Bonnie And Clyde Quotes

Anna is the only proof I have that I was born into this family. Instead of dropped off on the doorstep by some Bonnie and Clyde couple that ran off into the night. On the surface, we’re polar opposites. Under the skin, though, we’re the same: people think they know what they’re getting, and they’re always wrong. (Jesse)

Anyway, madness and genius. They're the disturbed pals of the human condition. The Bonnie and Clyde, the Thelma and Louise, the baking soda and vinegar. Insanity just walks alongside the brilliant like some creepy, insistent shadow.

We're Bonnie and Clyde! Wanted and unwanted. Caged and cornered. We're lost and we're alone. We're a big, tangled mess. We're a shot in the dark. We're two people who have nowhere else, no one else, and yet, suddenly that feels like enough for me! I'm sorry if it's not enough for you.

I love you Bonnie. So much that I hurt with it. And I hate it, and I love it, and I want it to go away, and i want it to stay forever....

The theme of the dance was "Great Romances," or some such nonsense. There were projections of supposedly great couples from the past on the walls of the gym. Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Hermione and Ron, Bonnie and Clyde, etc.

...the hopelessly romantic notion that two people can meet and instantly fall in love, an escape story where love is the highest law and conquers all against the odds. Characters like Bonnie and Clyde always appealed to me as a teenager - couples so intoxicated with one another that they fear nothing in the pursuit of the realization of each other, actions fueled by blind unconditional love.

The road was so dimly lighted. There we;re no highway signs to guide. But they made up their minds, If all roads were blind, They wouldn't give up 'til they died....

Oh, we have everyone who is bad. Except Bonnie and Clyde on account of their being dead,” she says.

I Believe in Bonnie and Clyde the sign read. Finn read it again, and then again, not sure what to make of it. Then he looked at Bonnie and shrugged. "So?" ... "So?" she hissed. "It's a sign!" "Yeah. It is. A cardboard sign." "Finn! It has our names on it!" "Names which happen to be the same as a very well-known pair. He could have written 'I believe in Sonny and Cher' or 'Beavis and Butthead' or Peanut Butter and Jelly." Bonnie looked a little crestfallen. He'd taken the magic out of the moment. ...

But women have fortitude beyond that of a man, have an innate sense of trust in spiritual things.

[The USA in the '70s] The country's cinematic output was appropriately bleak, reflecting the moroseness and self-hatred that riddled the national psyche. Anti-heroes such as Bonnie and Clyde, Travis Bickle, Popeye Doyle and the Corleones dominated the box office and the public wallowed in a morass of guilty introspection. There was never a country in more desperate need of a blow job than the United States of America: enter George Lucas.

This thing we have, it hurts, he continued. But the pain is almost sweet because it means YOU happened. We happened. And I can't regret that, no matter how little or how long I get to tag along with you and pretend that I don't hate having people recognize me or take pictures or having people whisper about my record-- " Your record?" " My criminal record, Bonnie, Nothing platinum there. I'm an ex-con, and starting over and building a new life where I can put it behind me, I'm building a new life where it will never be behind me, and for you, its worth it. It's easy math.

Sometimes funny is all you've got.

The floor slopes slightly down toward the creek like it's thirsty and been trying to get down there ever since the first nail was driven home.

I can see why you'd doubt relationships, and family, and love," Sam said. "It sounds like a tense way to grow up, and I'm really sorry you had to go through it. But, Phoebe, your parents were just two people. Ted Bundy and whatever his girlfriend's name was were two people. Hell, Bonnie and Clyde stayed together until the bitter end, and even they were only two people. You can't extrapolate your worldview from such a small data set.

footage of him and Bonnie Rae into an old black and white photo of Bonnie and Clyde, she began to tell their story, as if it were breaking news and

[...] They taught us to never ever underestimate the power of chocolate on a female." "Is that so?" "If someone had waved a Hershey bar in front of Bonnie at the right time of the month, she'd have given up Clyde in a heartbeat.

A blanket could be used to rob a bank. Guns are so Bonnie and Clyde, but a blanket bank robbery has a certain amount of seduction involved. A blanket has a lot more banging involved than the bang-bang of a gun.


The inside of his skull, it tasted like roses and barbed wire and butterflies. Switchblades and heroin and grassy green gardens.

Art has now done for Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow something they could never achieve in life: it has taken a shark-eyed multiple murderer and his deluded girlfriend and transformed them into sympathetic characters, imbuing them with a cuddly likability they did not possess, and a cultural significance they do not deserve.

Walker and Monnet turned up a few months later, as if somebody needed to fill the gap that Bonnie and Clyde had left. Like America needed somebody to mythologize, then tear to shreds.

The 1960s ended sadly, as did Bonnie and Clyde, as did Jules and Jim, as did Thelma & Louise, a film they influenced; the movement from comedy to tragedy was all the more powerful for audiences who expected one or the other.

Maybe Becky had left willingly with Ethan. Young love gone rogue? Another Bonnie and Clyde or Charles Starkweather and Caril Fugate? Star-crossed lovers who went on deadly crime sprees. Santos had a few more questions for Margo and Kevin Allen.

Buck Barrow, brother of Clyde Barrow (Bonnie & Clyde) was once asked "Where are you wanted by the law?" Barrow replied, "Wherever I've been." What a picture of our own guilt. We cannot escape our sinfulness because it follows us everywhere. Neither can we escape the mercy of God that is always there.

Clyde. This here’s Bonnie.

She’d always been the Watson to his Sherlock, Bonnie to his Clyde, the soy sauce to his ginger.

We were Bonnie and Bonnie, because nobody needed a Clyde when we were together.

The way I saw it, that was the real mistake the Barrow gang had made. It seemed to me that they'd have been a lot less likely to get gunned down if Bonnie had just had the sense to be Clyde.

Her recoil confirmed the disgust Grant felt inside. Who was he kidding, trying to put Vladimir and Andrei behind bars? He was no different from his father. Then he remembered Sophie’s words. “You’re not like them. You’re my McSailor.” A soft touch made him smile, thinking of Bonnie, before he realized it was Innochka’s hand stroking his face. The touch of a mobster’s girlfriend. He leaped back, still crouched on his feet.

Sometimes Across the fields of yesterday She sometimes comes to me A little girl just back from play the girl I used to be And yet she smiles so wistfully once she has crept within I wonder if she hopes to see the woman I might have been— —1933

We laughed about a lot of things that we should have taken more seriously. But no matter how serious or dangerous the situation was, we always found something to laugh about later on. It always seemed better to laugh than to cry. We had to laugh to keep from crying.

You’ve read the story of Jesse James— Of how he lived and died; If you’re still in need Of something to read, Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde. Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang. I’m sure you all have read How they rob and steal And those who squeal Are usually found dying or dead. There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups; They’re not so ruthless as that; Their nature is raw; They hate all the law— The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats. They call them cold-blooded killers; They say they are heartless and mean; But I say this with pride, That I once knew Clyde When he was honest and upright and clean. But the laws fooled around, Kept taking him down And locking him up in a cell, Till he said to me, “I’ll never be free, So I’ll meet a few of them in hell.

The bacterial defense system was soon found to involve at least two critical components. The first piece was the "seeker"-an RNA encoded in the bacterial genome that matched and recognized the DNA of the viruses. The principle for the recognition, yet again, was binding: the RNA "seeker" was able to find and recognize the DNA of an invading virus because it was a mirror image of that DNA-the yin to its yang. It was like carrying a permanent image of your enemy in your pocket-or, in the bacteria's case, an inverted photograph, etched indelibly into its genome. The second element of the defense system was the "hitman." Once the viral DNA had been recognized and matched as foreign (by its reverse-image), a bacterial protein named Cas9 was deployed to deliver the lethal gash to the viral gene. The "seeker" and the "hitman" worked in concert: the Cas9 protein delivered its cuts to the genome only after the sequence had been matched by the recognition element. It was a classic combination of collaborators-spotter and executor, drone and rocket, Bonnie and Clyde.

More helicopters hovered to the south, and a large troop carrier lifted off the ground a mile ahead. These weren’t the same helicopters Rick had left behind in Tennessee. These were new ones from North Carolina. They must have had a plan, but Rick wasn’t in any hurry to run to his doom. He slowed down to seventy miles per hour and looked at Renee. “I love you, too,” he said. Renee’s heart lurched into her throat. The reserved look on his face was something she wasn’t used to seeing. “Do you think this is it?” “I don’t know.” He looked again at the fuel gauge. She put her hand over the gauge, covering it from his view. “Do you remember what you told me once?” Rick smiled. “That, sometimes, it’s best not to know.” “Just don’t quit on me. Don’t make this a worthless gesture.” Renee forced him to look at her. Rick feared running out of fuel in the middle of these mountains. He feared the fury of the Firebird’s losing power, rolling to a stop, becoming helpless, and giving all these patrolmen a chance to catch up to them and gun them down like Bonnie and Clyde. Surely, they would use lethal force and nothing else. But as long as that engine ran and Rick was behind the wheel, they had a chance to live. And every second of life mattered. “OK, just hang on,” he said, meeting her gaze. He reached over and kissed her gently. Renee relished the kiss, closing her eyes and then opening them wide to take in the mountains. Did it hurt, getting shot? She wondered if she’d know when the last drop of blood flowed out of her body. What would happen to Rick? Would he be with her? Would they know each other without bodies? The mountains sure were beautiful.

A big surprise for W.D. was discovering that Clyde and Bonnie both prayed frequently. The religious faith ingrained in them by their mothers hadn’t been entirely abandoned.

Regardless of me fucking Taleyi, or any other bitch that threw me pussy because of the money, I loved Tricey to death. She was my ride or die bitch, the Bonnie to my Clyde. But Taleyi burst that bubble when she happily showed me that picture of Tricey and Damion.

Oh, how romantic. He got arrested for me. Our romantic gestures consisted of getting felony charges on our records for each other. The Bonnie and Clyde of the Fae world. This is not what I had in mind when I think of Eli and me and handcuffs.

She had the buns of Bonnie and the guns of Clyde.

The world was a miserable, wretched place to be in the 1930’s. It was a time when death lurked around every street corner — death which could be as slow as starvation or as quick as a whistling machinegun bullet. . . . [It was a time when] everyone and everything — including immediate future — was in doubt. . . . While a handful of men were getting rich . . . the average citizen was being whittled shorter and shorter with every skimpy meal.

The world was a miserable, wretched place to be in the 1930’s. It was a time when death lurked around every street corner — death which could be as slow as starvation or as quick as a whistling machinegun bullet. . . . [It was a time when] everyone and everything — including immediate future — was in doubt. . . . While a handful of men were getting rich . . . the average citizen was being whittled shorter and shorter with every skimpy meal.' — Billie Jean Parker Moon, 1975

The world was a miserable, wretched place to be in the 1930’s. It was a time when death lurked around every street corner — death which could be as slow as starvation or as quick as a whistling machinegun bullet. . . . [It was a time when] everyone and everything — including immediate future — was in doubt. . . . While a handful of men were getting rich . . . the average citizen was being whittled shorter and shorter with every skimpy meal.' — Billie Jean Parker Moon (Bonnie Parker's sister), 1975

Bonnie was so drunk she could hardly walk. ... I had always felt sorry for her, having to live the life she was living, never a minute’s peace. She had often told me she was happier when she had something to drink. So I did not blame her for staying drunk most of the time, if it made her feel better.

There were occasional dances at the main prison compound with live bands as well as holiday dinners, activities that Blanche greatly enjoyed. In her scrapbooks, she placed an autographed promotional photograph of one visiting band, The Rural Ramblers. ... Blanche loved to dance and by all accounts she was very good at it. She applied to a correspondence course in dancing that came complete with diagrams of select dance steps to place on the floor and practice. She also cut similar dance instructions and diagrams from newspapers and magazines and put them in her scrapbooks. By 1937, she had mastered popular dances like jitterbug, rumba, samba, and tango. The men’s prison, or “the big prison” as the women called it, hosted movies on Friday nights. Features like Roll Along Cowboy ... were standard, usually accompanied by some short musical feature such as Who’s Who and a newsreel. The admission was five cents. Blanche attended many of these movies. She loved movies all of her life. Blanche Barrow’s periodic visits to the main prison allowed her to fraternize with males. She apparently had a brief encounter with “the boy in the warden’s office” in the fall of 1934. There are few details, but their relationship was evidently ended abruptly by prison officials in December. There were other suitors, some from Blanche Barrow’s past, and some late arrivals...

It was the influence of the Great Depression, recycling, thriftiness, stocking up to the point of hoarding for fear of being without. ... She [Rhea Leen] remembered coming home from school before Jean [Billie Jean Parker] got off work to a cold, empty house, and finding only one can of soup in the cupboard, heating the soup and eating only half of it, saving the rest for he aunt. Rather remembered ... when her father took a job as a janitor because his savings had been wiped out in the crash of 1929 and there were no other jobs. He always distrusted banks thereafter, refusing to do business with them, preferring to bury his money in the yard. He was not alone.

I talk of those incidents [with Bonnie and Clyde] as if I were not a part of any of it, like a character in a book I once read. It’s the only way I keep from going crazy. Maybe we were all pretty young then, but we knew what we were doing. Clyde never held a gun to my head. I was there because I wanted to be! What’s that they say in the movies? ‘The show must go on!’ Well, life goes on.

Actually, despite his earlier vow to one day raid Eastham, Clyde Barrow tried to go straight when he was paroled. He first helped his father make preparations to put an addition onto the service station, then traveled to Framingham, Massachusetts, to take a job and get away from his past in Texas. However, he quickly grew homesick and returned to Dallas to work for United Glass and Mirror, one of his former employers. It was then that local authorities began picking Barrow up almost daily, often taking him away from his job. There was a standing policy at the time to basically harass excons. Barrow was never charged with anything, but he soon lost his job. He told his mother, in the presence of Blanche Barrow and Ralph Fults, 'Mama, I'm never gonna work again. And I'll never stand arrest, either. I'm not ever going back to that Eastham hell hole. I'll die first! I swear it, they're gonna have to kill me.' ... Mrs. J. W. Hays, wife of former Dallas County Sheriff's Deputy John W. “Preacher” Hays, said, 'if the Dallas police had left that boy [Clyde Barrow] alone, we wouldn't be talking about him today.

[At Eastham, probably after sexual abuse]: In Barrow's own words to Fults, 'I'd like to shoot all these damned guards and turn everybody loose.' Fults, initially unimpressed by the diminutive Barrow, later noted the change he witnessed. 'I seen him change from a schoolboy to a rattlesnake. He got real bitter.' ... This is echoed by members of the Barrow family who noted a distinct difference in Barrow's personality after his 1932 parole. According to his sister Marie, 'Something awful sure must have happened to him in prison, because he wasn't the same person when he got out.

On Clyde inviting Buck to join him and Bonnie: [W.D.] Jones later said, 'He [Clyde] didn't mean to do Buck no harm. He just couldn't see that far ahead.' Of Blanche, he said 'She was a good little girl— good—hearted. She begged Buck not to go. She slipped into a trap. Blanche was just an innocent little girl who got mixed up in something—a love affair. I never knew that love could be so strong.

Of her portrayal in the 1967 movie, Bonnie and Clyde, Blanche said, 'That movie made me out like a screaming horse's ass!' ... 'I was too busy moving bodies [to act hysterical],' Blanche herself said. ... Her image in this memoir, as well as in Fugitives and in Cumie Barrow's manuscript, was fashioned at a time when Blanche could have easily been charged with the Joplin murders. That may account for the great difference in tone Between Blanche, the young convict in Missouri State Penitentiary, and Blanche, the elder ex-fugitive. Indeed, at least one of Blanche Barrows' champions, Wilbur Winkler, the Deni— son man who co-owned (along with Artie Barrow Winkler) the Cinderella Beauty Shoppe, used Fugitives to try to obtain a parole for Blanche from the Missouri Board of Probation and Parole. In letters to the Platte County prosecutor and the judge involved in Blanche's case, Winkler alluded to the book's description of Blanche in Joplin in an effort to win their support for her release: 'Blanch [sic] ran hysterical [tic] thru [sit] the gunfire down the street carrying [her] dog in her arms,' Winkler wrote. He even sent copies of the book to them—and to others.

[W.D.] Jones later commented that people frequently helped them, 'Not because it was Bonnie and Clyde. People in them days just helped—no questions asked.

Just before she was allowed to go to Buck, Blanche was photographed at least three times by Herb Schwartz of the Des Moines Register. The location was about one quarter of a mile from where Buck and Blanche were apprehended. Blanche is being held by Sheriff Loren Forbes in all three shots. In two of the shots she is standing quietly, looking toward Buck, who is lying on the ground nearby with a group of armed men stooping over him. In the third shot, which has been widely published, Blanche is struggling with Forbes and looking directly at the camera, screaming dramatically. In his notes, Schwartz commented that Blanche, in her semiblind state, saw him raising his camera and apparently thought it was a gun and that he was about to shoot Buck. Blanche is screaming at Schwartz.

It ain't my idea to leave before dawn. My ole lady decided to visit Nana, that's why the house stinks of hairspray. You know why she's leaving early: so nobody sees her scurry through town on foot. All she wants is for them to see her arrived, all hunky-dory. Not scurrying. It's a learning I made since the car went. 'Well I just can't believe there isn't a pair of Tumbledowns around town, I mean, I'll have to try down by Nana's.' She gives off breathy noises, and flicks her fingertips through my hair. Then she takes a step back and frowns. It means goodbye. 'Promise me you won't miss your therapy.' An electric purple sky spills stars behind the pumpjack, calling home the last moths for the night. It reminds me of the morning when ole Mrs Lechuga was out here, all devastated. I try not to think about it. Instead I look ahead to today. Going to Keeter's is a smart idea; if anybody sees me out there, they'll say, 'We saw Vernon out by Keeter's,' and nobody will know if they mean the auto shop, or the piece of land. See? Vernon Gray-matter Little. In return, I've asked Fate to help me solve the cash thing. It's become clear that cash is the only way to deal with problems in life. I even scraped up a few things to pawn in town, if it comes to that. I know it'll come to that, so I have them with me in my pack – my clarinet, my skateboard, and fourteen music discs. They're in the pack with my lunchbox, which contains my sandwich, the two joints, and a piece of paper with some internet addresses on it. As for the joints and the piece of paper, I heard the voice of Jesus last night. He advised me to get wasted, fast. If at first you don't succeed, he said, get wasted off your fucken ass. My plan is to sit out at Keeter's and get some new ideas, ideas borne out of the bravery of wastedness. I ride down empty roads of frosted silver, trees overhead swish cool hints of warm panties in bedclothes. Liberty Drive is naked, save for droppings of hay, and Bar-B-Chew Barn wrappers. In this light you can't see the stains on the sidewalk by the school. As the gym building passes by, all hulky and black, I look the other way, and think of other things. Music's a crazy thing, when you think about it. Interesting how I decided which discs not to pawn. I could've kept some party music, but that would've just tried to boost me up, all this thin kind of 'Tss-tss-tss,' music. You get all boosted up, convinced you're going to win in life, then the song's over and you discover you fucken lost. That's why you end up playing those songs over and over, in case you didn't know. Cream pie, boy. I could've kept back some heavy metal too, but that's likely to drive me to fucken suicide. What I need is some Eminem, some angry poetry, but you can't buy that stuff in Martirio. Like it was an animal sex doll or something, you can't buy angry poetry. When you say gangsta around here, they still think of Bonnie & fucken Clyde. Nah, guess what: I ended up keeping my ole Country albums. Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Paycheck – even my daddy's ole Hank Williams compilation. I kept them because those boys have seen some shit – hell, all they sing about is the shit they've seen; you just know they woke up plenty of times on a wooden floor somewhere, with ninety flavors of trouble riding on their ass. The slide-guitar understands your trouble. Then all you need is the beer.

At present, the ottoman was occupied by a pair of cats who eyed Alex with blasé effeteness. He stuck his hands in his pockets and eyed them back. "Romeo and Juliet," she told him. "They used to be lovers, but since that visit to the vet they're just friends." "Are they friendly?" he asked, stretching out a hand at Romeo's funny pushed-in face. "They're cats," she said, grinning as Romeo turned up his nose at the outstretched hand. Juliet wasn't interested, either. They poured themselves off the furniture, then minced away. "I think they've been talking to your friends at the restaurant," Alex said. "They don't talk to anyone." She saw him glance at the terrarium on the windowsill. "The turtles are Tristan and Isolde, and their offspring are Heloise and Abelard." "So where are Cleopatra and Mark Antony?" he asked. "In a tomb in Egypt, I imagine. But you can look in the fish tank and see Bonnie and Clyde, Napoleon and Josephine, and Jane and Guildford." He bent and peered into the lighted tank. "Fun couples. Is it a coincidence that they all ended tragically?" "Not a coincidence, just poor judgment." "Isn't it bad karma, naming your pets after doomed lovers?" "I don't think they care.

Wreak Havoc- Skylar Grey A Little Party Never Killed Nobody- Fergie Gangsta- Kehlani You Don’t Own Me- Grace Bonnie and Clyde- Kellie Pickler Kill of the Night- Gin Wigmore I Feel a Sin Comin’ On- Pistol Annies Raise Hell- Dorothy Renegade Runaway- Carrie Underwood Black Widow- Iggy Azalea Hard Out Here- Lily Allen Fix- Chris Lane Make Me Wanna Die- Pretty Reckless Natalie- Bruno Mars Grenade- Bruno Mars Criminal- Fiona Apple Hunter- Ella Fence Gunpowder & Lead- Miranda Lambert Addicted to Love- Florence & The Machine Titanium- David Guetta & Sia Talking Body- Tove Lo Tornado- Little Big Town Fastest Girl in Town- Miranda Lambert Just Tonight- The Pretty Reckless Ready Set Roll- Chase Rice Till I Collapse- Eminem Remember the Name- Fort Minor Kill!Kill!Kill!- The Pierces Hard- Rihanna Cherry Bomb- The Runaways Bad Romance- Lady Gaga Gasoline & Matches- Julie Roberts Loca- Shakira My Medicine- The Pretty Reckless Fake It- Seether Psycho- Puddle of Mud All or Nothing- Theory of a Deadman Next to You- Buckcherry Better Dig Two- The Band Perry

How come we don’t have any powerhouse couples like Bonnie and Clyde or Paul and Karla anymore?

Bob Evans's judgement of Beatty is most severe. According to him, Beatty didn't lose it; he never had it. "You know what Warren's greatest talent is?" he asked rhetorically, in 1994. "How many pictures has Warren made in his career? Twenty-one? How many hits did he have? Three! Bonnie and Clyde, Shampoo, and Heaven Can Wait. That's batting three for twenty-one. In baseball, you're sent back to the minors for that. Not Warren.

From the ashes of the studio system, a “New Hollywood” emerged, beginning with the 1967 release of Bonnie and Clyde. Mixing violence, sex, and art, Arthur Penn’s $2.5 million film did more than signal a break with the Hollywood of Cary Grant, John Wayne, and Katharine Hepburn. It also brought in $50 million at the box office. And

Numerous Monroe protégés formed their own groups performing in his style. The most famous were Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, respectively the guitarist-lead vocalist and the banjo picker who were core members of the classic Blue Grass Boys lineup of the late 1940s. They left to form the tremendously successful partnership of Flatt and Scruggs & the Foggy Mountain Boys, gaining crossover fame in the 1960s by contributing music to the soundtracks of the Beverly Hillbillies television show and the movie Bonnie and Clyde.

Anyone comparing photos of Glenn Frey and Don Henley in 1972 and, say, 1977 could track the price of the years of drugs and high living. Julia Phillips's drug addiction incinerated her Hollywood career. Martin Scorsese barely survived his own cocaine addiction in the mid-seventies. Since the days of Bonnie and Clyde and The Graduate, Los Angeles had sold a vision of personal liberation. A decade later, liberation had curdled into license. The theme song for Los Angeles in the buoyant early 1970s could have been "Take It Easy" or "Rock Me on the Water." But by 1976, when the Eagles released Hotel California, the mood of lengthening shadows was more precisely captured by their rueful "Life in the Fast Lane.

With my own money, I bought a Bauer Super 8 camera, intent on putting my newly accumulated filmmaking knowledge to use. I would make a Peckinpah-style splatter pic with a few Old West nods to Leone and a killer title: Cards, Cads, Guns, Gore, and Death. The plot of this two-minute silent masterpiece-in-the-making was simple. Three cowboys are playing poker in a dusty saloon. One takes exception to the other’s winning hand and shoots the winner dead. Then the third guy shoots the shooter dead. A fourth guy, the sheriff, comes upon the scene and shoots the third guy from behind, killing him. Then he shakes his head in disgust, lamenting the waste of it all. The end. That was the easy part. The hard part was authentically portraying the carnage on a nonexistent budget. In my curiosity about filmmaking, I took to bending the ears of everyone with a specialized job on the sets I worked on. A special-effects guy gave me the intel on how they did gunshot wounds in Bonnie and Clyde and The Wild Bunch.

I see several officers in riot gear holding shotguns, as though anticipating the second coming of Bonnie and Clyde.

America is a violence-loving country where people like John Wayne and even criminals like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Bonnie and Clyde are considered heroes and heroines. America is a country where the successful man is thought to be the rich man, where honesty, diligence, outstanding scholarship and artistic achievements that bring no financial reward are looked upon with indifference. America is a country where t's considered O.K. and even clever to break the law as long as you can get away with it. Richard Nixon wasn't disgraced here because he was dishonest. People had known he was crooked for a long time; he was disgraced because he got caught. Add those factors up and it's no wonder you got a lot of people who want money and material luxuries and are willing to use illegal means, including violence, t' get them. If they're caught, they're considered losers, but if they get away with it there'll be plenty of people in this country that'll praise 'em.

Here are some lethal combinations: Bonnie and Clyde, Thelma and Louise, the gliadin protein in wheat and LPS endotoxemia.

We’re Bonnie and Clyde! Wanted and unwanted. Caged and cornered. We’re lost and we’re alone. We’re a big, tangled mess. We’re a shot in the dark. We’re two people who have nowhere else, no one else, and yet, suddenly that feels like enough for me! I’m sorry if it’s not enough for you.

Ranger Captain Fred McDaniel drove Fults to Austin. There the outlaw was interviewed about his experiences with Clyde Barrow and Raymond Hamilton. Fults, in turn, probed the Rangers for information about the ambush of Bonnie and Clyde. 'Yeh,' McDaniel said, 'they approached me and Hickman and Gonzualeson that Clyde and Bonnie deal.We told them 'no thanks, we don't ambush people and we don't shoot women.

[From Raymond Hamilton's pre-execution interview] 'What about Mary O'Dare?' came another question. 'That girl "ratted"on me to save her own neck," Raymond said bitterly. 'How about Bergie and the two sisters?' another newsman inquired. 'I'm not squealing on any women,' Hamilton mused. 'Women have enough trouble without men heaping more on them.

Raymond Hamilton,' the Judge decreed, 'you are here now to be sentenced, friendless and without money. Have you anything to say as to why sentence should not be passed?' 'Yes, I have,' answered Raymond. 'People,' he began, 'I hope I have a few friends among you I want you to know I never killed anyone. . . . Crowson was going to be killed no matter what I did. . . . and I want to tell you that whenever Simmons and the others get after you together, you don't get fairness. . . . They're afraid they can't hold me, that I'll breakout and call more attention to them, so they get me 'the chair'. . . . I don't know if there's anything like 'haunts' but if there are, I sure do want to come back and kick this whole bunch out of bed every night.' [...] As the once-dapper bandit was being led past the crowd, several young women pressed against the railing, some trying to touch the gunman. Looking over his shoulder, Hamilton raised his manacled hands to wave farewell, a smile on his face.

He doesn’t meet my eyes when he speaks. I wonder if he too feels like there’s no way to make any of this right. We’re in this together. Bonnie and Clyde. He’s with me to the bitter end. However near that is.

Evie,” I growl. “I love you. I love every single inch of your skin and hair on your body. Everything I am, everything I have is yours. Not out of obligation or charity, but because you are the other half of my soul. The Ben to my Jerry, the Bonnie to my Clyde. From here on out, we’re an us, if you’ll have me.

I can’t remember, for instance, anyone who walked out of Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde or Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch who didn’t look as if he or she had been hit on the head with a very large board. Yet people walk out of other Peckinpah films—Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, Cross of Iron—yawning. That vital linkage just never happens.

Dude, you’re going to be my partner in crime, okay? The Bonnie to my Clyde. The—” “Who?” “Uh… the Batman to my Robin?” I ask, suddenly realising that I have no idea what almost-eleven-year-olds watch or read or… any-fucking-thing.  “O-okay.

Shhhh,” Johnny soothed, sliding his hands up and down her back, nuzzling her hair. “Car thieves don’t cry, baby. You gotta toughen up if you’re gonna have a future with good old Clyde here.” “I like it when you do that.” “What?” “Call me baby,” Maggie whispered. “You liked it when I called you Bonnie too,” he replied with a smile in his voice. “Why?” “You used to call me baby all the time. It makes me believe you can love me again.” Johnny wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and lifted her to him, kissing her tear-streaked cheeks before he touched his lips to hers. “I’m already there Maggie. I fell in love when you begged me to help you escape the cops. I fell in love when we danced to Nat King Cole singing ‘Stardust’ on a moonlit beach. Hell, I fell in love when you told me how blondes spell farm.” “E-I-E-I-O,” Maggie quipped wetly. Johnny laughed and held her tightly.

William climbed into the car, and just before he shut the door, Bonnie asked him if she could borrow his cardboard sign, just for a second. He acquiesced, obviously, because Bonnie Rae grabbed it as William pulled the door closed, and then she held it over the roof of the car, showing Finn, who still stood next to the driver’s side door. Bonnie’s eyes were almost as wide and crazy as George Orrin Dillinger’s. She pointed at the words on the sign fiercely, not speaking. I Believe in Bonnie and Clyde the sign read. Finn read it again, and then again, not sure what to make of it. Then he looked at Bonnie and shrugged. “So?” “So?” she hissed. “It’s a sign!” “Yeah. It is. A cardboard sign.” “Finn! It has our names on it!” “Names which happen to be the same names as a very well-known pair. He could have written ‘I believe in Sonny and Cher’ or ‘Beavis and Butthead’ or ‘peanut butter and jelly.’” Bonnie looked a little crestfallen. He’d taken the magic out of the moment. He was good at that. “And now we have a smelly guy named William with the initials, G.O.D. in our backseat. And I’m not happy about it, Bonnie Rae.” “His initials are G.O.D!” Bonnie’s eyes were seriously going to pop out of her skull. The magic was back. Finn moaned and then started laughing, once again not even sure how any of this could possibly be real. He even pinched himself, just to make sure he’d actually woken up this morning to a pop star in his arms, a Bear on his front steps, and now, God in his backseat

What name did you give them when you registered us?” Bonnie asked. She was turned around in her seat, watching to see if they were going to be pursued. So far so good. “Parker Barrow.” Bonnie laughed and groaned. “And you thought that was a good idea?” “No. I just thought it was funny. And at this point, funny is about all we’ve got,” Finn said with a rueful smile. “We really aren’t anything like Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow.” “I’ve decided that the media doesn’t care, Bonnie Rae. They want us to be . . . and so that’s the story they’ll tell.

Finn caught my expression and cuffed my chin. “What?” “I’m feeling especially Hank Shelby-ish at the moment, Clyde. Mean and ugly. I need a miracle makeover, and I don’t think I can pull one out of a Wally bag.” “We’ve come this far, Bonnie Rae. We can find a dress in a party town like Vegas with our hands tied behind our backs. We have five hours, and we’re in walking distance of everything. Don’t cry, Hank. We’ll find you a pretty dress.” He winked at me, and I gave him a smile, but Finn had no idea what he was getting into. I decided not to even try to explain

From heart-break some people have suffered from weariness some people have died. But take it all in all; our troubles are small, ‘til we get like Bonnie and Clyde

You’re smart then . . . aren’t you, Finn?” I heard the awe in my own voice. It wasn’t a question. I had never been school smart, and marveled at those who were. “I thought you were. I was never any good with numbers. Math has always been like a murky pond, and me, a hillbilly stabbing at the fish with a pokey stick, trying to get lucky.” “That doesn’t make any sense, Bonnie.” Finn laughed softly. “That’s my point, Clyde

Initially the driver asked the passengers to stay seated and remain on the bus, but after a half hour of conferring with his supervisors, he informed the passengers that another bus was being sent to their location to take them to Los Angeles. The driver gave them an hour and reiterated that the journey would resume on the new bus at ten thirty, and to please be prompt so they wouldn’t be left behind. He gave them a quick tour-guide style run-down of the available restaurants and sites to see in Primm, including a huge Buffalo shaped pool at Buffalo Bills Hotel, and the roller coaster that Finn was suddenly determined to ride. But when the bus driver mentioned that the bullet riddled car of the infamous outlaws, Bonnie and Clyde, was on display at Whiskey Pete’s Hotel and Casino, he and Bonnie looked at each other in wide-eyed wonder. Finn had started to laugh, almost choking on his disbelief. “Now that, Infinity, is a sign,” Bonnie drawled, and immediately scowled. “William’s sign is still in Bear’s car. I’ve got to get it back. If I only come out of this trip with one souvenir, that’s the one I want. A cardboard sign and a big, blond husband. That’s all I ask.

Hey!” she said suddenly, her voice rising with her epiphany. “I know how we can make some room at the Infinity Hotel without making everyone move. I’ve officially solved the paradox. Call it Bonnie Rae’s Solution.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. We’ll all double up. Problem solved. You wanna double up, Infinity Clyde?” Finn was sure if he could see her face she would be waggling her eyebrows. She liked to tease. And she was damn good at it. Yeah. He wanted to double up. Instead he decided to poke back a little. “The problem is, when people double up, they start to multiply.” She giggled, and Finn found himself smiling in the dark. “And then we’re right back at square one,” he whispered.

It’s midnight. I figure it will get light about six or seven, right? We can’t just run the Blazer all night.” He paused as if he didn’t quite know what to say next. He ran his hand down his face, and I suddenly felt like laughing from sheer helplessness. I bit my lip hard, the inappropriate giggle perched at the back of my throat just waiting to jump out. I really was crazy. "I have a sleeping bag and two pillows, plus those three old blankets. It’s going to get cold when we turn off the Blazer.” Finn stopped again, as if he were uncomfortable, and the giggle escaped through my clenched lips. “Are you laughing?” “No.” “You are. Here I am feeling like a dirty old man because I’m about to suggest that we make a bed and cuddle up to keep warm, and you are laughing.” “You were going to suggest we . . . cuddle?” My shock immediately cured the giggling problem. Finn ran both hands over his face, scrubbing at it like he wanted to erase what he’d just said. “Okay,” I said in a tiny voice. He looked at me in surprise, and I couldn’t help it. I smiled. A big, wide, you-are-my-sunshine smile. “You do realize we’re in trouble here, right?” Finn shook his head like he doubted my sense, but a smile teetered around the corners of his mouth. “This isn’t a slumber party with your girlfriends and trips to the fridge for snacks.” “Hey, Clyde?” “Yeah, Bonnie?” “You will have officially slept with Bonnie Rae Shelby after tonight. You aren’t going to ask me to sign an autograph, are you? Maybe sign your hiney in permanent marker so you can take a picture and sell it to US Weekly?” “Got a little ego, there, huh?” I dove over the seat into the back, laughing. “Dibs on the pillow with a pillow case!

Clyde swore long and low, making the one syllable word into several. “What in the hell happened in the space of twenty-four hours to make you want to take a plunge into the Mystic River?” “Maybe I wouldn’t have jumped,” I said after a long silence, not knowing what else to say without spilling my whole life story. “You did jump. But that wasn’t the question, Bonnie,” Clyde said softly. “That’s the only answer I’ve got, Clyde.” “Then you and I are gonna have to part ways.” “Say that again.” “You and I are gonna have to part ways,” Clyde repeated firmly, his gaze steely in the murky light. “I like your accent. You don’t say part. You say pat. Say it again.” “What the hell?” Clyde sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “Now that, that didn’t sound very cool,” I said. “You say it just the way I say it. What the hell!” I yelled. “See? Exactly the same.” “I don’t need this,” Clyde muttered under his breath and ran his big hand down his face.

Sul volto di Dana vide susseguirsi complicità e ammirazione: «Io e te diventeremo le fottute Bonnie e Clyde di Roma Sud, te lo dico io».

Anyway,” he said, his gaze lifting to hers. “We’re a team, right?” She couldn’t help but smile. “That’s us, one of the great detective couples. Like Nick and Nora.” He mugged a face. “More like Bonnie and Clyde.” “Emma Peel and John Steed.” Tucker laughed. “Shaggy and Scooby Doo.

Not merely because they happened in the dust and heat of the United States south and southwest, but because these crimes were viewed by much of the American public as a reaction to the Great Depression. “Gaunt, dazed men roamed the city streets seeking jobs,” writes historian E. R. Milner in The Lives and Times of Bonnie and Clyde. “Breadlines and soup kitchens became jammed, foreclosures forced more than 38 percent of farmers from their lands . . . by the time Bonnie and Clyde became well-known, many felt that the capitalistic system had been abused by big business and government officials. Now here were Bonnie and Clyde striking back.” They were products of their times, and they defined how generations of Americans would view and interpret lovers who broke the law. And when they died, they died together in a rain of bullets, faithful to each other until their end.

ARTHUR PENN: When we finished Bonnie and Clyde, the film was characterized rather elegantly by one of the leading Warner executives as “a piece of shit.” It went downhill from there.