Evergreen Movie Quotes

It’s not too much. Nothing is too much for you, Jules. You deserve the world. You deserve your life to be the most romantic, cinematic masterpiece that was ever created, and I’m making it my mission to help you see that.

You know, a real man isn’t afraid of a little instruction. In fact, he might find a step-by-step tutorial is quite…enlightening.

I’ll walk you home,” he says. I shake my head. “That’s really not necessary, Nate.” “Well, it’s going to happen anyway, so get over it,

Not on my watch. When you’re with me, if you get hurt, I take care of you,

You are not staying somewhere where a man was caught sleeping with his sister,” Jaime says.

I’m totally crazy for you, Jules. Whatever version, whatever bits of you you’re willing to share,

So nothing is going to happen. We had one night, and that was it.” “It was two.” “What?” “Two nights that changed everything for me, and I know they did for you too. Or else you wouldn’t have kept that matchbook.

Am I wrong for wanting to christen a child with a name Drawn from the wellspring of our ancestors, Gift them laughter from my favorite movies, Pass down the colors of teams I cherish, Show up for them in the places I felt alone? Could I bear the weight of a child's trust broken, Knowing there was a way to protect them from it all? As I yearn to press my own life into another, I know evergreen love cannot be an everlasting shield For Black children living as both miracle and target.

The Ten Ways to Evaluate a Market provide a back-of-the-napkin method you can use to identify the attractiveness of any potential market. Rate each of the ten factors below on a scale of 0 to 10, where 0 is terrible and 10 fantastic. When in doubt, be conservative in your estimate: Urgency. How badly do people want or need this right now? (Renting an old movie is low urgency; seeing the first showing of a new movie on opening night is high urgency, since it only happens once.) Market Size. How many people are purchasing things like this? (The market for underwater basket-weaving courses is very small; the market for cancer cures is massive.) Pricing Potential. What is the highest price a typical purchaser would be willing to spend for a solution? (Lollipops sell for $0.05; aircraft carriers sell for billions.) Cost of Customer Acquisition. How easy is it to acquire a new customer? On average, how much will it cost to generate a sale, in both money and effort? (Restaurants built on high-traffic interstate highways spend little to bring in new customers. Government contractors can spend millions landing major procurement deals.) Cost of Value Delivery. How much will it cost to create and deliver the value offered, in both money and effort? (Delivering files via the internet is almost free; inventing a product and building a factory costs millions.) Uniqueness of Offer. How unique is your offer versus competing offerings in the market, and how easy is it for potential competitors to copy you? (There are many hair salons but very few companies that offer private space travel.) Speed to Market. How soon can you create something to sell? (You can offer to mow a neighbor’s lawn in minutes; opening a bank can take years.) Up-front Investment. How much will you have to invest before you’re ready to sell? (To be a housekeeper, all you need is a set of inexpensive cleaning products. To mine for gold, you need millions to purchase land and excavating equipment.) Upsell Potential. Are there related secondary offers that you could also present to purchasing customers? (Customers who purchase razors need shaving cream and extra blades as well; buy a Frisbee and you won’t need another unless you lose it.) Evergreen Potential. Once the initial offer has been created, how much additional work will you have to put in in order to continue selling? (Business consulting requires ongoing work to get paid; a book can be produced once and then sold over and over as is.) When you’re done with your assessment, add up the score. If the score is 50 or below, move on to another idea—there are better places to invest your energy and resources. If the score is 75 or above, you have a very promising idea—full speed ahead. Anything between 50 and 75 has the potential to pay the bills but won’t be a home run without a huge investment of energy and resources.

I took a shower after dinner and changed into comfortable Christmas Eve pajamas, ready to settle in for a couple of movies on the couch. I remembered all the Christmas Eves throughout my life--the dinners and wrapping presents and midnight mass at my Episcopal church. It all seemed so very long ago. Walking into the living room, I noticed a stack of beautifully wrapped rectangular boxes next to the tiny evergreen tree, which glowed with little white lights. Boxes that hadn’t been there minutes before. “What…,” I said. We’d promised we wouldn’t get each other any gifts that year. “What?” I demanded. Marlboro Man smiled, taking pleasure in the surprise. “You’re in trouble,” I said, glaring at him as I sat down on the beige Berber carpet next to the tree. “I didn’t get you anything…you told me not to.” “I know,” he said, sitting down next to me. “But I don’t really want anything…except a backhoe.” I cracked up. I didn’t even know what a backhoe was. I ran my hand over the box on the top of the stack. It was wrapped in brown paper and twine--so unadorned, so simple, I imagined that Marlboro Man could have wrapped it himself. Untying the twine, I opened the first package. Inside was a pair of boot-cut jeans. The wide navy elastic waistband was a dead giveaway: they were made especially for pregnancy. “Oh my,” I said, removing the jeans from the box and laying them out on the floor in front of me. “I love them.” “I didn’t want you to have to rig your jeans for the next few months,” Marlboro Man said. I opened the second box, and then the third. By the seventh box, I was the proud owner of a complete maternity wardrobe, which Marlboro Man and his mother had secretly assembled together over the previous couple of weeks. There were maternity jeans and leggings, maternity T-shirts and darling jackets. Maternity pajamas. Maternity sweats. I caressed each garment, smiling as I imagined the time it must have taken for them to put the whole collection together. “Thank you…,” I began. My nose stung as tears formed in my eyes. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect gift. Marlboro Man reached for my hand and pulled me over toward him. Our arms enveloped each other as they had on his porch the first time he’d professed his love for me. In the grand scheme of things, so little time had passed since that first night under the stars. But so much had changed. My parents. My belly. My wardrobe. Nothing about my life on this Christmas Eve resembled my life on that night, when I was still blissfully unaware of the brewing thunderstorm in my childhood home and was packing for Chicago…nothing except Marlboro Man, who was the only thing, amidst all the conflict and upheaval, that made any sense to me anymore. “Are you crying?” he asked. “No,” I said, my lip quivering. “Yep, you’re crying,” he said, laughing. It was something he’d gotten used to. “I’m not crying,” I said, snorting and wiping snot from my nose. “I’m not.” We didn’t watch movies that night. Instead, he picked me up and carried me to our cozy bedroom, where my tears--a mixture of happiness, melancholy, and holiday nostalgia--would disappear completely.

Plus, if you think of every bad moment as a plot twist, everything seems less…consequential. Then you can be excited, waiting to find out what happens next instead of stressing about it.

I love you, and I’m going to fight back your fears every day until all you know is feeling safe.

I want…I want to be loved madly. I want to live a movie-worthy life and wake up knowing every single day it’s my reality. I want to find someone I wake up every morning excited to spend time with. I want someone who loves everything about me, even the parts I don’t like. Some people in my life…they think I’m being crazy, that I’m being unrealistic, and that’s fine. I know one day, I’ll find it, even if it takes a lifetime. I refuse…I refuse to settle for less than I deserve.

Anyone can be brave if they want it bad enough, Jules. You know what I say: Shoulders back, tits out, bitch. You were born for big things.

Oh, and Jules?” He looks at me, and I don’t respond, but he still knows I’m listening somehow. “Unblock me, okay?

I don’t have many early memories of my dad before the divorce, and the ones after are tainted with an air of not belonging or being a burden. Watching Nate interact with his daughter with a wide smile and a tap to her red nose, her resounding giggle at almost anything he does, heals something inside of me I thought I had long bandaged over.

You were never just some chick I hooked up with, Jules, and you know that. You were always more. So much more, I didn’t understand it at the time. But then my daughter ran to you on a crowded street, as if she knew too, like she could feel the pull of you to us.

We should talk, Jules,” he says, voice husky. “About what?” I ask stupidly, even though I know the answer, of course. “Us.” “There isn’t an us to talk about,” I whisper. His hand lifts, then pushes my hair back over my shoulder. I can tell myself it’s the winter chill that has a slight shiver running through me, but I know it’s the barely there graze of the tips of his fingers on the skin of my neck. His lips tip up like he saw it and knows my truth as well. “You’re a shit liar, Jules.

Are you going to make a single moment of this easy on me?” The words should sound annoyed, but there’s a smile on his lips. I shake my head. “Probably not. It’s not my specialty.” He stares at me for long moments, and I try to decode whatever he’s thinking before his smile widens further. “Good.” “Good?” He nods, then takes a step back. “Wouldn’t want to win you so easily.” “Excuse me?” I ask, appalled but also trying to ignore the butterflies in my belly. Stupid, idiotic, gullible butterflies. “It’ll be much sweeter, winning you over my way.” “You are so not going to win me over, Nathan Donovan.” “Keep telling yourself that, dollface.” I open my mouth to argue, to yell something to tell him what a pompous, presumptuous ass he is before he steps back and tips his head to the cottage. “Go inside, Jules. It’s cold out here.

She’s wearing a puffy winter jacket and a pair of tight pants that leave nothing to the imagination, not that it would stop me. She could be wearing baggy sweats and an old tee, and what lies beneath it would still be burned into my mind.

What are you doing?” “Waiting for you,” I say simply, and she stops moving, the duffel bag on her shoulder slipping down onto the floor. “What?” “I was waiting for you. I wanted to make sure you got home okay.” I love how that sounds. Home, as if this is Jules’s home instead of some temporary solution to a problem she has. “You’ve never driven here yourself.” “You…you waited up for me?” she says, seemingly in shock. “Well, yeah.” Softness moves through her eyes as she tips her head at me. “You didn’t have to do that, Nate.

I’m just feeling like this deal is very much unbalanced. You don’t need me at all, Nathan Donovan.” I need you more than you could ever know, Julianne, is what I want to say, but I don’t.

Romantic is a man who will move heaven and earth until she’s his.

If this was a movie, I wouldn’t leave without a goodnight kiss,” I whisper against her lips. Long, long moments pass while a million thoughts cross behind her eyes. And then it happens. Her mouth opens, lips brushing mine as she whispers, “Then kiss me, Nate.

What’s more romantic, this movie or meeting a girl in a bar on New Year’s Eve and knowing she’s the one for you?

God, you sound so pretty like this—whimpering and moaning.

You sound so pretty, begging for me to finger fuck you. Who am I to deny you?

you’re the dreamer, the optimist. You see the best in everyone, and in the past year, you’ve seen that as a weakness. You’ve hidden it so far, and we were worried it would be gone forever. But it’s back, and you seem…like you again. Your romanticism isn’t a weakness, Jules. It helps you see the real potential of things and turn them into reality.

Try to imagine what cinema would look like without them. Collaborating with behind-the-camera talents including John Landis, Ivan Reitman, Carl Reiner, and John Hughes-and fellow stars such as Tom Hanks, Robin Williams, and Golden Hawn-this new wave would produce a litany of big, brash blockbusters and evergreen oddities: National Lampoon's Animal House, The Jerk, The Blues Brothers, Caddyshack, 48 Hrs., Trading Places, The Man with Two Brains, Beverly Hills Cop, Ghostbusters, Fletch, Coming to America, and Scrooged, to name but some. That list alone makes a compelling case that this period is as good as things have ever gotten for big-screen comedy. Quentin Tarantino certainly thinks so. "I think the '80s is the worst decade, with the '50s being the second worst, in the history of Hollywood," the director said in 2015. "The only movies from the '80s that I find myself really, really hanging on to, oddly enough, are the silly comedies. They're the ones that you have the most affection for.