s…and theirs is different to mine and to each other. We only perceive what we can sense, see, feel…believe and imagine. Knowledge is mostly borrowed. The world is set up that way…books, people, internet, movies, television, radio.

Being outside the hospital and surrounded by smiling, chattering students made it easier. It was like I’d stepped onto a movie set where I could pretend to be the person I wanted to be instead of the person I was.

The Princess Bride was one of my favorite movies. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. It was a fucking classic.

The film strives for charm but falls flat in its attempt,” he read aloud. “Although fiction generally requires some suspension of disbelief, the utter ridiculousness of the balcony scene gives me so much secondhand embarrassment I want to bleach my memory so I never have to think about it again. I have more chemistry with my bedroom lamp than the lead actors have with each other, and the dialogue sounds like that of a parody rather than an actual romantic comedy. If AI wrote and performed a movie, it would look like this.” He was quiet for a second before looking at me. “What the hell have you been doing with your bedroom lamp?” “Turning it on,” I said in response to his question. “Oh God. That was terrible.

It’d been thirty-six hours since my movie night with Sloane. Thirty-six hours since our dance lessons. Thirty-six hours since I’d discovered how perfectly her curves fit beneath my palms and how much more intoxicating her scent was compared to even the finest whiskey.

It was only when the witch movie ended and the Christmas one began that I realized I’d watched a rom-com without writing a review for the first time in five years.

Our trial period doesn’t end until tomorrow, which means we’re not over yet. Not officially.” “I already made my decision.” “It doesn’t count when there’s still time to change your mind.” “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” “I’ll make it as hard as I can,” I said fiercely. “I love you, Sloane, and if you think I’m letting you go that easily, you’re mistaken. I’ve spent half my life running from the hard stuff and taking the easy way out because I’d never wanted anything enough to work for it.” I swallowed. “Then I met you, and I finally understood what people meant when they said love is worth fighting for. I know it sounds like a cliché, and if you heard this in a movie, you’d probably write a scathing review about it”—Sloane choked out a laugh—“but I mean it. I’ve learned to fight for what’s important, and there’s nothing in this world that’s more important to me than you. Not the club, not my inheritance, not my reputation.

After all, I was on a romantic European getaway with my long-term boyfriend, who’d started as a client I hated before we gradually fell in love—only I’d been too stubborn to admit it—and I’d almost lost him before I came to my senses and reconciled with him at the top of the Empire State Building. Now we lived together in a town house with a pet fish and a rooftop movie theater, and we were nauseatingly, disgustingly blissful. Who said happily ever afters were unrealistic?

Everything I’d gone through was worth it for this moment. And yeah, a couple kissing on the top of the Empire State Building after their big reconciliation was such a movie cliché, but like I said… Sometimes, the rom-coms got it right.

A book can be a great friend, an advisor, a means to an end. A book reveals so much more than a movie would ever do. For example, when I watched the movie “The Hours” I was fascinated by the story. Just a year later I decided to read the book. And what was my surprise that I was even more dazzled by its writings than I was by the images… The images in my head were more vivid than the film could ever transport me to that feminine universe that the author was trying (and so successfully granted me) to conceive…

My cock thickened, and my hands clenched into fists once more. I’d guarded the most beautiful women on the planet—movie stars, supermodels, heiresses, many of whom had made it clear they were more than willing to submit to my orders both inside and outside the bedroom—but I’d never taken them up on their offers. Never been tempted to. Figured the one woman who’d rather see me burn than touch me was the one I ended up lusting after.

I felt like the world’s worst movie cliché. Running through the airport trying to get the woman I loved to give me another chance… how original. But if it got me to Ava in time, I’d do it in front of prime-time TV.

Instead, I refocused on the movie and concentrated on not looking at the man sitting next to me. It worked. Sort of.

Looks like you’re stuck with me, princess. He grazed his knuckles over my spine. “Should’ve thought this through.” “Am I? I could always break up with you and date someone else. There’s a movie star I’ve always—” I squeaked again when he stood and tossed me over his shoulder. “Rhys, put me down.” “Later. I need to teach you a lesson about joking with me. Especially about other men.

He hadn’t touched me, and I was already so turned on I trembled. I hadn’t thought that was possible outside romance novels and movies.

They weren’t the result of sudden, blinding clarity the way they were in movies. There’d been no meaningful eye contact at the end of a deep conversation, no special kiss at the end of a magical date.

It was a nice, sweet kiss, the kind cameras zoomed in on in movies and most women swooned over. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of them. I might as well be kissing my pillow.

I didn’t see a hint of the Alex I’d gotten to know over the past few months. The one who’d stayed and canceled a date to watch movies with me, the one who’d choked down one of the most disgusting cookies ever made and he lied about it being “fine” because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings, the one who’d taught me how to swim and showed me a world I’d thought only existed in fantasies. A world in which I loved and have been loved in return. He hadn’t said it, but I thought… I’d really thought he loved me and had just been too scared to say it.

I need to get out of here. Otherwise, I might do something crazy, like punch my brother in the face. I’d never punched a person before, but I’d watched enough movies to get it right.

Did you just use the phrase gird your loins? What are you, eighty?” “For your information, Stanley Tucci’s character uses it in The Devil Wears Prada, and both Stanley and the movie are amazing.” “Yeah, and how old is the amazing Stanley?” “I don’t appreciate the snark, especially considering the free, in-depth tour I just gave you.” “It was a fifteen-minute walk, Red.

Alex, bring me a knife.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I held up one hand and drew Jules closer to me with the other. “I’m your only brother. You love me. Remember when I gave you the last of my Milk Duds at the movie theater? Good times.” Ava ignored me until Alex returned with the requested knife.

I’d met plenty of beautiful women in my life. Women with perfect hair, perfect skin, and perfect bodies. Supermodels and movie stars and heiresses molded by the best money could buy. None of them held a candle to Stella.

I didn’t take the bait. I wasn’t going to shout across a junkyard like some B-list actor in an action movie.

Btw you owe me. I was supposed to watch a movie with Viv tonight.” “I’m sure your twentieth rewatch of Stardust would’ve been as scintillating as the first.” “Fuck off.

That was right. Christian Harper, the CEO of Harper Security and possibly the most terrifying man I’d ever met, owned a special edition of a movie featuring a nineties girl band that, coincidentally, was one of my favorites for no reason other than its pure campiness.

The Christmas music. The cheesy movies. The reindeer sweaters. God, the sweaters. They make me want to die.” “You’ve watched every single one of those cheesy movies,” I pointed out. “You must not hate them that much.” “Sometimes, you have to endure the awful to appreciate the mediocre, which a majority of modern films are.

Are you talking about me, or are you talking about yourself?” “You must have me confused with someone else, Sunshine.” “I don’t think I do. You don’t fool me anymore, Alex Volkov. I’ve been thinking about it, the way you noticed all those things about me. How you agreed to look after me, even though you could’ve said no. How you stayed in to watch those movies with me when you thought I was upset and let me stay the night in your bed after I fell asleep. And I’ve come to a conclusion. You want the world to think you have no heart when in reality, you have a multilayered one: a heart of gold encased in a heart of ice. And the one thing all hearts of gold have in common? They crave love.” “What did I tell you about romanticizing me?” “It’s not romanticizing if it’s true.

You must have me confused with someone else, Sunshine. I don't think I do. Ava stood on tiptoes so she could whisper in my ear. "You don't fool me anymore, Alex Volkov. I've been thinking about it, the way you noticed all those things about me. How you agreed to look after me, even though you could've said no. How you stayed in to watch those movies with me when you thought I was upset and let me stay the night in your bed after I fell asleep. And I've come to a conclusion. You want the world to think you have no heart when it reality, you have a multilayered one: a heart of gold encased in a heart of ice. And the one thing all hearts of gold have in common? They crave love.

Movie buddies?

It's a great indy movie with many a spark, Robert Downey Jr starring as Tony Stark. Only that it didn't have the public recognition, Now are the headlines about films in exhibition: Many good movies with no channel to portrait All end up with a few public to its own fate. No need to say who made them obliterate. (AnA Cross+Tic for Iron Man)

Welcome to the Blackcastle Book Club’s official group chat!” “Seriously? You put a picture from The Land Before Time as the group’s profile picture?” “Why not? It’s a good movie.” “Dude, that’s so wrong. It’s a children’s film, and we’re reading about dinosaurs boning.” “It’s a good thing we’re not making them read the books, isn’t it? But fine, I see your point. I wanted to keep it a surprise, but since you insist on policing my admin decisions, I’ve changed the picture to the cover of this month’s book club pick. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for **drumroll please** Shagging the Spinosaurus!” “We already guessed that was the book of the month. We saw you reading it the other day Aren’t you supposed to read it with the rest of the club? Why are you reading it early?” “Yeah, that’s CHEATING.” “It’s called vetting. Also, I’m the admin. I can do what I want.” “I tried looking for it at the bookstore yesterday and couldn’t find it. Donovan, what was the name of the store you went to?” “Uh… I don’t remember. Just some shop I stumbled on in the city. I’m sure you can buy the book online.” “I don’t understand. How do you shag a spinosaurus?” “The same way you shag a triceratops and a T-rex, genius.” “Oh, you sound so bloody confident. Are you speaking from experience?” “Gentlemen, let’s get back on track! This is a book club, not a fight club. Our first official meeting is on Wednesday. I want everyone to come prepared with at least one discussion question.” “Dibs on the ‘how do you shag a spinosaurus’ question.” “You can’t ask that. It has to be a THOUGHTFUL question.” “How thoughtful do you want us to be? We’re literally reading about dinosaurs fucking.” “And humans If you forget them, that’s human erasure.” “Fuck off, Donovan.” “Spoken like someone who doesn’t have the IQ to come up with a good question.” “Yeah? Let’s wait until Wednesday and see. I bet my question will be better than yours.” “You’re on. May the better questioner win.” “Okayyy. Moving on. Noah, since you refuse to participate in the LITERARY side of our club, you’re in charge of snacks.” “Fine.” “I’m thinking we could do a themed event with dinosaur crackers. Do you think they make custom spinosaurus ones?” “So we’re going to eat the little dude while we read about him getting it on? That’s so wrong.” “Poor Spiny. He deserves better.” “It was an IDEA. I don’t see you guys coming up with anything better.” “How about jungle juice to stay with the dinosaur theme?” “Dinosaurs didn’t live in the jungle.” “How do you know? Were you there?” “Lol.” “Don’t talk to your captain like that.” “You’re our football captain. You’re not the president of this book club. Also, I just looked it up and they did live in jungles, so you’re wrong.” “Wait, we have a president?” “Yes, it’s me. Anyway Noah, can you call the dinosaur cracker company and ask them for custom spinosaurus snacks? Hello? Noah?” Noah Wilson left the conversation.

I knew you were a coward when it came to movies. I didn’t expect that from you in real life too.