Brad Pitt Quotes

He looks like a runway model. How in the world am I going to be able to reject that? The world is so unfair. Seriously, it's like turning Brad Pitt down for a date. The girl who could actually do it should win an award for idiot of the century.

When you say gorgeous,” Jen started, “are we talking Brad Pitt boyish good looks, or Johnny Depp make ya want to slap somebody?” “No, we’re talking Brad and Johnny need to bow down and recognize” Jacque answered.

The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

It's like Brad Pitt for us. You might not like blond men with pretty features, but c'mon, it's Brad. You're not going to kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be more lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

Let us be the ones who say we do not accept that a child dies every three seconds simply because he does not have the drugs you and I have. Let us be the ones to say we are not satisfied that your place of birth determines your right for life. Let us be outraged, let us be loud, let us be bold.

Cherie, did the table do something I did not see or were you just attempting to teach it a lesson?" "I was imagining it was Evor." "Strange that they do not resemble each other." "I have a good imagination." "Ah, in that case, I do not suppose you are imagining I'm Brad Pitt?

Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

Great. Abducted by aliens. She’d never live this one down. She wondered if they would dissect her. Maybe grab a steak of the tender parts and cook her up. Any sex stuff was too weird and horrible to think about, though it had been awhile. What the hell did she know? Brad Pitt. Surely, he wasn’t entirely human. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

I'm probably 20 percent atheist and 80 percent agnostic. I don't think anyone really knows. You'll either find out or not when you get there, until then there's no point thinking about it.

I've had more difficulty accepting myself as bisexual than I ever did accepting that I was a lesbian. It felt traitorous. A few years ago, I admitted to myself that I was still interested in men in more than a "Brad Pitt is slick hot sexy" kind of way. But I worried what my friends, exes, and the Community would think. I never even broached the subject with my parents. Because what bothered me the most was that people would think that being a lesbian had been a phase for me, when that was so very not the case. What I feared was that I would no longer be part of a community, that I might be seen with my boyfriend and not be recognized as something not the same.

Shoving feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.

Hunter smirked. "Nice to see you, too, Paris." Paris? All I could think of was Orlando Bloom and Brad Pitt.

Yeah. Just keep the live feed going so that I can see it and pretend I’m there, too. (Tory) Yes, my queen. Anything else you’d like? (Geary) A million dollars and Brad Pitt. (Tory) You forgot world peace. (Geary) I’m feeling a bit selfish today. Teenage hormonal overdose, I think. Or just general excitement. (Tory)

Jennifer Aniston and Her New Man'" I read the words aloud uncertainly. "What new man? Why would she need a new man?" "Oh yes." Nicole follows my gaze, unconcerned. "You know she split up from Brad Pitt?" "Jennifer and Brad split?" I stare up at her, aghast. "You can't be serious! They can't have done!" "He went off with Angelina Jolie. They've got a daughter." "No!" I wail. "But Jen and Brad were so perfect together! They looked so good and they had that lovely wedding picture and everything...." "They're divorced now." Nicole shrugs, like it's no big deal. I can't get over this. Jennifer and Brad divorced. The world is a different place.

Brad Pitt just moved in with you. I swear, Tea, he looks just like a young Brad Pitt, and you get to keep him! This is so not fair. Walter looked like Jack Black. You know he did.-Abby

See, my idea of cute comes with an IQ requirement. It's geeky cute. It's Rivers Cuomo, not Justin Timberlake. It's Gideon Yago, not Brian Mcfayden. Jimmy Fallon, yes please! Brad Pitt, no thank you.

When you put it that way, yuck. I guess when I think of vampire, I picture Brad Pitt or Robert Pattinson. More sexy, lets stinky

This idea of perpetual happiness is crazy and overrated, because those dark moments fuel you for the next bright moments; each one helps you appreciate the other.

Grant didn't look like a sophomore - Grant looked like Brad Pitt's body double.

I embrace the messiness of life, I find it so beautiful actually.

Come on, tick tock – Chuck, Fuck or Marry: Arthur, Lance, Brad Pitt." "Chuck Arthur, Fuck Brad, Marry Lance," she said, without hesitating.

Are you famous in India?" Allyson asks. "I am Brad Pitt in India" Willem says.

When you've got your heart set on someone Brad Pitt could walk in and he wouldn't be enough--" "Brad Pitt is really fucking old," I say. "Um--Harry Styles?" That almost makes me smile. "Yeah. Maybe. or Timothee Chalamet.

You shouldn't speak until you know what you're talking about. That's why I get uncomfortable with interviews. Reporters ask me what I feel China should do about Tibet. Who cares what I think China should do? I'm a fucking actor! They hand me a script. I act. I'm here for entertainment. Basically, when you whittle everything away, I'm a grown man who puts on makeup.

If a gorgeous woman hits on me right off the bat, I’m suspicious. I wonder what she wants. If she hasn’t heard my wit, felt my charm, how could I appeal to her? I’m no Brad Pitt. So what is she after? Most likely it’s my horse cock.

When I got untethered from the comfort of religion, it wasn't a loss of faith for me, it was a discovery of Self.

Living in L.A., you couldn't help picking up tidbits of the surf culture, almost through osmosis... it was in the air, like vitamin D and the odd Brad Pitt sighting.

My pelvis swoons like a romance novel heroine who just saw her Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall–like hero riding toward her on horseback. Either

Your mother wouldn't describe a combination of Brad Pitt, Bill Gates, and Prince William as 'quite a catch.' There is nobody walking the earth good enough to be her son-in-law.

-Ojalá sea así... Y que todo eso suceda gracias a un tío estupendo de sonrisa arrebatadora y un cuerpo que quite el hipo, en fin, una mezcla entre Clive Owen, Brad Pitt, Matthew McConaughey, Ashton Kutcher y Woody Allen... -¿Woody Allen? ¿Y qué tiene que ver Woody Allen? -¡Bueno, no me negarás que si, después de un buen polvo, el tipo incluso te hace reír, es que has llegado al cielo!

Trump wonders why we can’t have more people coming from places like Norway? Why would they come? They live better there. Europeans come to America like you go to the circus to see the fucking animals. That’s why. You come to shop, take a picture where Brad Pitt slept, and to see the fucking animals. It’s a tour. You’re not coming to live here.

He was blond, about six feet tall, muscular, and absurdly good-looking in a rugged, masculine way, as if God had taken Brad Pitt and decided to make him really handsome.

BEFORE CRITICIZING A WOMAN'S BODY, MAKE SURE THAT YOU ARE NO LESS THAN SALMAN KHAN, HRITHIK ROSHAN OR BRAD PITT.

Don't ever, ever check Facebook when you're: A. Depressed. B. Drinking. C. Depressed and drinking. D. Unemployed. E. Struggling with being blessed with singleness while some of your friends seem to be blessed with a Brad Pitt lookalike and that blazing white picket fence shining with the glory of the American Dream on steroids. OR -- F. Anytime after 9:12pm.

1973 Fair Information Practices: - You should know who has your personal data, what data they have, and how it is used. - You should be able to prevent information collected about you for one purpose from being used for others. - You should be able to correct inaccurate information about you. - Your data should be secure. ..while it's illegal to use Brad Pitt's image to sell a watch without his permission, Facebook is free to use your name to sell one to your friends.

One powerful feature of a market economy is that it directs resources to their most productive use. Why doesn’t Brad Pitt sell automobile insurance? Because it would be an enormous waste of his unique talents.

I hope that's a good thing,' I said, thinking he might say I reminded him of a film star- then we'd actually have something in common. I was hoping for Anne Hathaway or Julia Roberts, and not the obvious Vivien Leigh. Even Angelina Jolie would have done, though I'd never quite forgiven her for stealing Brad's heart. Talking of Brad, was Sean starting to resemble him too? No, he could never be a Brad, a Matthew McConaughey maybe at a push, but never a Brad Pitt.

Maddox’s blue eyes meet mine. With his square jaw, blondish hair, and young Brad Pitt resemblance, this weekend just became a whole lot more awkward. Of course, the straight guy is gorgeous, because the universe likes to watch me suffer.

I'm sorry, but why does Claire know how to take a punch? I'm not sure I like where this is going," Carter said nervously. "Well, last year Jim made us watch Fight Club for like, the ten- thousandth time. And while I’m all for a little shirtless Brad Pitt action, Claire and I decided to take a shot every time Edward Norton talked in third person. By about twenty minutes in, we were trashed. I don't know whose idea it was, but Claire and I started our own fight club in the living room," Liz explained. "It was your idea, Liz. You stood up in front of me, lifted your shirt and said "Punch me in the stomach as hard as you can, fucker.

The Light has a request: It asks that you enjoy the process. Connecting to the Light is like taking part in a movie that is guaranteed to have a happy ending. Even as the storms rage and the bad guys attack, you play your part, but inside you’re not worried. That’s because you know you’re going to end up defeating the villains and walking into the sunset with Julia Roberts or Brad Pitt on your arm.

Actresses talking about characters they’ve played often use the phrase “strong woman”, which kind of irks me. Firstly, the description appears to be reserved for two kinds of female: the gun-toting chick in tiny-vest-and-shorts combo, or the tough-talking businesswoman who secretly longs for a man to bring out her softer side. So obviously, our idea of strength is pretty narrow and one-dimensional. Secondly, why isn’t Brad Pitt ever asked about how much he enjoys playing a “strong man”? Is it automatically assumed that men’s roles will be complex and interesting?

Things that happen in seven years: Brad Pitt in Tibet. The itch.

Ooh, so generous. You’re like Brad Pitt. You’re hot and you love poor people.

Reader, I did the stupid thing. I looked her up on Facebook. It didn't take more than forty minutes to filter this Katie Ingram from the other hundred or so. Her profile was unlocked, and contained the logo for the NHS. Her job description said: "Paramedic: Love My Job!!!" She had hair that could have been red or strawberry blond, it was hard to tell from the photographs, and she was possibly in her late twenties, pretty, with a snub nose. In the first thirty photographs she had posted she was laughing with friends, frozen in the middle of Good Times. She looked annoyingly good in a bikini (Skiathos 2014!! What a laugh!!!!!), she had a small, hairy dog, a penchant for vertiginously high heels, and a best friend with long, dark hair who was fond of kissing her cheek in pictures (I briefly entertained the hope that she was gay but she belonged to a Facebook group called: Hands up if you're secretly delighted that Brad Pitt is single again!!).

I was pretty much positive there was no way he was as good-looking as his voice would suggest, and I didn't want to ruin the fantasy. I know, it sounds stupid – “Oh, you’re afraid he’ll be good looking, and you’re afraid he’ll be ugly! Make up your damn mind!” Followed by a slap on the back of my head.But hear me out. Ever see a guy from the back, and you’re like ‘DAMN, break me off a piece of that’? (Not that I would get to break me off a piece of that in reality, but I can still dream.) Amazing ass, great shoulders, gorgeous hair, fantastic arms? You’re thinking somebody went back in time and made a clone of Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp at age 27. Or 33. Or 38, even. And then you see them from the front… And you’re like, ‘Oh, no. No, no, no.

If the Devil were to appear before us, he wouldn't have a tail or a pitchfork and cloven hooves. Instead, he'd have the most perfect suit, he'd be the most handsome guy around, like Brad Pitt, and he'd be able to talk you into doing anything he wanted you to do.

Mr. Kadam bowed and said, “Miss Kelsey, I will leave you to your dining companion. Enjoy your dinner.” Then he walked out of the restaurant. “Mr. Kadam, wait. I don’t understand.” Dining companion? What is he talking about? Maybe he’s confused. Just then, a deep, all-too-familiar voice behind me said, “Hello, Kells.” I froze, and my heart dropped into my stomach, stirring up about a billion butterflies. A few seconds passed. Or was it a few minutes? I couldn’t tell. I heard a sigh of frustration. “Are you still not talking to me? Turn around, please.” A warm hand slid under my elbow and gently turned me around. I raised my eyes and gasped softly. He was breathtaking! So handsome, I wanted to cry. “Ren.” He smiled. “Who else?” He was dressed in an elegant black suit and he’d had his hair cut. Glossy black hair was swept back away from his face in tousled layers that tapered to a slight curl at the nape of his neck. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar. It set off his golden-bronze skin and his brilliant white smile, making him positively lethal to any woman who might cross his path. I groaned inwardly. He’s like…like James Bond, Antonio Banderas, and Brad Pitt all rolled into one. I decided the safest thing to do would be to look at his shoes. Shoes were boring, right? Not attractive at all. Ah. Much better. His shoes were nice, of course-polished and black, just like I would expect. I smiled wryly when I realized that this was the first time I’d ever seen Ren in shoes. He cupped my chin and made me look at his face. The jerk. Then it was his turn to appraise me. He looked me up and down. And not a quick look. He took it all in slowly. The kind of slow that made a girl’s face feel hot. I got mad at myself for blushing and glared at him. Nervous and impatient, I asked, “Are you finished?” “Almost.” He was now staring at my strappy shoes. “Well, hurry up!” His eyes drifted leisurely back up to my face and he smiled at me appreciatively, “Kelsey, when a man spends time with a beautiful woman, he needs to pace himself.” I quirked an eyebrow at him and laughed. “Yeah, I’m a regular marathon alright.” He kissed my fingers. “Exactly. A wise man never sprints…in a marathon.” “I was being sarcastic, Ren.” He ignored me and tucked my hand under his arm then led me over to a beautifully lit table. Pulling the chair out for me, he invited me to sit. I stood there wondering if I could sprint for the nearest exit. Stupid strappy shoes, I’d never make it. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to let you escape again. You can either take a seat and have dinner with me like a normal date,” he grinned at his word choice, “or,” he paused thoughtfully then threatened, “you can sit on my lap while I force-feed you.” I hissed, “You wouldn’t dare. You’re too much of a gentleman to force me to do anything. It’s an empty bluff, Mr. Asks-For-Permission.” “Even a gentleman has his limits. One way or another, we’re going to have a civil conversation. I’m hoping I get to feed you from my lap, but it’s your choice.” He straightened up again and waited. I unceremoniously plunked down in my chair and scooted in noisily to the table. He laughed softly and took the chair across from me. I felt guilty because of the dress and readjusted my skirt so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

I’m actually here with Crispin. You didn’t forget about your tutoring date with him, did you?” I wrinkle my nose. “I thought I told him no?” Just then, Crispin comes into view on his way up the walk. “I thought I told you no,” I call out to him. “Ah,” he replies, joining James in the doorway. “You did. But I’ve been told that when a woman says no, she really means yes. So I read between the lines.” “Well, whoever told you that was wrong,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “Unless you’re asking that woman if Brad Pitt is sexier than you. In that case, no always means yes.” Crispin looks faintly amused, but James arches an eyebrow. “Always?” he asks. Personally I’m not overly fond of Brad Pitt. But I unconvincingly reply, “I’m just telling it like it is.” James shrugs carelessly. “Well, there’s no accounting for some people’s taste.” “Amen,” I murmur.

Mr. Wonderful was probably taking his sweet time, right?” “No, it was actually my fault this morning. I was busy with…paperwork.” “Oh. Well, that’s alright. Don’t worry about it. What kind of paperwork?” He smiled. “Nothing important.” Mr. Kadam held the door for me, and we walked out into an empty hallway. I was just starting to relax at the elevator doors when I heard a hotel room door close. Ren walked down the hall toward us. He’d purchased new clothes. Of course, he looked wonderful. I took a step back from the elevator and tried to avoid eye contact. Ren wore a brand new pair of dark-indigo, purposely faded, urban-destruction designer jeans. His shirt was long-sleeved, buttoned-down, crisp, oxford-style and was obviously of high quality. It was blue with thin white stripes that matched is eyes perfectly. He’d rolled up the sleeves and left his shirt untucked and open at the collar. It was also an athletic cut, so it fit tightly to his muscular torso, which made me suck in an involuntary breath in appreciation of his male splendor. He looks like a runway model. How in the world am I going to be able to reject that? The world is so unfair. Seriously, it’s like turning Brad Pitt down for a date. The girl who could actually do it should win an award for idiot of the century. I again quickly ran through my list of reasons for not being with Ren and said a few “He’s not for me’s.” The good thing about seeing his mouthwatering self and watching him walk around like a regular person was that it tightened my resolve. Yes. It would be hard because he was so unbelievably gorgeous, but it was now even more obvious to me that we didn’t belong together. As he joined us at the elevator, I shook my head and muttered under my breath, “Figures. The guy is a tiger for three hundred and fifty years and emerges from his curse with expensive taste and keen fashion sense too. Incredible!” Mr. Kadam asked, “What was that, Miss Kelsey?” “Nothing.” Ren raised an eyebrow and smirked. He probably heard me. Stupid tiger hearing. The elevator doors opened. I stepped in and moved to the corner hoping to keep Mr. Kadam between the two of us, but unfortunately, Mr. Kadam wasn’t receiving the silent thoughts I was projecting furiously toward him and remained by the elevator buttons. Ren moved next to me and stood too close. He looked me up and down slowly and gave me a knowing smile. We rode down the elevator in silence. When the doors opened, he stopped me, took the backpack off my shoulder, and threw it over his, leaving me with nothing to carry. He walked ahead next to Mr. Kadam while I trialed along slowly behind, keeping distance between us and a wary eye on his tall frame.

The problem. “I’m the guy who’s got everything. I know,” says Hollywood actor Brad Pitt in a Rolling Stone interview. “But I’m telling you, once you get everything, then you’re just left with yourself. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It doesn’t help you sleep any better, and you don’t wake up any better because of it.

My girl got sick. She was constantly nervous because of problems at work, personal life, her failures and children. She lost 30 pounds and weighted about 90 pounds. She got very skinny and was constantly crying. She was not a happy woman. She had suffered from continuing headaches, heart pain and jammed nerves in her back and ribs. She did not sleep well, falling asleep only in the mornings and got tired very quickly during the day. Our relationship was on the verge of a break up. Her beauty was leaving her somewhere, she had bags under her eyes, she was poking her head, and stopped taking care of herself. She refused to shoot the films and rejected any role. I lost hope and thought that we’ll get separated soon… But then I decided to act. After all I’ve got the MOST Beautiful Woman on earth. She is the idol of more than half of men and women on earth, and I was the one allowed to fall asleep next to her and to hug her. I began to shower her with flowers, kisses and compliments. I surprised and pleased her every minute. I gave her a lot of gifts and lived just for her. I spoke in public only about her. I incorporated all themes in her direction. I praised her in front of her own and our mutual friends. You won’t believe it, but she blossomed. She became better. She gained weight, was no longer nervous and loved me even more than ever. I had no clue that she CAN love that much. And then I realized one thing: the woman is the reflection of her man. If you love her to the point of madness, she will become it.

Adrian was a man who, in certain respects, could be seen as slightly less than average. He was slightly shorter than the average man. He was slightly thinner than the average man. But his face… There was nothing average about his face. He was gorgeous. Dreamy blue eyes that were so light they were almost translucent and those blue eyes were only further accentuated by his short, dark hair. However, it was not those eyes that got women caught in his talons. No. It was his smile. His smile served as bait to the unsuspecting. It was a Brad Pitt sort of smile—naughty and sexy at the same time. The type of smile that warned you of the heartbreak to come, but left you powerless to protect yourself against its charms.

To leave home. It’s gotta be worth leaving.

It sure is,” I said matter-of-factly. “In fact, we might just be a power couple like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie…minus the twenty kids. They’d call us Finnastasia.” “That sounds like a foot fungus.” “Anafinn?” I tried again. “Sounds like a blood pressure medicine.” “Well, it’s definitely your name throwing it off,” I teased him. “’Anastasia’ has a slew of possibilities, but ‘Finn’ is pretty one dimensional.” I scrunched my nose at him in dissatisfaction.

Really?” he said, the anger in his voice growing. I was about to answer when he left the booth and walked over to the counter. He flipped through a stack of magazines to read while-you-waited, grabbed one, and strode back to me. “Spike had found some of these in the house where we were,” he explained as he opened a People magazine to a picture of Brad Pitt. “So this man must have cured a disease or is a mighty warrior to command ten million dollars a movie. A movie is one of the frozen plays such as we saw yesterday, correct?” I nodded, although I’m not sure he noticed, since he kept on talking. “I am assuming that ten million dollars is a lot of money, but I haven’t quite figured out your currency system yet. Forgive me if I am incorrect. But if what I read is correct, this man makes an exorbitant sum of money for doing nothing more than being handsome. How is that different?” Before I could answer he flipped the page to a picture of Angelia Jolie. “It says this woman commands the same amount of money, so together they must be like a king and queen. Am I right? And while we are at it, please tell me what a Kardashian is.” “I wish I knew.” I mumbled.

I was walking home alone late one night, when out of nowhere, this rabid homosexual jumped me and bit me right on the ass. I tried to fight him off, but you know those homos have superhuman strength. Anyway, he bit me on my left cheek, then took off. The whole thing shook me up, but I thought I was gonna be okay. It took me a few weeks to notice the changes. At first the signs were subtle: the sudden urge to redecorate my room, the uncontrollable desire to do Megan's hair. Then, as the phases of the moon progressed, I noticed other things: the need to wear lace panties, the insane hope of one day owning my own flower shop. Before I knew it, I was jacking off six times a day to pictures of Brad Pitt and Russell Crowe. Of course, I won't be a full fledged gay boy until I bite someone else and pass on the 'dark gift. Hey, Rooster, you wanna be my first convert? If I turn just four people, I win like a toaster oven or something..

You remember that documentary they showed us in sixth grade? The one about Hurricane Katrina?” “Yeah.” I shrug, remembering how we’d all piled into the media center to watch it on the big, pull-down screen. I don’t recall much about the movie itself, but I’m pretty sure Brad Pitt had narrated it. “What about it?” "I had nightmares for weeks. I have no idea why it affected me the way it did.” “Seriously?” He nods. “Ever since, well…let’s just say I don’t do well in storms. Especially hurricanes.” I just stare at him in stunned silence. “You’re going to have fun with this, aren’t you?” “No, I…of course not. Jeez.” How big of a bitch does he think I am? “I’m not going to tell a soul. I promise. Okay? What happens in the storm shelter stays in the storm shelter,” I quip, trying to lighten the mood. His whole body seems to relax then, as if I’ve taken a weight off him. “Did you seriously think I was going to rag on you for this? I mean, we’ve been friends forever.” He quirks one brow. “Friends?” “Well, okay, not friends, exactly. But you know what I mean. Our moms used to put us in a crib together. Back when we were babies.” He winces. “I know.” “When we were little, things were fine. But then…well, middle school. It was just…I don’t know…awkward. And then in eighth grade, I thought maybe…” I shake my head, obviously unable to form a complete sentence. “Never mind.” “You thought what? C’mon, don’t stop now. You’re doing a good job distracting me.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Call it a public service. Or…pretend I’m just one of the pets.” “Poor babies,” I say, glancing over at the cats. Kirk and Spock are curled up together in the back of the crate, keeping the bromance alive. Sulu is sitting alone in the corner, just staring at us. “He’s a she, you know.” “Who?” “Sulu. Considering she’s a calico, you’d think Daddy would have figured it out.

BROWSED this far into the magazine, you’ve likely noticed something unusual about this issue: it has three consecutive covers. Why? Good question. The theme of The Atlantic ’s annual Ideas Issue this year is creativity—which is a hard concept to define, let alone to illustrate. We could have gone with an illuminated lightbulb, or photographed Brad Pitt painting at an easel, but those options didn’t seem very ... creative.

But Ava, you are probably saying, he looks like Brad Pitt? You could dunk Brad Pitt in raw sewage and I'd still ride him like a roller coaster.

In an interesting, and unexplained, related piece of trivia, the actor Brad Pitt now reportedly has a tattoo of Ötzi on his left forearm—Hollywood meets archaeology?

QUICK MENTAL RECAP: KIDNAPPED BY Mafia gang ruled by insane, chain-smoking reject from the sixties—female; discover husband has alias name and FBI badge that he’s been able to keep hidden from me for seventeen years (reminder to self: get a clue!); follow half-baked scheme provided by Brad Pitt look-alike to make a quick getaway through guest bathroom; wind up playing bad game of Twister in bathtub with Elvis Presley wannabe; witness the whacking of FBI husband; hear Elvis Presley wannabe proclaim, regarding husband’s whacker: “That’s No Toes” and follow up with obvious comment, “Dis ain’t good.” Would Al Pacino be caught dead in this movie? Definitely not.

Para los dirigentes de Augur, el único límite de la utilidad de los mercados de predicción es la imaginación humana. En Augur, cualquiera puede hacer una predicción claramente definida sobre cualquier cosa con un plazo exacto, desde predicciones triviales, como «¿Llegarán a divorciarse Brad Pitt y Angelina Jolie?», hasta predicciones trascendentales, como «¿Se disolverá la Unión Europea antes del 1 de junio de 2017?». Las consecuencias para la industria de los servicios financieros, para los inversores, para los actores económicos y para mercados enteros son enormes. Pensemos en un agricultor de Nicaragua o de Kenia que no tenga medios para afrontar el riesgo cambiario, el riesgo político o los cambios de tiempo y clima. Tener acceso a los mercados de predicción permitiría a esa persona mitigar el riesgo de sequía o calamidad. Por ejemplo, podría firmar un contrato de predicción por el que cobrara dinero si una cosecha no alcanza cierto nivel o si en el país llueve menos de una determinada cantidad de lluvia. Los mercados de predicción son útiles a los inversores que quieren apostar una cantidad al resultado de acontecimientos concretos como «¿Aumentará IBM sus beneficios en al menos diez céntimos este trimestre?». Hoy, la «estimación» oficial de los beneficios de las empresas no es más que la media de las estimaciones que hacen

During this period, I served many celebrities, including Jennifer Aniston, Vince Vaughn, Gary Oldman, Leonardo DiCaprio, Juliette Lewis, Rob Lowe, Colin Farrell, Tom Selleck, David Spade, Thomas Haden Church, Sharon Osbourne, Brad Pitt, John Malkovich, Tara Reid, Toby Maguire and Diane Keaton. You know all of them, so no explanation needed. The hardest thing about serving such famous Hollywood icons, at least for the first time, is trying not to stare at them. It’s so otherworldly to see someone like Selleck, who’s not just huge -he’s bigger than life- and who you´ve watched on big screen and small for years… they are, invariably, taller or shorter than you’d imagined. And the women are either spectacularly beautiful or very ordinary without screen makeup. But you can’t stare. It’s verbatim by ownership. Brad Pitt was cool and very humble. He had a few Pyramid beers with a producer friend, and then took off on his motorcycle down Sunset Boulevard, heading West towards the Palisades. Am I saying that he was driving drunk? No. He was there for two hours and had two beers, so he wasn’t breaking the law. At least not with my assistance. He had been there many times before, I just hadn’t been the one serving him. I remember when he came in during his filming of Troy. He had long hair and a cast on his leg. Ironically, he had torn his Achilles’ tendon while playing Achilles in the epic film.

The most loyal are usually the most wicked. It is not our enemies we should look to to betray us, but our friends. For we do not expect loyalty from our enemies, do we? Betrayal is only birthed from loyalty. Look at Judas. And Brutus. And Brad Pitt.

Isn't love at least as important in life as money? And aren't the objects of the romantic and sexual fantasies of the masses as dependent upon society for their desirable status as surely as the super-rich are for their material wealth? If a billionaire like Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey has to pay lots of money in taxes so that economically disadvantaged people's needs can be met, why shouldn't 'billionaires of love' like Pamela Anderson and Brad Pitt have to provide romantic walks on the beach and hot makeout sessions so that the needs of the romantically and sexually disadvantaged can likewise be met? Who are we as a society to judge that it is more wrong to force someone to be sexually intimate than to take their resources by force? The fact is that some people feel more violated by being robbed than by being groped. If we're going to have a redistributionist system based on aggression, wouldn't it be fairer, when Tax Day comes around, to at least give each victim a choice? 'Pay up or put out!

Your baby would be better looking than that Brad Pitt kid, Moses or Shiloh or whatever. Hard on the rest of us tadpoles." Leeda rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and your babies would be total slouches." When the two were out together, it was Murphy who had the freakish ability to make random guys approach her out of nowhere. Once she had been hit on by a Hare Krishna while they were eating ice cream in the East Village. She could bend spoons with the sheer force of her curves. "Do you ever want a boyfriend again?" Leeda mused. "I have boyfriends." "You have boys. Not boyfriends. Heartbreaker.

I’ve learned a few rules about caring for younger children. The first rule of childcare is: you do not talk about childcare. Oh wait, that’s fight club, and I’m not Brad Pitt. Honestly, sometimes being a caretaker feels like going three rounds, wanting to tap out, but knowing you’ve got to stay in the ring.

It’s funny how the most beautiful faces are atypical. Nero doesn’t look like Brad Pitt or Henry Cavill—he looks only like himself.

Pampering your down-turned lips kills time when you are out on a date with some creep boring you to death. You can go to the loo, pull out your make-up bag and fantasize about all the people you would prefer to be with: Brad Pitt, Robert Pattinson, Eddie Redmayne, Cameron Diaz.

Standing beside her was a man I can only describe as a generic fed, with a gray suit and white shirt and shiny black shoes. They were both facing my sister, Sergeant Deborah, and another man I didn’t know. He was blond, about six feet tall, muscular, and absurdly good-looking in a rugged, masculine way, as if God had taken Brad Pitt and decided to make him really handsome.

The Amish can resist Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, pornography, ice-cold margaritas on tropical beaches, designer drugs, fast cars (actually, all cars), thong underwear, American Idol, Amazon.com, and sneakers. But they can’t resist the bicycle. This is because the bicycle is a Truly Great Invention. A

Putting off a health behavior like exercise is also made easier by fantasies about the benefits. This is known as a fantasy effect. That is, fantasizing about the benefits of exercise (you know, things like, “I really will get in good shape. It will be easier to do things, I will look better in my clothes, I won’t have the health problems my brother-in-law has, and my abs will look like Brad Pitt’s in Troy”) can reduce the motivation for exercise. It is as if the fantasy is satisfying enough in its own right, so our inclination to actually do the work is reduced. In contrast, accurate planning about the steps needed to reach good health is linked to following through with activities.

Moneyball. As the character played by Jonah Hill argues convincingly to Brad Pitt’s character, baseball teams often overpay for young, untested talent or big name players because they don’t know how else to set an accurate price.

This was what it must have felt like to be Brad Pitt.

That was the exact moment I realised I was the Doug Pitt to my sister’s Brad.

...nálunk is bemutatták a Harcosok klubja című, Chuck Palahniuk regényéből amerikai–német koprodukcióban készült David Fincher-filmet, főszerepben Edward Nortonnal, Brad Pitt-tel, Meat Loaffal és Helena Bonham Carterrel. Még középiskolások voltunk, a filmet akkori drámatanárunk javaslatára a bemutató után nem sokkal mindannyian megnéztük. Aztán megint, aztán még egyszer. Ellenállhatatlan volt a film kapitalista uniformizálás elleni anarchista alapattitűdje, és az a vagány vizuális erődemonstráció, ahogy mindezt lélekbe beleivódón képkockáról képkockára megjelenítette. És nemcsak számtalan alkalommal és felállásban néztük újra a filmet, hanem divatja is lett, egészen szürreálisan házibarkács módon. A tanórák közti szünetekben széttoltuk a hátsó padokat és egymást gyepáló „harcosok klubja” meccseket játszottunk. Hogy levezessük a feszültséget, hogy imponáljunk a csajoknak, hogy csak jól helyben hagyjuk egymást.

I assume some or even most successful people started out selfishly, but success changes you. It’s not a coincidence that Brad Pitt is helping to build homes after the Hurricane Katrina disaster or that Bill Gates is one of the most important philanthropists of all time. Success does that. The

„Dacă oamenii știu mai multe, ei pot să supraviețuiască mai ușor”, spune un personaj din „Joe Black”, un film cu Anthony Hopkins și Brad Pitt. Scrieți despre oameni, ca să-i ajutați să afle ce se întâmplă sau de ce nu se întâmplă ceva, cine a reușit sau unde pot găsi ceea ce caută...

The first rule of fight club is don’t tell anyone about fight club... Brad Pitt.

All My Bitches Are Mad At Me Right Now.

The theme of The Atlantic ’s annual Ideas Issue this year is creativity—which is a hard concept to define, let alone to illustrate. We could have gone with an illuminated lightbulb, or photographed Brad Pitt painting at an easel, but those options didn’t seem very ... creative.

Fame makes you feel permanently like a girl walking past construction workers.

Angelina Jolie had nothing on Axelle Dehn—except beauty, a bunch of kids, loads of money and Brad Pitt.

Facilitator Brad Pitt’s character in Ocean’s Eleven, Rusty Ryan, is the logistics guy. He keeps the heist running. You need someone to be the Rusty

I spent New Year’s at Lucinda’s for our annual, current-celebrity movie/TV series-sleepover marathon. We’d done this together every year since eighth grade, because neither of us ever got invited to the cool parties. Previous years had featured Zac Efron, Orlando Bloom, Robert Pattison and Brad Pitt (even though he’s kind of old, he’s still, well, wow).

When Thelma and Louise came out in 1991, there was a moral panic that feminists were going to go on murderous crime sprees. It was years before I would learn that feminists dimply wanted what everyone wanted: to be loved and respected, to spend some quality time with their best friends, and to maybe fuck Brad Pitt in his prime.

Brad Pitt’s tattoo of ‘Rumi’ is not a Rumi quotation at all … and may be translated as follows: ‘verby anders glo en Islam, lê ’n sandvlak. Daar heers ons verlang in daardie tussenvlak, die mistikus sal biddend sak omdat hy daar anders glo, nog geloof is daar nog ’n baar

One important, relevant, fascinating, and data-driven finding was uncovered by researchers at the University of Texas. In the beginning of a course, the professors asked all the heterosexual students in that course to rate the attractiveness of each of their opposite-sex classmates. Not surprisingly, there was a good deal of consensus. Most people picked the same classmates as the most attractive; these people were, by definition, conventionally attractive. Think Brad Pitt or Natalie Portman or the closest equivalents in the class. At the end of the course, professors again asked the students to rate the attractiveness of each of their opposite-sex classmates. This is where the study got interesting. Now there was more disagreement in the attractiveness ratings. At the end of the class, people were far more likely to rate a person that other people didn’t find so attractive as the most attractive. What happened between the beginning and the end of the course that led so many people to change the rankings of their classmates’ attractiveness? The students spent time with each other.

Tender was released on the same day as a record by a girl doing backflips in school uniform and missed out on the number one spot, but I heard Brad Pitt played it at his wedding.

Happiness is overrated. They’re has to be conflict in life.

I’ve been banging away at this thing for 30 years. I think the simple math is, some projects work and some don’t. There’s no reason to belabor either one. Just get on to the next.” —Brad Pitt accepting a Screen Actors Guild Award

I owe it to the fake Kemper, who I’m now accepting in my mind as a sort of Tyler Durden-type imaginary friend. If Edward Norton can pull it off in Fight Club, then it’s a good enough rationalization for me. Plus, his was Brad Pitt, so ya know. Pretty awesome. But I’d take Officer Kemper over Brad any day. Sorry not sorry.

Once you start comparing yourself with others, you’re always going to find someone who’s better than you. No matter how rich you might be, how handsome, or how beautiful, there’s always going to be another person who’s richer or more beautiful. Even if you became a member of a big pop group in Japan, you might still feel miserable when you compare yourself with Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt.

Come on—are you going to tell me you never imagined that it was Brad Pitt sticking it to you instead of your beer-bellied husband? That’s what I thought.

«Llevo treinta años currando en esto. Creo que el cálculo es sencillo: algunos proyectos funcionan y otros no. No hay motivo para insistir en ninguno de ellos. Solo hay que pasar al siguiente.» BRAD PITT, discurso de recogida del Premio del Sindicato de Actores de Estados Unidos

A far cry now that she is in Tajrish. This is District One. The posh end of town. Snuggled deep in between the streets of this bustling roundabout are where the rich live. She looks up, a huge billboard with a blue-eyed model sits there with a phone in his hand. Some brand she’s never heard of. She has never quite understood the infatuation Iranians have with celebrities and colored eyes. To her, it seems like any Iranian with green or blue eyes makes their way either on the big screen or on a billboard. The old traditional concept of Persian beauty, black eyes with a unibrow now replaced with Hollywood-inspired looks. The Leo DiCaprios, Brad Pitts of this world. Still a cheap knock-off of them as well.

Money is strange, too, if you haven’t used it for a while. Hell is mostly a barter economy. Especially among the high and mighty, having to buy something is a massive social faux pas. It means that you don’t have anything good enough to trade or you aren’t clever enough to swindle your way to your heart’s desire. Brad Pitt’s wad seemed like a fortune when I counted it, but I blow through most of it in a couple of hours.

addition, many feature films, books and media have been based on the Dalai Lama and Tibet, including Kundun, directed by Martin Scorsese, Seven Years in Tibet, starring Brad Pitt, and the novel Lost Horizon by James Hilton.

I fear our sad culture has replaced the servants with the stars and that we need to refocus. If you've been unfortunate enough to read scandalous headline in the checkout line lately, I think you agree. Recently I began receiving phone calls from the editorial staff st Life & Style, a Hollywood tabloid, asking me to comment on various goings-on in the unnatural lives of celebrities like Brad Pitt, Britney Spears, and Angelina Jolie. I joked with them a little, then asked why they'd called me. "You're on file as one of our experts," an editor said. I'm not sure if she could hear me laughing. At this time in my life, I cannot afford to be sidetracked by the trivial. If I am going to write about people, there needs to be some depth, some honor, something bothering on nobility. And that's what I found in the lives of [people] whose love for others propels me to love deeper.