Hank Moody Quotes

She said one thing and I said another and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation.

You know why love stories have happy endings?” I shake my head. “Because they end too early,” she continues. “They always end right at the kiss. You never have to see all the bullshit that comes later. You know, Life.

A morning of awkwardness is far better then a night of loneliness

When it comes to emotions, women know how to paint with the full set of oils, while men are busy doodling with crayons.

The person that I want to have everything to do with, wants nothing to do with me.

Don’t tell me what to feel. All my fucking life, people have been telling me I do things wrong. I’m always the fucking asshole. I look around and I see everybody else is infinitely more fucked up than I am.

Get it in while you can. It'll all be gone soon enough.

Whatever you do, don’t be another brick in the wall!

All those things that werent supposed to happen? They happened. What happens next is up to you.

How can you be so fucking beautiful and so fucking wrong?

I pop a cassette into the Buick's stereo. It's the Ramones. I turn the volume up high and roll down the windows. The highway air tastes of fumes, but it still feels goddamn good to breathe

I don’t just say shit. I mean, I do talk a lot of shit, but I generally mean what I say and I say what I mean.

people seem to be getting dumber and dumber. You know, I mean we have all this amazing technology and yet computers have turned into basically four figure wank machines. The internet was supposed to set us free, democratize us, but all it's really given us is Howard Dean's aborted candidacy and 24 hour a day access to kiddie porn. People... they don't write anymore, they blog. Instead of talking, they text, no punctuation, no grammar: LOL this and LMFAO that. You know, it just seems to me it's just a bunch of stupid people pseudo-communicating with a bunch of other stupid people at a proto-language that resembles more what cavemen used to speak than the King's English.

I don’t think that’s it. I think everybody’s got that special someone that gets under their skin and doesn’t go away. I think maybe you have that particular fungal property for him.

I’ve lost a lot of battles, but I’ve never lost sight of the war. My goal is to fight my way to a day when we’re old and gray and she looks at me and says ‘I’m glad you never gave up.’ Until then, I fight. No retreat, baby. No surrender.

Cities don’t change people. People don’t even change people. We are who we are.

Maybe we're all out there, floating by ourselves in some big black void. But we build connections, you know? We build our own worlds with the people we love.

That was not sex. That was naked poetry.

I google myself but I never cheated on you. Never.

You’re right. You should probably do your best not to fall in love with me.

Good morning, Hell-A. In the land of the lotus-eaters, time plays tricks on you. One day you’re dreaming, the next, your dream has become your reality. It was the best of times. If only someone had told me. Mistakes were made, hearts were broken, harsh lessons learned. My family goes on without me, while I drown in a sea of pointless pussy. I don’t know how I got here. But here I am, rotting away in the warm California sun. There are things I need to figure out, for her sake, at least. The clock is ticking. The gap is widening. She won’t always love me “no matter what

Maybe, you never know. I’ve always been quite the self-saboteur.

I can’t teach you how to write, and anybody who says they can is full of shit.

Smell you later.

The groom should not see you in the dress just before the wedding, that’s bad luck. You know what’s worst luck? Is getting married, itself. I’ve read studies. It’s like 2 out of 3 of those end in divorce, sometimes more. 3 out of 2, some.

Oh, I always encourage women to come. It does not always happen, but I like to think that I’m at least encouraging.

Don’t worry, your prayers have been answered. I’m leaving.

Another interest I have pursued is the opposite sex - the females, the ladies - and not to brag but let's just say I've had a little more success than I've had with the food service industry. Good in the sack, or so I've been told. Seriously - I can get references - although maybe not my last girlfriend, who for reasons that that are still unclear stabbed me with a knife.

Once upon a time, I wrote a book. People seemed to dig it, so I wrote another and one after that. That’s when Hollywood came knocking at my back door. As soon as I cashed that check, I wrapped my lips around the mighty erection that is the film industry and sucked hard, just like a good whore should. Unfortunately, I had to be taught not to orphan the balls.

Dear Karen, I've been thinking about Us, the story of us. How the fuck do I sum it up? Has it been perfect? Hardly. Any story with me at the center of it will never be anything less than a big smiling mess. But here's what I know for sure—our time in the sun has been a thing of absolute fucking beauty. The nightmares, the hangovers, the fucking and the punching. The gorgeous shimmering insanity of the city of ours. Where for years I woke up, fucked up, said I was sorry, passed out and did it all over again. As a writer, I'm a sucker for happy endings. The guy gets the girl, she saves him from himself, fade to fucking black. As a guy who loves a girl, I realize there's no such thing. There's no sunset. There's just now, and there's just the two of us, which can be scary fucking ugly sometimes. But if you close your eyes and listen for the whisper of your heart—if you simply keep trying and never ever give up, no matter how many times you get it wrong, until the beginning and the end blur into something called until we meet again -- and that's it. I didn't know how to finish it, because it's not over. It'll never be over, as longs as there's you, and there's me, and there's hope, and grace.

Fuck the younger generation. I just like you.

Wine is fine. But whisky is quicker.

Believe it or not, I have this recurring dream about church and a nun.

I can write anywhere… Or not, as the case may be, which is not the case.

Really? Is this wrong? Because I can't tell anymore.

I can’t teach you how to write, and anybody who says they can is full of shit. The only thing I can do is write about the shit that excites me; the shit that gets me hard... Don’t be niggardly with your emotions. Just run it up the flagpole and see who salutes.

Freedom's just another word for missing someone.

THREE BIG MISTAKES. But, of course, it’s never that simple. Before we even got to the third one, we were down and done. As much as our willingness to believe in the constant rise felled us, as much as our eagerness to conquer risk opened us up to more risk, as much as Greenspan stood by as Wall Street turned itself into Las Vegas, there was also Greece, and Iceland, and Nick Leeson, who took down Barings, and Brian Hunter, who tanked Amaranth, and Jérôme Kerviel and every other rogue trader who thought he—and it was always a he—could reverse his gut-churning, self-induced free fall with one swift, lucky strike; it was rising oil prices, global inflation, easy credit, the cowardice of Moody’s, the growing chasm of income inequality, the dot com boom and bust, the Fed’s rejection of regulation, the acceptance of “too big to fail,” the repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act, the feast of subprime debt; it was Clinton and Bush the second and senators vacationing with banking industry lobbyists, the Kobe earthquake, an infatuation with financial innovation, the forgettable Hank Paulson, the delicious hubris of ten, twenty, thirty times leverage, and, at the bottom of it, our own vicious, lingering self-doubt. Or was it our own willful, unbridled self-delusion? Doubt vs. delusion. The flip sides of our last lucky coin. We toss it in the fountain and pray.

Privately I've always considered myself to have some talent for measuring a woman's mood. But the expression on (her) face is forcing me to reconsider. Not blank, but the opposite. Regret coexisting with pride, with hints of resentment, joy, frustration, shame, resignation, and curiosity. When it comes to emotions, women know how to paint with the full set of oils, while men are busy doodling with crayons

A fifteen-minute walk later I'm aboard the Long Island Rail Road, just another head in the morning cattle drive to New York City......On reaching the station, the cattle rise to their feet, driven toward the exits by instinct and caffeine. I drift along for the ride, floating on a wave of group dynamics toward Seventh Avenue.

You know why love stories have happy endings?” I shake my head. “Because they end too early,” she continues. “They always end right at the kiss. You never have to see all the bullshit that comes later. You know, Life.

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and looked away at once. “So, Potter — some of your hair, if you please.” Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way. “Now!” barked Moody. With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled. “Good,” said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. “Straight in here, if you please.” Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold. “Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, “Oh, you know what I mean — Goyle’s potion looked like bogies.

Joe met them as Hank pulled into the circular