Clint Eastwood Quotes

Tomorrow is promised to no one.

They say all marriages are made in heaven, but so are thunder and lightning.

There's a rebel lying deep in my soul. Anytime anybody tells me the trend is such and such, I go the opposite direction. I hate the idea of trends. I hate imitation; I have a reverence for individuality.

I'm interested in the fact that the less secure a man is, the more likely he is to have extreme prejudice.

I tried being reasonable, but I didn't like it.

Let's not go and ruin it by thinking too much.

Respect your efforts, respect yourself. Self-respect leads to self-discipline. When you have both firmly under your belt, that's real power.

I don't wanna need you because I can't have you.

Extremism is so easy. You've got your position, and that's it. It doesn't take much thought. And when you go far enough to the right you meet the same idiots coming around from the left. (Interview, Time Magazine, February 20, 2005)

Ackx must have owed him big time,” Q said in his drawly Clint Eastwood voice. “A favour like that doesn’t come cheap.” Bonnyman spat into the fire. “A favour like that is only made between psychosis and a lust for power.

I know what you're thinking," Grandma said into the silence. "Do I have anymore bullets in this here gun? Well, with all the confusion, what with being locked up in a refrigerator, I plumb forgot what was in here to start with. But being that this is a 45 magnum, the most powerful handgun in existence, and it could blow your head clean off, you just got to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky today? Well, do you, punk?" Christ," Spiro whispered. "She thinks she's f**king Clint Eastwood.

I don't believe in pessimism. If something doesn't come up the way you want, forge ahead. If you think it's going to rain, it will.

Improvise, Adapt and Overcome!

First, I blow a hole in your face; then I go back inside, and sleep like a baby... I guarantee you.

Take your work seriously, but don't take yourself seriously

Do ya' feel lucky, punk?

If you want a guarantee, buy a toaster.

I took my .38 out and looked to see that there were bullets in all the proper places. I knew there would be, but it did no harm to be careful. And I'd seen Clint Eastwood do it once in the movies.

It's a hell of a thing; killin' a man. You take away everything he ever had and ever would have.

Maybe I`m getting to the age when I`m starting to be senile or nostalgic or both, but people are so angry now. You used to be able to disagree with people and still be friends. Now you hear these talk shows, and everyone who believes differently from you is a moron and an idiot - both on the Right and the Left.

If a person is confident enough in the way they feel, whether it's an art form or whether it's just in life, it comes off---you don't have anything to prove; you can just be who you are.

My wife is my closest friend. Sure, I'm attracted to her in every way possible, but that's not the answer. Because I've been attracted to other people, and I couldn't stand 'em after a while.

Nothing wrong with shooting...as long as the right people get shot.

Dude, he's got that mean, squinty Clint Eastwood stare that's scary as shit.[Bailey]

I know what you're thinking 'Did he fire six shots or only five?

Are you going to pull those pistols or whistle Dixie?

A Love like this happens but once in a lifetime

I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, punk?

It's not about you. It's about them.

This film cost $31 million. With that kind of money I could have invaded some country.

My least favorite form of street harassment is when a guy asks why I’m not smiling. It’s related to that: Women aren’t allowed to be quiet or stoic or shy—or, hell, just in a bad mood—without being criticized. Women are bitchy and frigid if we don’t seem accessible at all times, for the most part to men. We’re supposed to be perpetually friendly. Who wants to live up to that? And seriously, when was the last time you heard a quiet woman described as “deep”? Men who are serious are just that—serious. Think laconic cowboys and Clint Eastwood-style movie heroes. Strong and silent is a desirable personality trait for men—women, not so much. Because where silence in men is seen as strength, silence in women (if not seen as bitchy) is seen as weakness—she’s shy, a wallflower.

We owe Clint Eastwood a debt of thanks. Not only because it was truly a hilarious twelve minutes of improvised "awesome" in a week of scripted "blah". But because it advanced our understanding. This president has issues, and there are very legitimate debates about his policies and actions, and successes and or failures as president - I mean, tune in next week. But I could never wrap my head around why the world, and the president republicans describe, bears so little resemblance to the world and the president that I experience. And now I know why : There is a president Obama that only republicans can see

King looked back at Roland. "As The Man With No Name--a fantasy version of Clint Eastwood--you were okay. A lot of fun to partner up with." "Is that how you think of it?" "Yes. But then you changed. Right under my hand. It got so I couldn't tell if you were the hero, the antihero, or no hero at all. When you let the kid drop, that was the capper." "You said you made me do that." Looking Roland straight in the eyes--blue meeting blue amid the endless choir of voices--King said, "I lied, brother.

Listen, punk. To me you're nothin' but dogshit, you understand? And a lot of things can happen to dogshit. It can be scraped up with a shovel off the ground. It can dry up and blow away in the wind. Or it can be stepped on and squashed. So take my advice and be careful where the dog shits ya!

Now you've got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? - Inspector Harry Callahan

Grandma has a .45 long barrel that she keeps hidden from my mother. She got it from her friend Elsie, who picked it up at a yard sale. Probably it was in Grandma's purse. Grandma says it gives the bag some heft, in case she has to beat off a mugger. This might be true, but I think mostly Grandma likes pretending she is Clint Eastwood.

With his eyes squinted to slits, Donny reminds me of Clint Eastwood, if Clint Eastwood were eight inches shorter, thirty pounds heavier, less good-looking, with male-pattern baldness, and badly scarred.

Buscar la verdad es la mayor virtud y es lo que hace que un drama sea interesante. No me interesa contar historias con perfume de rosas en las que todo va bien

Highway: Just because we're holding hands doesn't mean we'll be taking warm showers together until the wee hours of the morning." Sgt Gunnery Highway to Stitch Jones in Heartbreak Ridge

These people who are making a big deal out of gay marriage? I don’t give a fuck about who wants to get married to anybody else! Why not?! We’re making a big deal out of things we shouldn’t be making a deal out of. They go on and on with all this bullshit about ‘sanctity’ — don’t give me that sanctity crap! Just give everybody the chance to have the life they want.

People even said I was a racist because I shot black bank robbers at the beginning of Dirty Harry. So, first I’m labeled right-wing. Then I’m a racist. Now it’s macho or male chauvinism. It’s a whole number nowadays to make people feel guilty on different levels. It doesn’t bother me because I know where the fuck I am on the planet and I don’t give a shit.

I like the libertarian view, which is to leave everyone alone. Even as a kid, I was annoyed by people who wanted to tell everyone how to live.

.........................." by the Man with No Name (Clint Eastwood) in "A Fistful of Dollars.

The problem with being a second-generation Californian is you're not objective about California itself. I think a lot of people come here for the comfort of it, or to reinvent themselves, and maybe creative people are natural searchers, searching for someplace to be. The lifestyle becomes very appealing--Clint Eastwood

If you save your breath, I feel like a man you can manage.

Work hard, keep your nose clean, and just stick around.

Like most pictures that I've done, I've had no idea whether anyone would ever want to see 'em. But I figured, I'd like to see it.

Deserve's got nothin' to do with it.

This year I have Sister Mary Joseph for Religion. Right away I could tell she was going to become my archenemy. She has a stony face with a mean squint; Clint Eastwood in a wimple. She trained the squint on me and decided I was trouble from the get-go.

That's the kiss-ass generation we're in right now. We're really in a pussy generation. Everybody's walking on eggshells.

She stared up into gold eyes. Bearded jaw. Sandy brown hair. And a face that said, Clint Eastwood is my father

War pictures are always fascinating for people; they were for me growing up, even though I'm not nuts about war." "War is the ultimate conflict, and conflict is the basis of drama to begin with.

Shut your fucking face.

Overnight stardom can be harmful to your mental health. Yeah. It has ruined a lot of people.

Bad or good, movies nearly always have a strange diminishing effect on works of fantasy (of course there are exceptions; The Wizard of Oz is an example which springs immediately to mind). In discussions, people are willing to cast various parts endlessly. I've always thought Robert Duvall would make a splendid Randall Flagg, but I've heard people suggest such people as Clint Eastwood, Bruce Dern and Christopher Walken. They all sound good, just as Bruce Springsteen would seem to make an interesting Larry Underwood, if ever he chose to try acting (and, based on his videos, I think he would do very well ... although my personal choice would be Marshall Crenshaw). But in the end, I think it's best for Stu, Larry, Glen, Frannie, Ralph, Tom Cullen, Lloyd, and that dark fellow to belong to the reader, who will visualize them through the lens of the imagination in a vivid and constantly changing way no camera can duplicate. Movies, after all, are only an illusion of motion comprised of thousands of still photographs. The imagination, however, moves with its own tidal flow. Films, even the best of them, freeze fiction - anyone who has ever seen One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and then reads Ken Kesey's novel will find it hard or impossible not to see Jack Nicholson's face on Randle Patrick McMurphy. That is not necessarily bad ... but it is limiting. The glory of a good tale is that it is limitless and fluid; a good tale belongs to each reader in its own particular way.

No man can walk away from his own story

The previous year, Baba had surprised Hassan with a leather cowboy hat just like the one Clint Eastwood wore in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly—which had unseated The Magnificent Seven as our favorite Western.

I don’t think it’s nice of you laughing.” − Hollywood icon Clint Eastwood, A Fistful of Dollars “I’m glad you’re laughing, because now all kinds of holocaustic things will be happening up in here.” – Cowboy Rabbi

« "Mehmet'i ilk gördüğümde" derdi Canan, bir bekleme salonundaki masaların birine bırakmış eski bir derginin kapağından kendisine bakan Clint Eastwood'u hiç görmeden, "bütün hayatımının değişeceğini hemen anladım. Onu görmeden önce bir hayatım vardı, onu tanıdıktan sonra başka bir hayatım oldu. Sanki çevremdeki her şey, bütün eşyalar, yataklar, insanlar, lambalar, küllükler, sokaklar, bulutlar, bacalar bir anda renk ve biçım değiştirdiler de ben bu yepyeni dünyayı hayranlıkla tanımaya koyuldum" »

And romance is just the place for creating mythic figures doing mythic things. Like carving 'civilzation' out of the wilderness. Like showing us what a hero looks life, a real, American, sprung-from-the soil, lethal-weapon-with-leggings, bona fide hero. And for a guy who never marries, he has a lot of offspring. Shane. The Virginian. The Ringo Kid. The Man with No Name. Just think how many actors would have had no careers without Natty Bumppo. Gary Cooper. John Wayne. Alan Ladd. Tom Mix. Clint Eastwood. Silent. Laconic. More committed to their horse or buddy than to a lady. Professional. Deadly. In his Studies in Classic American Literature, D.H. Lawrence waxes prolix on Natty's most salient feature: he's a killer. And so are his offspring. This heros can talk, stiltedly to be sure, but he prefers silence. He appreciates female beauty but is way more committed to his canoe or his business partner (his business being death and war) or, most disturbingly, his long rifle, Killdeer. Dr. Freud, your three-o'clock is here. Like those later avatars, he is a wilderness god, part backwoods sage, part cold-blooded killer, part unwilling Prince Charming, part jack-of-all-trades, but all man. Here's how his creator describes him: 'a philosopher of the wilderness, simple-minded, faithful, utterly without fear, yet prudent.' A great character, no doubt, but hardly a person. A paragon. An archetype. A miracle. But a potentially real person--not so much.

(...) para mim, o amor por uma pessoa é o respeito pelos mesmos sentimentos individuais - o respeito à privacidade e a aceitação dos defeitos.

Well, you gonna pull them pistols or whistle Dixie?

On a scale of one to ten you're a two, and that's cuz I've never seen a one.

was sprawled on the family-room couch, half asleep in front of a Clint Eastwood movie. A can of ginger ale and an empty bag of pretzels sat on the table in front of him. He opened one eye and saw Maura, then looked at Greg and winked. “Hey, little buddy . . . I see your ladyfriend is here.” Greg felt the urge to lash out, like he’d done with Eileen and Brittany at school on Friday morning. But this time he didn’t take the bait. He said, “We’re just copying some artwork. For a project we’re doing. And it’s gonna make noise. We have to.” Ross heaved himself up off the couch, shut off the TV, burped, mumbled, “’Scuse me” in Maura’s general direction, and went looking for a quieter place to waste another hour or two. Greg said, “I got this paper that’s good and bright, but it’s not as thick as regular copy paper. Makes it easier to fold.” After placing the first master sheet face down on the glass, he pushed Print, and then held up the copy for Maura to see. Pointing at a gray area, he said, “See that? I can change the settings and make that part darker. It ought to be solid black. Except for that, it’s a good copy.” The machine beeped as Greg made the change, and then he pushed the Print button.

Unfortunately, things didn’t quite work out with Spielberg, and he ended up detaching himself from the project that August. But his replacement may have been even better, at least from Chris’s point of view: Clint Eastwood. I couldn’t help but think back to the conversation Chris and I had had about Eastwood possibly directing. “Still doing your magic, huh, babe?” I said the day I found out, glancing toward heaven.

It's halftime. Both teams are in their locker room discussing what they can do to win this game in the second half. It's halftime in America, too. People are out of work and they're hurting. And they're all wondering what they're going to do to make a comeback. And we're all scared, because this isn't a game. The people of Detroit know a little something about this. They almost lost everything. But we all pulled together, now Motor City is fighting again. I've seen a lot of tough eras, a lot of downturns in my life. And, times when we didn't understand each other. It seems like we've lost our heart at times. When the fog of division, discord, and blame made it hard to see what lies ahead. But after those trials, we all rallied around what was right, and acted as one. Because that's what we do. We find a way through tough times, and if we can't find a way, then we'll make one. All that matters now is what's ahead. How do we come from behind? How do we come together? And, how do we win? Detroit's showing us it can be done. And, what's true about them is true about all of us. This country can't be knocked out with one punch. We get right back up again and when we do the world is going to hear the roar of our engines. Yeah, it's halftime America. And, our second half is about to begin.

Perhaps the best known of these films were the three that Clint Eastwood starred in for director Sergio Leone: A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, in which he played a gunslinger or bounty hunter wandering the countryside and settling scores for a price. Eastwood’s character took the law into his own hands, but he was essentially on the side of good and order. While Eastwood’s character, a dark hero type, employed unusual means to bring about justice, viewers found him irresistible because he was inscrutable, macho, and capable. While his motives were questionable, he brings his own kind of order out of chaos—actions that readers and film viewers always appreciate. In fact, he was a man of action, was extremely self-reliant, and just didn’t give a damn—all qualities that have universal appeal. His character’s darkness was a departure from the usual heroes starring in traditional Westerns, and this stirred the viewers’ imaginations.

Many, many things had to be done before the movie actually was made. The most important was finding a director. We had no say in that, but it was fun to fantasize. One night when we were in the kitchen, I looked over at Chris and asked, “Who would you want directing the movie?” “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t Clint Eastwood be fantastic?” “Hell, yes,” he said. In truth, everything was fantasy: many books are optioned but few become movies, so we couldn’t even be sure there would be a movie. Given that we had no control over it, we turned our attention to other things.

EVEN THOUGH I KNEW it was going to be what she would ask me, Graciela McCaleb’s request gave me pause. Terry McCaleb had died on his boat a month earlier. I had read about it in the Las Vegas Sun. It had made the papers because of the movie. FBI agent gets heart transplant and then tracks down his donor’s killer. It was a story that had Hollywood written all over it and Clint Eastwood played the part, even though he had a couple decades on Terry. The film was a modest success at best, but it still gave Terry the kind of notoriety that guaranteed an obituary notice in papers across the country. I had just gotten back to my apartment near the strip one morning and picked up the Sun. Terry’s death was a short story in the back of the A section.

If we went to Les Agarves, which is twice the cost, but about as gourmet as we can get without actually being in France, that would qualify as a special evening out. Ronnie will do it on an anniversary or on a birthday, but I know his true opinion of it is that it’s not worth it. I’ve come to believe his taste buds can’t reach gourmet level so he can’t appreciate the difference. For him, then, it makes little sense. But it’s not only the food that is exquisite; it’s the ambience and the service. You feel you’re special, even if only for one night, one dinner. Ronnie likes to make it seem that only women want this. Sometimes I wonder if that’s not true. It’s certainly true when it comes to his friends or most of the husbands of my girlfriends. It’s almost as if there’s something unmanly about elegance. They’d rather associate themselves with Clint Eastwood than Cary Grant or George Clooney. Eastwood can be tough, virile and dangerous, and be grimy at the same time, except, of course, in a movie like The Bridges of Madison County, but men don’t talk about that film.

You and I are learning to see our trait as a neutral thing—useful in some situations, not in others—but our culture definitely does not see it, or any trait as neutral. The anthropologist Margaret Mead explained it well. Although a culture’s newborns will show a broad range of inherited temperaments, only a narrow band of these, a certain type, will be the ideal. The ideal personality is embodied, in Mead's words, in 'every thread of the social fabric—in the care of the young child, the games the children play, the songs the people sing, the political organization, the religious observance, the art and the philosophy.' Other traits are ignored, discouraged, or if all else fails, ridiculed. What is the ideal in our culture? Movies, advertisements, the design of public spaces, all tell us we should be as tough as the Terminator, as stoic as Clint Eastwood, as outgoing as Goldie Hawn. We should be pleasantly stimulated by bright lights, noise, a gang of cheerful fellows hanging out in a bar. If we are feeling overwhelmed and sensitive, we can always take a painkiller.

Where do the biggest movie star of his generation and a revered director (and great actor in his own right) stay when they are visiting someone? Would you believe the local Holiday Inn? Hoping to forge a better connection to Chris, Clint Eastwood and Bradley Cooper came to see me and the rest of the family in early spring of 2014, before they started filming American Sniper. The unpretentiousness of their visit and their genuine goodwill floored me. It was a great omen for the movie. Bubba and I picked them up at the local airport and brought them home; within minutes Bubba had Bradley out in the back playing soccer. Meanwhile, Clint and I talked inside. He reminded me of my grandfather with his courtly manners and gracious ways. He was very funny, with a quiet, quick wit and dry sense of humor. After dinner--it was an oryx Chris had killed shortly before he died--Bradley took Bubba to the Dairy Queen for dessert. Even in small-town Texas, he couldn’t quite get away without being recognized, and when someone asked for his photo, he stepped aside to pose. Bubba folded his arms across his chest and scanned the area much as his dad would have: on overwatch. I guess I didn’t really understand how unusual the situation was until later, when I dropped them off at the Holiday Inn. I watched them walk into the lobby and disappear. That’s Clint Eastwood and Bradley Cooper! Awesome!

A lobster loser’s brain chemistry differs importantly from that of a lobster winner. This is reflected in their relative postures. Whether a lobster is confident or cringing depends on the ratio of two chemicals that modulate communication between lobster neurons: serotonin and octopamine. Winning increases the ratio of the former to the latter. A lobster with high levels of serotonin and low levels of octopamine is a cocky, strutting sort of shellfish, much less likely to back down when challenged. This is because serotonin helps regulate postural flexion. A flexed lobster extends its appendages so that it can look tall and dangerous, like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti Western. When a lobster that has just lost a battle is exposed to serotonin, it will stretch itself out, advance even on former victors, and fight longer and harder.9 The drugs prescribed to depressed human beings, which are selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, have much the same chemical and behavioural effect. In one of the more staggering demonstrations of the evolutionary continuity of life on Earth, Prozac even cheers up lobsters.10 High serotonin/low octopamine characterizes the victor. The opposite neurochemical configuration, a high ratio of octopamine to serotonin, produces a defeated-looking, scrunched-up, inhibited, drooping, skulking sort of lobster, very likely to hang around street corners, and to vanish at the first hint of trouble. Serotonin and octopamine also regulate the tail-flick reflex, which serves to propel a lobster rapidly backwards when it needs to escape. Less provocation is necessary to trigger that reflex in a defeated lobster. You can see an echo of that in the heightened startle reflex characteristic of the soldier or battered child with post-traumatic stress disorder.

I hate the goddamn system, but until someone comes along with some changes that make sense, I’ll stick with it. —Clint Eastwood as “Dirty Harry,” Magnum Force, 1973

Nobody, and I mean Nobody... puts ketchup on a hot dog.

I found myself sitting in the middle of a bedroom floor surrounded by atavistic morons, with a redhead on opiates who was convinced she could read my thoughts and tell me my future. That would have been simple: the future had me trying to escape this fucking awful “party.” The redhead, who we will call Janice, was equal parts pretentious, innocuous, and full of shit. Janice was an actress (an actress in LA . . . what were the odds?) and was trying out for a role in a health food commercial. Judging by the shape she was in, I could have told her that she had an ice cube’s chance in Cuba of making that dream a reality. She looked more like Wynonna Judd than Julianne Moore, complete with the face of a long-haired Clint Eastwood squinting into the desert sun. But being a respectful prick, I kept it to myself, kindly wished her luck in her endeavors, and made to take my leave of it all, grabbing for the front doorknob with one hand and dialing for a cab on my cell phone with the other. Unfortunately Janice wasn’t done with me, much to my chagrin. I explained to her I was leaving; she asked whether she could catch a ride back to her apartment. Knowing full well that nothing was going to happen with this person, I said sure.

My dad looks like Clint Eastwood. His half-Scottish, half-German face in repose is handsome but terrifying. I searched the audience for him during the sixth-grade chorus concert and, seeing his stern expression, was convinced that he had seen me messing up the words to the Happy Days theme and that I was in big trouble. I spent the rest of the concert suppressing terror bumps, only to be given a big hug and a kiss afterward. It took me years to realize, Oh, that's just his face.

I don't think it's nice, you laughin'. You see, my mule don't like people laughing. He gets the crazy idea you're laughin' at him. Now if you apologize, like I know you're going to, I might convince him that you really didn't mean it.

Cousteau loved sports, Kumi the soap operas, Chewy the Clint Eastwood films, and Reuben the cartoons.

A man’s got to know his limitations.

You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: those with loaded guns ... and those who dig. ... You dig." Clint Eastwood

Its a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away everything he's got and everything he's ever gonna have.

There are also millions of satisfied users worldwide, from youngsters to seniors, including: top athletes such as Shaquille O’Neal and Trace Armstrong; celebrities such as Madonna and Clint Eastwood; many health professionals, including chiropractors, physical therapy centers, and Dr. Norman Shealy (renowned pain specialist and holistic doctor); motivational experts such as Tony Robbins; and sports franchises such as the Denver Broncos and the Miami Dolphins.

It takes tremendous discipline to control the influence, the power you have over other people’s lives.” —Clint Eastwood

He watched Clint Eastwood for a while. He had never much enjoyed cop films or cop programs on television, but watching right here and now, he could identify with Dirty Harry tracking down the villains and dealing with them his own way. He had meant what he said to Blackstone. A few minutes alone with Pamela Jeffreys’s attackers and they would know what police brutality was all about.

I’m going to tell you a secret: she’s got a crush on you. She told all the nurses and her grandchildren that you look like Clint Eastwood or Anthony Hopkins, only more mature.” “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. A cross between a trigger-happy cop and a cannibal?

I’m going to tell you a secret: she’s got a crush on you. She told all the nurses and her grandchildren that you look like Clint Eastwood or Anthony Hopkins, only more mature.” “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.

checked the downstairs bathroom and the hallway closet, ducking around corners and pointing that gun like Clint Eastwood, if Clint Eastwood was doing house rounds in nothing but a towel. But there was simply nothing to shoot. The doors were locked; the windows were securely latched; nobody was hiding in the shadows, but his heart continued to slap against his diaphragm at a million miles an hour. There was no chance of getting to sleep now, at least not without soothing his nerves first. The Ativan wouldn’t kick in for at least another ten minutes, and he had been too sore to drive into town for more

His Charles Bronson-like demeanour together with his Clint Eastwood stare and his John Wayne swagger, created from a diet of westerns and Eighties TV mixed with a lifetime of planning, organising, managing, and leading, were now gelled together with the battle-hardened soldier he had become.

Gen. What are you—” Curtis stopped when his voice came out sounding like Clint Eastwood. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. Genesis smiled back at him and picked up a cup of water from his hospital tray. He was so gentle when lifting Curtis’ head, he had to remembering to stop swooning like a fangirl and swallow. Genesis delicately rested his head back on the pillow. “If you’re trying to ask, what I’m doing here, we have a date remember?” Genesis said in the sexiest voice Curtis had ever heard. Damn. How many voices does this man have? “Our date isn’t until Friday,” Curtis croaked. “It is Friday,” Genesis said with a serious expression. Curtis bolted upright. “What?” he yelled, wincing at the pain that stupid move caused. Genesis put his hand on his chest, gently pushing him back down, trying to contain his deep laughter. “Sorry. Bad joke to play on a concussion patient.” Curtis rolled his eyes. “You’re an ass, Gen.” Genesis

{T}here hung that mirror still. Splotches like mold or something had collected from the corners toward the middle, but Brown was able to see enough of himself in it to feel a fair amount of disgust. No more than the usual amount. He scratched at his chin growth. Did a rat eat your razors? That's what his daddy would say. He wished his chin jutted out more like Clint Eastwood or James Dean or whotheheckever. Instead, you could barely see his chin, it hid so far back against his neck.

We all have it comin', kid

In the movies, they always make sure the hero kills only in self-defense, typically in the instant before the bad guy gets the drop on him. Even in that film Miyamoto had mentioned, Dirty Harry, Clint Eastwood blows away a guy who had kidnapped, tortured, and killed a teenage girl only when the guy goes for a gun. To me, that’s all bullshit. More than anything else, killing is about survival. About doing everything you can to deceive, and cheat, and stack the odds in your own favor. You don’t wait for the other guy to go for his gun; you shoot him before he has a chance. If he has his back to you, that’s even better. If you can call in an air strike, that’s better still. You don’t just do everything you possibly can to prevent a fight from being fair—preventing the fight from being fair is the entire point. Do you want the enemy to have as good a chance of killing you as you have of killing him? Or do you want to make sure he gets no chance at all? As far as I’m concerned, the people who think a fair fight is desirable can go ahead and die in one.

Terence Hill “Come Eastwood non mollo mai” L’attore torna in tv con “A un passo dal cielo” “Niente jeep ma il cavallo per amore della natura” L’attore Terence Hill confessa di scegliere sempre ruoli che gli appartengono anche a rischio di sembrare sempre uguale 673 parole Terence Hill ha una voce da ragazzo, percorsa da una vaga incertezza, anche quando dice cose di cui è profondamente convinto. Sarà per via di questa curiosa intonazione, ma anche, naturalmente, per la trasparenza dello sguardo blu, che la sua carriera, iniziata in un modo, esplosa in un altro, interrotta e poi ripresa in tv, con enorme successo di pubblico, prosegue a gonfie vele e promette ancora numerosi, fortunati, sviluppi. Da domani rivedremo l’attore su Raiuno, per dieci serate, in Un passo dal cielo 3, mentre a maggio inizieranno le riprese della nuova serie di Don Matteo: «Scelgo sempre personaggi adatti a me, dopo Don Matteo mi sono arrivate tante proposte, ho accettato questa, in cui vesto i panni di una guardia forestale, perchè il progetto mi ha entusiasmato, riguarda un tema a me vicino e cioè la passione per la natura». A cavallo o in bicicletta, Terence Hill (nome vero Massimo Girotti, nato a Venezia nel 1939), è sempre riuscito ad attraversare la barriera dello schermo, toccando le corde più profonde di diverse generazioni di pubblico. Da quelle cresciute con la serie di Trinità a quelle che lo ricordano, biondo e prestante, accanto a Lucilla Morlacchi nel Gattopardo di Visconti, da quelle che ormai lo considerano una specie di sacerdote in borghese, capace di risolvere ogni tipo di problema esistenziale, a quelle che conoscono il percorso difficile della sua vita personale, segnata da un lutto terribile come la perdita di un figlio. La sua esistenza d’attore è legata a personaggi longevi. Non ha mai desiderato cambiare, rompere, fare ruoli diversi? «Capisco che certe mie scelte possano apparire monotone, mi hanno chiesto spesso “perchè non fai un’altra cosa?, ma per me conta altro, soprattutto come mi sento...Per esempio con Eriprando Visconti ho girato Il vero e il falso in cui facevo l’avvocato, non mi sono trovato bene, e infatti tutto il film non funzionava...». Invece con Bud Spencer, nei film di Trinità, si è trovato benissimo. «Sa perchè ho scelto di continuare a farli? Una volta ho incontrato una mamma che aveva con sè due bambini di 7 e 5 anni, mi chiese di recitare ancora in tanti film così, dove poteva portare i suoi figli, aveva le lacrime agli occhi, non l’ho mai dimenticata». Oggi ritornerebbe a fare «Trinità»? «Sarebbe fuori luogo, i tempi sono cambiati, la gioia di “Trinità” era lo specchio degli Anni Settanta, c’era un seme di innocenza che adesso non c’è più». Sia Don Matteo, sia il Capo della forestale di «Un passo dal cielo», sono personaggi risolutivi, arrivano e sciolgono i nodi... «Sì, e questo è il motivo principale per cui piacciono tanto. Sono figure epiche, che offrono soluzioni ai guai e che, nel caos generale della vita di tutti, mettono ordine, appaiono rassicuranti. Sa che in Un passo dal cielo sarei dovuto andare in jeep? Sono io che ho voluto il cavallo, molto più adatto a sottolineare il rapporto con la natura». Da tanti anni interpreta un sacerdote, quanto conta per lei la religiosità? «Ho un buon rapporto con la fede, e mi sembra che Don Matteo la trasmetta nella maniera giusta, senza retorica, senza dare lezioncine, senza fare la predica». Possiamo dire che «Don Matteo» è un po’ un prete in stile Bergoglio? «Anzi, direi che Bergoglio ha imitato Don Matteo... Scherzo, Don Matteo riflette la mia passione per i libri di Carlo Carretto, grande cattolico italiano, lui aveva la stessa semplicità che troviamo oggi in Papa Francesco». Ha un sogno nel cassetto, un modello da raggiungere? «Io ho solo buona volontà, cerco di fare bene le cose, il mio modello è Clint Eastwood, ha 10 anni più di me e continua imperterrito ad andare av

Myron laughed, and they fell into an uneasy silence. He broke it by trying again. “So do you want to tell me about the threats?” “Nothing much to tell.” “This is all in Norm’s head?” Brenda did not reply. One of the assistants applied oil to Ted’s hairless chest. Ted was still giving the crowd his tough guy squint. Too many Clint Eastwood movies. Ted made two fists and continuously flexed his pecs. Myron decided that he might as well beat the rush and start hating Ted right now. Brenda

If you perceive the world as more dangerous, then John Wayne or Clint Eastwood—strength and fortitude—is the antidote. And if you see the world that way, you’re also more likely to prefer to drive a big, sturdy vehicle, have a large, obedient dog for a pet, and vote Republican.

Women, on average, do not mind plunging into the unpleasantness of a marital squabble nearly so much as do the men in their lives. That conclusion, reached in a study by Robert Levenson at the University of California at Berkeley, is based on the testimony of 151 couples, all in long-lasting marriages. Levenson found that husbands uniformly found it unpleasant, even aversive, to become upset during a marital disagreement, while their wives did not mind it much. Once flooded, husbands secrete more adrenaline into their bloodstream, and the adrenaline flow is triggered by lower levels of negativity on their wife's part; it takes husbands longer to recover physiologically from flooding. This suggests the possibility that the stoic, Clint Eastwood type of male imperturbability may represent a defense against feeling emotionally overwhelmed.

Or recall a time in your own past when you stood up to a bully. If you know people who know how to handle your Tank, imagine being those people and thinking or feeling whatever it is they feel or think that allows them to be more effective. Identify models of people who have the self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-control to deal calmly and professionally with pushy people. For example, imagine what it would feel like to be Clint Eastwood, saying, “Go ahead. Make my day.” Whichever of these methods you use, make it a mental habit to rehearse dealing with your Tank at least a few times, until you feel comfortable with the prospect of using it.

Exactly. I’m the man who makes things happy behind the scenes, but no one knows. I’m Dr. Mabuse.” “That’s great. Just remember: Dr. Mabuse ended up in the nuthouse.” Kasabian makes a face. “Always with the negative waves, Moriarty.” I shake my head. “You aren’t Donald Sutherland.” “And you aren’t Clint Eastwood, so just hold the damn book while I finish.

Companies don't want anyone telling them how to deal with their workers  -- they never have; they never will. Stores don't want anyone telling them how to design their entrances; how many steps they can have (or can't have); how heavy their doors can be. Yet they accept their city's building and fire codes, dictating to them how many people they can have in their restaurants, based on square footage, so that the place will not be a fire hazard. They accept that the city can inspect their electrical wiring to ensure that it "meets code" before they open for business. Yet they chafe if an individual wants an accommodation. Because, it seems, it is seen as "special for the handicapped," most of whom likely don't deserve it. Accommodation is fought doubly hard when it is seen to be a way of letting "the disabled" have a part of what we believe is for "normal" people. Although no access code, anywhere, requires them, automatic doors remain the one thing, besides flat or ramped entrances, that one hears about most from people with mobility problems: they need automatic doors as well as flat entrances. Yet no code, anywhere, includes them; mandating them would be "going too far"; giving the disabled more than they have a right to. A ramp is OK. An automatic door? That isn't reasonable. At least that's what the building lobby says. Few disability rights groups, anywhere, have tried to push for that accommodation. Some wheelchair activists are now pressing for "basic, minimal access" in all new single-family housing, so, they say, they can visit friends and attend gatherings in others' homes. This means at least one flat entrance and a bathroom they can get into. De-medicalization No large grocery or hotel firm, no home-and-garden discount supply center would consider designing an entrance that did not include automatic doors. They are standard in hotels and discount warehouses. Not, of course, for the people who literally can not open doors by themselves  -- for such people are "the disabled": them, not us. Firms that operate hotels, groceries and building supply stores fight regulations that require they accommodate "the disabled." Automatic doors that go in uncomplainingly are meant for us, the fit, the nondisabled, to ensure that we will continue to shop at the grocery or building supply center; to make it easy for us to get our grocery carts out, our lumber dollies to our truck loaded with Sheetrock for the weekend project. So the bellhops can get the luggage in and out of the hotel easily. When it is for "them," it is resisted; when it is for "us," however, it is seen as a design improvement. Same item; different purpose