Godfather Famous Quotes

Take me as godfather." The man asked, "Who art thou?" "I am Death, and I make all equal." Then said the man, "Thou art the right one, thou takest the rich as well as the poor, without distinction; thou shalt be godfather." Death answered, "I will make thy child rich and famous, for he who has me for a friend can lack nothing.

I'll reason with him", Vito Corleone said. It was to become a famous phrase in the years to come. It was to become the warning rattle before the deadly strike.

Death answered: “I will make your child rich and famous, for he who has me for a friend can lack nothing.

But as a kid, I preferred the black side, and often wished that Mommy had sent me to black schools like my friends. Instead I was stuck at that white school, P.S. 138, with white classmates who were convinced I could dance like James Brown. They constantly badgered me to do the “James Brown” for them, a squiggling of the feet made famous by the “Godfather of Soul” himself, who back in the sixties was bigger than life. I tried to explain to them that I couldn’t dance. I have always been one of the worst dancers that God has ever put upon this earth.

There are three things I like about cannoli; they are a wonderfully greedy pleasure known the world over, their cameo appearance in The Godfather was made famous by Corleone family capo, “Fat Pete” Clemenza, and they don’t use their celebrity status to tell me how to live my life.

And so on that bright morning, the smoky Sicilian sun making them sweat, the six Mafia chiefs rode their horses up and down along the wall surrounding Prince Ollorto’s estate. The assembled peasants, under olive trees older than Christ, watched these six men, famous all over Sicily for their ferocity. They waited as if hoping for some miracle, too fearful to move forward.

The godfather’s name is Saul Alinsky. His most famous students are Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Hardly anyone recognizes this, but Alinsky and the Alinsky method is the hidden force behind the 2008 economic meltdown. The meltdown was the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression; it was the main cause of median wealth in the United States in the subsequent three years declining nearly 40 percent. While the meltdown is routinely attributed to Wall Street “greed,” its real cause was government and activist pressure on banks and banking agencies—like Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac—to change their lending and loan guarantee practices. Yes, the 2008 crash was actually the result of an Alinskyite scam—actually a series of Alinskyite scams, carried out over many years. Basically the Alinskyites were trying to steal money from the banks and, in the process, force the banks to make loans to people that they had no intention of making loans to. The banks acquiesced, and eventually the whole scheme came crashing down. It was toppled not by greed but by the sober reality that when you loan money to millions of people who cannot afford to pay, those people are very likely to default on those loans. That’s how Alinskyites almost destroyed the U.S. economy a few years ago. If Alinsky had never lived, none of this would have happened.

A strange and discordant mix of roles followed. I liked one film I did, The Humbling, because I did it with Barry Levinson. It was based on the novel by Philip Roth, who I met at a party in New York. I found Roth there, sitting in a chair, and he was very serious when he looked at me. I said, “Hi, Mr. Roth. I’m Al Pacino.” He had a look on his face that was haunting. In a cold, impassive voice, he said, “I. Know. Who you are.” I just thought to myself, Well, I’m famous. He’s seen me in films. Maybe he saw The Godfather, I don’t know. But I loved his writing and was a real fan, so I kept spouting to him. I said, “I’m doing a film of your book The Humbling. And it’s very funny.” In that same funereal voice as before, he said, “It’s. Not. Funny.” I said, “No, I know, it’s not really funny. But to get through the drama, sometimes you need a little funny.” Again, he said, “It’s. Not. Funny.” I said, “Sure. Okay. You’re right. It’s not funny.” And I backed out of the room into the street.

If brute force wouldn't suffice, however, there was always the famous Viking cunning. The fleet was put to anchor and under a flag of truce some Vikings approached the gate. Their leader, they claimed, was dying and wished to be baptized as a Christian. As proof, they had brought along the ailing Hastein on a litter, groaning and sweating.  The request presented a moral dilemma for the Italians. As Christians they could hardly turn away a dying penitent, but they didn't trust the Vikings and expected a trick. The local count, in consultation with the bishop, warily decided to admit Hastein, but made sure that he was heavily guarded. A detachment of soldiers was sent to collect Hastein and a small retinue while the rest of the Vikings waited outside.  Despite the misgivings, the people of Luna flocked to see the curiosity of a dreaded barbarian peacefully inside their city. The Vikings were on their best behavior as they were escorted to the cathedral, remaining silent and respectful. Throughout the service, which probably lasted a few hours, Hastein was a picture of reverence and weakness, a dying man who had finally seen the light. The bishop performed the baptism, and the count stood in as godfather, christening Hastein with a new name. When the rite had concluded, the Vikings respectfully picked up the litter and carried their stricken leader back to the ships.  That night, a Viking messenger reappeared at the gates, and after thanking the count for allowing the baptism, sadly informed him that Hastein had died. Before he expired, however, he had asked to be given a funeral mass and to be buried in the holy ground of the cathedral cemetery.  The next day a solemn procession of fifty Vikings, each dressed in long robes of mourning, entered the city carrying Hastein's corpse on a bier. Virtually all the inhabitants of the city had turned out to witness the event, joining the cavalcade all the way to the cathedral. The bishop, surrounded by a crowd of monks and priests bearing candles, blessed the coffin with holy water, and led the entire procession inside.  As the bishop launched into the funerary Mass, reminding all good Christians to look forward to the day of resurrection, the coffin lid was abruptly thrown to the ground and a very much alive Hastein leapt out. As he cut down the bishop, his men threw off their cloaks and drew their weapons. A few ran to bar the doors, the rest set about slaughtering the congregation.  At the same time – perhaps alerted by the tolling bell – Bjorn Ironside led the remaining Vikings into the city and they fanned out, looking for treasure. The plundering lasted for the entire day. Portable goods were loaded onto the ships, the younger citizens were spared to be sold as slaves, and the rest were killed. Finally, when night began to fall, Hastein called off the attack. Since nothing more could fit on their ships, they set fire to the city and sailed away.97 For the next two years, the Norsemen criss-crossed the Mediterranean, raiding both the African and European coasts. There are even rumors that they tried to sack Alexandria in Egypt, but were apparently unable to take it by force or stealth.

Our No. 2 bottle, the 2012 Centopassi Argille di Tagghia Via, came from a region of northwestern Sicily more famous from pop culture than from wine, Corleone, the fictional ancestral home of Don Corleone of the “Godfather” movies. In fact, the wine comes from a group of cooperatives that cultivates land seized by the authorities from the Mafia.

Famous temper like Sonny Corleone Hidden agenda like Michael Corleone I’m El Padrino like Vito Corleone You're not a leader, you're Fredo Corleone

No cannolis are mentioned in the book or shooting script, but Coppola included the detail from his memories of the particular white boxes of cannolis his own father would bring home after work. Richard Castellano, as Clemenza, made movie history by improvising the now famous utterance: “Take the cannoli.

Thanksgiving following Powerball held a different vibe than years past. When Gooch arrived with a wine case mixed with whites and reds—part of a massive purchase to restock Pogo’s cellar—Indian Leo was there to greet him. “I see Powerball changes everything! Your first Thanksgiving with us!” “Show me where to set this down, then let’s talk. I have a proposal for you.” Leo waved Gooch to follow. “And giving orders like a rich man!” The two wound up huddled behind a brandy still in a far, dark corner of the barn, invisible to those gathering for the feast. After hitting the bowl Leo had passed to him, Gooch laid out the consortium’s plan, talked about hidden caves and the promise he’d made to his father. Despite a niggling disrespect for Leo, Gooch grudgingly admired the Nindian’s life experience, competence, and wisdom that arose unexpectedly—usually when it was needed most. “I can see the merit in this. I think it’s providence, what you propose. I’ll chant on this tonight and then you’ll have my answer.” The darkness between them was interrupted by the embers glowing from the pull on his pipe. Flynn and The Don watched their friends return from the barn’s shadows, curious as to what the Nindian’s answer would be. Leo’s weed was famous throughout the Rockies—his “Butter Rum Snatch” and “Shush Kush” particularly popular with skiers wanting to find themselves either landing in soft pillows or navigating slopes of cerebral adventure. Getting Leo on board with tending the grow would be a real coup. After swatting away the buzzing fly that was Toothless Don, The Don heaped his plate pheasant, yams, globs of Jello-fruit-Cool-Whip, green bean casserole, then told Flynn that Gooch made the best choice for the operation’s gardener. Pointing forked roasted bird to rafters, he declared, “Leo goes for it. Why wouldn’t he? His autonomy? As a grower? Methinks this shit expands his trip.” “Everything I’ve smoked up here is primo. If that’s the guy growing it? I’m down.” Satisfied with his own plate, Flynn watched Whisper pull Leo aside as Gooch slapped some skin all around then jogged his way to the buffet. Gooch opted for duck, ladling gravy over scooped out mashed potatoes, slopping down collard greens and grabbing two Hawaiian sweet rolls. After pounding a few mouthfuls of food, he looked to his friends for affirmation. “Leo’s weed lasts what? Two months up here? And then, we’re stuck with ditchweed or expensive shit from Paonia or wherever. With our operation, he’ll do what he does and make tons more money. Because he won’t be limited by seasons. And we’ll have kine bud, like, whenever. I think he’s our gardener.” “Where did that come from, squire?” The Don waved his fork, wild-rice stuffing sprayed within the wake of his gestures. “Thinking. Out loud. Wondering if Leo is good for this or if he isn’t going to start doing fucking tours down in the caves.” Pulling meat from his plate and chewing on what he’d snagged, Gooch’s brow drooped to darken his eyes. “You know how he is.” Flynn didn’t know. “How do you mean?” Gooch cast a glance at Flynn’s plate where none of the food touched, meat, starch and veggies divided neatly into discrete nutritional piles. “The man has secrets. I mean, we all have secrets, but he more than most. Which tells me he won’t go blabbing about this, our thing.” “Cosa nostra,” The Don mumbled his Godfather impression. Seated and filling their faces, the three found other table conversations focused entirely on the winners, what they were planning to do with all that money—the winners, everyone meant—and how it was great for the town, especially for the winners. A rubber ball of a topic that kept bouncing back, no matter how hard lottery winners tried to send the trajectory in another direction.