Bennett Movie Quotes

I could say these unfiltered things to him because he didn’t care. Wes Bennett knew what a mess I was underneath it all, and there was a little bit of joy in knowing he saw the real me. Freedom.

I am just Wes fucking Bennett, Lib, the guy who can't remember a single day in his life when he didn't love you.

In your dreams, Bennett,” she teased. “Every damn night, Buxbaum,

I’ve read hundreds of novels in my life, most of them claiming that love was the center of the universe. That it could heal any damage inside of us. That it was what we needed to survive. From Darcy to Heathcliff, I thought they were fools. That love was something fictional, only found in worn pages of a book. That it was just made up to keep humans full of hope, that it was a lie. But all that changed since I met my Elizabeth Bennett. I never thought I would find myself completely and utterly consumed by another until her. She took my hand and led me out of the darkness and showed me that, whatever our souls are made of, hers and mine are the same. I’m sorry, please forgive me. You once asked me who I loved most in this world. It’s you. — Hardin ( Movie- "After" - Hardin's letter to Tessa )

Elizabeth Bennett needs to chill" . . "Love is just a transaction. We're all hardwired to desire. We present the correct set of desirable traits and boom! We can turn it on or we can turn it off." — Hardin

Never presume to know a person based on the one dimensional window of the internet. A soul can’t be defined by critics, enemies or broken ties with family or friends. Neither can it be explained by posts or blogs that lack facial expressions, tone or insight into the person’s personality and intent. Until people “get that”, we will forever be a society that thinks Beautiful Mind was a spy movie and every stranger is really a friend on Facebook.

Can you just saw his arm off while we're here and get me loose? (Amanda) I could do that, but he needs his more. I'd cut yours off before I did his. (Tate) Oh, great, what are you, his Igor? (Amanda) Wrong movie, Igor was Frankenstein's flunky. Renfield is the one you're thinking of, and no, I'm not Renfield. Name's Tate Bennett. Parish coroner. (Tate)

Elizabeth Fucking Bennett

Elizabeth fucking Bennett, ladies and gentlemen. Buxbaum. Ahem. Elizabeth fucking Buxbaum.

@mink: Well, you’re in luck, if you pick another movie. My hair is clean, I usually eat dinner around eight, and I’m currently single. Not that it matters.

Ms. Bennett, do you know who I am? I am not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner.

No, I don't party; no, I don't dress in black leather and chains; that's not my style. That's how I was raised. I worry about getting good grades and I go to church and I watch sci-fi movies and I generally follow the rules. Most people would call me a geek or a nerd. You've called me that many times. But that isn't everything that defines me. I mean, look at me, sitting here in a rainstorm under a tree that's probably going to kill us when the lightning hits it, holding the hand of a pretty cool girl who really is the opposite of me, a girl that I happen to be in love with. A girl I couldn't have imagined would want to be with me. But here she is, letting me hold her hand, trying to tell me why she isn't good enough for me. That's crazy.

In your dreams, Bennett," she teased. "Every damn night, Buxbaum,

While eating our feast, we watch The Big Lebowski, which is sort of bizarre, because Alex was trying to get me to watch this a couple of months ago. And the Roths have it on DVD, so they are all amazed I’ve never seen it. Turns out, it’s really good. And what’s even better, in addition to Porter preparing me for the sound of gunshots in the movie—so I won’t be caught off guard—and quoting lines along with the actors, which makes me smile despite the dreary events of the day, is when he leans close and whispers into my ear, “You belong here with me.” And for that moment, I believe that I do.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek and-holy shit-looked like she wanted to laugh. "Are you high, Wes Bennett?

Wes Bennett had bought me shoes.

Wes was looking at her. "You know how I feel about weirdos." "Yeah, well, I don't share your fondness. This one sent me to the back of the boarding line for cutting." "No shit?" He started laughing that contagious Wes Bennett cackle and said, "No wonder you're obsessed. There's just something about a girl who hates your guts." "I'm definitely not obsessed," I corrected him, knowing full well I was still staring at Glasses.

You’re wrong about Alex. She’s not flawless.” “Bennett, no one is totally flawless—come on.” I couldn’t believe his nerve. “She’s pretty dang close, though.” “I suppose.” “You suppose? What on earth could she possibly be lacking? Do you want bigger boobs or something? Is she not—” “She’s not you.” “What?” “She. Isn’t. You.

I realized now that I was worthy. I deserved the sort of love my kids had with their mates, the type of love in romance books and movies.

Spontaneity is overrated. Movies and television shows would like us to believe that life is better for party goers who dare to jump into pools with their clothes on. But behind the scenes, it's all carefully scripted. The water is the right temperature. Lighting and angles are carefully considered. Dialogue is memorized. And that's why it's so appealing - because someone carefully planned it all. Once you realize this, life gets a whole lot simpler.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing?" "What do you mean?" "Are you being a dick about my hair? Because I know you're not complimenting me." "Lizzie," I said, pouring on the tease, even though I fucking loved her new hair. It was shorter and cute as hell, but no way could I give her a genuine compliment. We didn't do that. So I said, "Your hair is the stuff of cheerleader fantasy. Of main character daydreams. Your hair runs so that young gingers' hair can walk." She bit down on the inside of her cheek and-holy shit-looked like she wanted to laugh. "Are you high, Wes Bennett?

@mink: Guess what I got in the mail today? A brand-new copy of The Philadelphia Story. @alex: Nice! Love that movie. We should watch that together sometime if I can find a copy. @mink: Definitely. It’s one of my favorite Cary Grant/Katharine Hepburn films! @alex: Well, in other good news, since I know you LOVE gangster movies so much [insert sarcasm here], I just sent you a ton of Godfather screens with Alex-ified captions, changing things up for you. @mink: I’m looking at them right now. You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you? @alex: Only if you do. @mink: You made orange juice go up my nose. @alex: That’s all I ever wanted, Mink.

He lifted his head and looked down at me, his dark eyes flashing with intensity. “Say it again.” I swallowed as his hands pressed mine into the door. I looked into his eyes and said, “I love you.” “Again,” he growled, his voice quiet, his eyes dark. He leaned his weight more heavily onto his palms and his body, into me, his throat moving around a swallow as he watched me. “I love you, Wes Bennett,” I confessed, wondering how I’d ever thought it was possible to deny this. “I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love you.

I love you, Elizabeth Buxbaum" "I love you more, Wesley Harold Bennett.

 It’s weird being alone in the museum. It’s dark and eerily quiet: Only the after-hours lights are on—just enough to illuminate the hallways and stop you from tripping over your own feet—and the background music that normally plays all the time is shut off. I quickly organize the flashlights and check their batteries, and when I don’t hear Porter walking around, I stare at the phone sitting at the information desk. How many chances come along like this? I pick up the receiver, press the little red button next to the word ALL, and speak into the phone in a low voice. “Paging Porter Roth to the information desk,” I say formally, my voice crackling through the entire lobby and echoing down the corridors. Then I press the button again and add, “While you’re at it, check your shoes to make sure they’re a match, you bastard. By the way, I still haven’t quite forgiven you for humiliating me. It’s going to take a lot more than a kiss and a cookie to make me forget both that and the time you provoked me in the Hotbox.” I’m only teasing, which I hope he knows. I feel a little drunk on all my megaphone power, so I page one more thing: “PS—You look totally hot in those tight-fitting security guard pants tonight, and I plan to get very handsy with you at the movies, so we better sit in the back row.” I hang up the phone and cover my mouth, silently laughing at myself. Two seconds later, Porter’s footfalls pound down Jay’s corridor—Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! He sounds like a T. rex running from Godzilla. He races into the lobby and slides in front of the information desk, grabbing onto the edge to stop himself, wild curls flying everywhere. His grin is enormous. “Whadidya say ’bout where you want to be puttin’ your hands on me?” he asks breathlessly. “I think you have me confused with someone else,” I tease. His head sags against the desk. I push his hair away from one of his eyes. He looks up at me and asks, “You really still haven’t forgiven me?” “Maybe if you put your hands onme, I might.” “Don’t go getting my hopes up like that.” “Oh, your hopes should be up. Way up.” “Dear God, woman,” he murmurs. “And here I was, thinking you were a classy dame.” “Pfft. You don’t know me at all.” “I aim to find out. What are we still doing here? Let’s blow this place and get to the theater, fast.

Are you high, Wes Bennett?” "I'll answer that if you answer this: Were you playing Beyoncé on the piano last night?" Her green eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. "You heard me?" "The windows were open," I said, shrugging like it was the first time I'd ever heard her, "and I was having a smoke out back. So was it 'Halo'?" "You smoke?" She was looking at me like I was a puzzle, like she couldn't figure me out. "No. Was it?" The crinkle in her forehead grew somehow. "Yes. So ... do you or don't you?" "Like Beyonce? Fucking love her." She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother trying to have a conversation with you?" "Because you're fascinated and want to know more." She snorted. "Because you find me wildly attractive and need some insight into my soul?" "Try again." "Because you want to reconcile the data you've entered into your diary about me with the real-life, actual facts?" "So you are high.

In September 1941, a set of hearings was convened by a U.S. Senate Subcommittee on War Propaganda, chaired by Idaho Democrat Senator D. Worth Clark. The hearings were designed to address a resolution sponsored by two hard-nosed isolationist senators, Republican Gerald P. Nye of North Dakota and Democrat Bennett Champ Clark of Missouri, calling for “an investigation of any propaganda disseminated by motion pictures and radio or any other activity of the motion picture industry to influence public opinion in the direction of participation of the United States in the present European war.

Most of the theaters in Jersey City and the surrounding area have been closed, demolished, renovated or restored, but nothing remained the same. The Stanley Theatre still stands in Journal Square, completely restored as a Jehovah’s Witnesses Assembly Hall. Originally built as a vaudeville and movie theater, having 4,300 seats, it opened on March 22, 1928 as the second largest theater in the United States. With only Radio City Music Hall in Manhattan across the Hudson River being larger, many celebrities attended the gala occasion. The well liked but notorious Mayor Hague was present to cut the ribbon. Famous and not-so-famous headline acts performed here, including the Three Stooges, Jimmy Durante, Tony Bennett and Janis Joplin. It was here at the Stanley Theatre that Frank Sinatra was inspired to become a professional performer. Being part of the audience, he watched Bing Crosby doing a Christmas performance. By the time the show was over, Sinatra had decided on the path he would follow. In 1933 Frank’s mother got him together with a group called the “Three Flashes.” They changed their name to the “Hoboken Four” and won first prize performing on the Major Bowes Amateur Hour show. Frank worked locally until June of 1939, when Harry James hired him for a one-year contract, paying only $75 a week. That December, Sinatra joined Tommy Dorsey’s band as a replacement vocalist for Jack Leonard, and the rest is history!

The largest apartment in the Dakota belongs to restaurateur Warner LeRoy, the son of movie director Mervyn LeRoy and the nephew of all the Warner brothers. Originally, the LeRoys’ apartment consisted of only ten large rooms on the sixth floor, but when another apartment of the same size became available on the floor immediately above, the LeRoys bought that one too. They persuaded the building to let them construct a staircase between the two apartments, giving them the Dakota’s only duplex, unless one counts Ward Bennett’s split-level pyramid on the roof, the Novaks’ basement studio, and the various sleeping-lofts and balconies that have been inserted between floors here and there. The LeRoy apartment, as might be expected, has been decorated in

Con lui potevo essere senza filtri, non gli importava. Wes Bennett sapeva che sotto sotto ero un disastro, e c'era qualcosa di confortante nel sapere che lui vedeva la vera me. Libertà.

He’s not sure how all the cowboys stay so good-looking in the movies when the country is so openly hostile to sartorial maintenance.

It’s a classic fantasy,” Bridger says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Trust me… the prince didn’t want to just kiss Snow White to wake her up. He wanted to fuck the innocence out of her.” I snort and shake my head. “You’ve ruined that movie and my childhood for me.

I could say these unfiltered things to him because he didn’t care. Wes Bennett knew what a mess I was underneath it all, and there was a little bit of joy in knowing he saw the real me.

Seamus sat on the edge of his desk and said, “So what brings you over here this afternoon?” I told him all about my struggles with John Macy. Took about five full minutes. I let my anger roll out while telling the story. When I was finished, my grandfather looked at me and said, “Ask God for strength to deal with morons.” “That’s it?” “And if that doesn’t work, plant cocaine on him.” Seamus waited for a response. When he didn’t get one, he said, “What? Isn’t that what cops do in movies to get someone in trouble?” I kept a straight face and said, “In real life we’d plant child pornography on his computer.” “Ah, the new millennium.

His album that year was Sign O’ the Times. I took the fact that the gang in the title track was named the Disciples as a personal tribute. The tour behind that record was the best Rock show I’ve ever seen. I went three times, and it blew my mind every time. The production was the highest evolution of the live, physical part of our Artform I have ever seen. It was Prince’s vision, but his production designer, LeRoy Bennett, deserves much of the credit for pulling it off. It was Rock, it was Theater, it was Soul, it was Cinema, it was Jazz, it was Broadway. The stage metamorphized into different scenes and configurations right before your eyes, transforming itself into whatever emotional setting was appropriate for each song. On top of that, the music never stopped, for three solid hours. Prince wrote various pieces, or covered Jazz, as interstitial transitions for those moments when the stage was shifting or the musicians were changing clothes. At one point, he even had a craps game break out, which made me laugh—it brought me back to Dr. Zoom and the Sonic Boom and our onstage Monopoly games. They captured it pretty well on film, but it can’t compare. When you’re watching a movie, your mind is used to scene changes, different sets and lighting. Live, it’s something else. That kind of legerdemain before your eyes is mind-boggling.

I could trick him into taking me for a ride,” I said. “You could follow us in your truck. Then you could—” “No,” Will said sharply. “You’d go over the cliff with him, Cynda.” “I’d jump out before it went over the edge,” I said quickly. “Like people do in movies.” How actors did things like that I had no idea, but it didn’t matter. If I had to die to destroy Vincent, I would. Anything—even death—would be better than being his forever.

Sometimes she rode east to Camp Pendleton, where she watched a movie or bowled at Stars and Strikes or played pool with Marines. The young ones were the loneliest, so she always found a pack of privates, awkward with their shorn heads and big boots, and by the end of the night, she usually ended up kissing one of them until kissing made her feel like crying.