Keanu Reeves Quotes

If you have been brutally broken, but still have the courage to be gentle to other living beings, then you’re a badass with the heart of an angel.

The simple act of paying attention can take you a long way.

Before the man could answer V cursed "If I have to hear all that Keanu Reeves, Matrix, I am Neo' kind of shit my head's going to explode." "Don't you mean Neon?" Butch shot back "Cause he reminds me of the Citgo sign." Wraths head turned "Shut the fuck up. All of you.

Grief changes shape, but it never ends.

Keanu Reeves?" she asks in amazement. I nod. "What did he wish for?" "Isn't it obvious?" I say, waving a hand at the screen. "Fame." "That's why he's famous? Because of a wish?" "Have you seen his movies? Surely you didn't think he made it on his acting skills?" I grant wishes; I don't work miracles. Viola looks back at the screen, eyes screwed up in awe. "I guess that makes sense," she says faintly as my former master delivers a line poorly. "Wow.

You look beautiful in this dress." "And yet you're trying to take it off." "You know that look that Jessica gets when she unwraps one of her truffles?" he asked. "Like she fell into a pool of chocolate with Keanu Reeves and Hugh Jackman swimming toward her?" He looked at me, his lips quirking. "Have that fantasy often?" Heh. Who, me? "Nope. Why would I, when I have you?" "Nice recovery.

Colbert: What happens after we die? Reeves: I know the ones who love us will miss us.

I DRAW A HOT SORROW BATH IN MY DESPAIR ROOM WITH A MISERY CANDLE BURNING I WASH MY HAIR WITH REGRET SHAMPOO AFTER CLEANING MYSELF WITH PAIN SOAP I DRY MYSELF WITH MY GORGEOUS WHITE ONE HUNDRED PERCENT AND IT WILL NEVER CHANGE TOWEL THEN SMOOTH ON MY I DON’T DESERVE LOTION AND I HATE MYSELF FACE CREAM THEN I PUT ON MY ALONE AGAIN SILK PYJAMAS AND GO TO SLEEP WHEN THE HUE HAS GONE BLUE AND YOU CAN’T QUITE GRIN AND BEAR IT LET THIS WORD PICTURE REMIND YOU IT CAN ALWAYS BE WORSE

Every struggle in your life has shaped you into the person you are today. Be thankful for the hard times, they can only make you stronger.

Someone told me the other day that he felt bad for single people because they are lonely all the time. I told him that’s not true I’m single and I don’t feel lonely. I take myself out to eat, I buy myself clothes. I have great times by myself. Once you know how to take care of yourself company becomes an option and not a necessity.

I was also raised to treat people exactly how I would like to be treated by others. It’s called respect.

Multi-culture is the real culture of the world — a pure race doesn’t exist.

A good date is when you are intoxicated with each other’s company and everything becomes good in the world.

You need to be happy to live, i don't.

You can’t stop the waves but you can learn to surf.

We finally settled on Francis Ford Coppola's version of Dracula, which, unfortunately, Gabriel seemed to think was a comedy. I think it was the combination of Keanu Reeves's British accent and Gary Oldman's elderly Count Dracula hairstyle. They're just misleading.

Grief Changes shape but it never dies

A minute later he (Brady) collapsed next to me. "What do you say to the person who gave you the best orgasm of your life?" "Thank you, Keanu (Reeves)?

I feel fucking creepy watching Keanu Reeves while my dick is hard.

Sometimes we get so caught up in our daily lives that we forget to take the time out to enjoy the beauty in life. It’s like we’re zombies. Look up and take your headphones out. Say “Hi” to someone you see and maybe give a hug to someone who looks like they’re hurting.

What helped me go through it was reminding myself of famous people who went through bad shit and were still alive. It was kind of creepy, but it helped. Like, Joaquin Phoenix had watched his brother die, and had to call 911. Keanu Reeves had lost his stillborn baby and the love of his life eighteen months apart. Oprah Winfrey had been a fourteen-year-old runaway after being sexually abused. Charlize Theron watched her mother shoot her father to death in self-defense. These people still lived. Laughed. Breathed. Got married. Had babies. Moved on.

River was a beautiful man, inside and out—too beautiful for this world, it turned out. It always seems to be the really talented guys who go down. Why is it that the original thinkers like River Phoenix and Heath Ledger die, but Keanu Reeves still walks among us? River was a better actor than me; I was funnier. But I certainly held my own in our scenes—no small feat, when I look back decades later. But more important, River just looked at the world in a different way than we all did, and that made him fascinating, and charismatic, and, yes, beautiful, but not in a Gap ad kinda way (though he was that, too)—in a there-is-no-one-else-in-the-world-like-him kind of way. Not to mention he was rocketing to stardom, yet you would never know it.

I hate when people ask me “Why are you so quiet?” Because I am. That’s how I function. I don’t ask others “Why do you talk so much?” It’s rude.

When the people you love are gone, you're alone.

No im not looking for a sugar daddy and ur not Keanu reeves stop DMing me.

No puedo ser parte de un mundo donde ser una persona amable es una desventaja

Indoors, the evening gets you’d say festive, with Maxine riding Horst for the better part of an hour, not that it’s anybody’s business of course, and coming a number of times, at last fiercely in sync with Horst, not long after which, owing to some extrasensory cue from the television, whose mute feature has been engaged, they surface from their post-orgy daze in time to witness Derek Jeter’s clutch tenth-inning homer and another trademark Yankee win. “Yes!” Horst beginning to scream in delighted disbelief. “And it better be Keanu Reeves in the biopic!

I don't want to be part of a world where being kind is a weakness.

Doesn’t prove she’s dumped you for a gym rat with the face of Keanu Reeves, the anatomy of King Dong, and the charisma of moi

Why is it that the original thinkers like River Phoenix and Heath Ledger die, but Keanu Reeves still walks among us?

Adults love to tell teenagers that “one day” and “sooner or later” plenty of things are going to happen. They love to say that things happen “before you know it,” and they really love to impart how fast time “flies by.” I would learn later that almost everything my parents told me in this regard turned out to be true. College really did “fly by.” I did change my mind about Keanu Reeves “sooner or later.” I was on the other side of thirty “before I knew it.” And, just as my father said that afternoon, “one day” I was going to need my sister very, very much.

Once you spent three lifetimes sitting without moving on a stone chair halfway up a mountain, to see what would happen. Nothing happened.

Why is pain the emotion we so easily make our home? It’s like we sign up for the thirty-year mortgage on pain, but only do short-term leases or annual time-shares on pleasure.

After dinner, Bri and I came back to my room and started doing the adult stuff—I will spare you the details. We were naked and about to do our thing when all of a sudden we heard the sound of the door handle turning and then the door popped open. Bri jumped under the covers as Teddy and Sheamus barged into the room, inebriated as can be, with the “Ahhh, fella!” and all that. This was one of the rare moments when I got really, really mad. I let out an angry “What the fuck?!” and butt-ass naked, from the end of the bed, I went to up-kick Teddy in the face. As if in slow motion, a drunk Teddy—with his ridiculous reflexes—sidestepped the kick like he was Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, then moved his head right back to where it was to look at me all confused. Meanwhile, Sheamus had sat down on the bed next to Bri, who was under the blanket, and was patting her on the head. Within a few minutes, I was able to get them out of the room, but sat there confused as to how a night that started so great could end like this. After that, Bri and I gave up, and ended up just going to sleep.

The great, great run of us, in the tales told by winds and mountains and trees and cities and the sea and Leviathan and the abyss and by him, my erstwhile master then companion, of whom we spoke, are full stops. We are what happens in the infinitely small instance between one moment worthy of remark and another. We are specks. Milliards of us contained within each such tiny beady ink eye. But I believe, and I hope it is not the arrogance of love that befuddles me because I do not say I loved him and I know he never loved me, but I believe that were he ever to speak of me, if he were to write the great book of his own life, when it came to the few years I was at his side, that he, for the curl of a moment, as if raising a finger, would pause as if for breath. That I am one of the elect, privileged forever to be a comma.

[...]Telecomputer Man is assigned to an apparatus, just as the apparatus is assigned to him, by virtue of an involution of each into the other, a refraction of each by the other. The machine does what the human wants it to do, but by the same token the human puts into execution only what the machine has been programmed to do. The operator is working with virtuality: only apparently is the aim to obtain information or to communicate; the real purpose is to explore all the possibilities of a program, rather as a gambler seeks to exhaust the permutations in a game of chance. Consider the way the camera is used now. Its possibilities are no longer those of a subject who ' 'reflects' the world according to his personal vision; rather, they are the possibilities of the lens, as exploited by the object. The camera is thus a machine that vitiates all will, erases all intentionality and leaves nothing but the pure reflex needed to take pictures. Looking itself disappears without trace, replaced by a lens now in collusion with the object - and hence with an inversion of vision. The magic lies precisely in the subject's retroversion to a camera obscura - the reduction of his vision to the impersonal vision of a mechanical device. In a mirror, it is the subject who gives free rein to the realm of the imaginary. In the camera lens, and on-screen in general, it is the object, potentially, that unburdens itself - to the benefit of all media and telecommunications techniques. This is why images of anything are now a possibility. This is why everything is translatable into computer terms, commutable into digital form, just as each individual is commutable into his own particular genetic code. (The whole object, in fact, is to exhaust all the virtualities of such analogues of the genetic code: this is one of artificial intelligence's most fundamental aspects.) What this means on a more concrete level is that there is no longer any such thing as an act or event which is not refracted into a technical image or onto a screen, any such thing as an action which does not in some sense want to be photographed, filmed or tape-recorded, does not desire to be stored in memory so as to become reproducible for all eternity. No such thing as an action which does not aspire to self-transcendence into a virtual eternity - not, now, the durable eternity that follows death, but rather the ephemeral eternity of ever-ramifying artificial memory. The compulsion of the virtual is the compulsion to exist in potentia on all screens, to be embedded in all programs, and it acquires a magical force: the Siren call of the black box.

Que dit Keanu Reeves dans Portrait craché d’une famille modèle, déjà ? « Il vous faut un permis pour acheter un chien, il vous en faut un pour conduire une voiture. Nom de Dieu, même pour attraper un poisson, il vous faut un permis ! »

I’m going to die. So are you, unless you’re a vampire, a zombie, or Keanu Reeves.

That comes from the fact that most men I know are good. They are flawed, they make mistakes, and they get things wrong. But that also applies to every single person that ever existed. Except for Keanu Reeves, who is perfect in every way, and we must protect him at all costs.

And now what?” B said. Keever pursed his lips. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought maybe you could use some company.” B pursed his lips too. “I don’t know if I can,” he said. “Use it.

It’s our society that’s addicted. To negativity. I don’t mean this in a power-of-positive-thinking way, not that I have any problem with thinking positively. But that’s become kind of meaningless, these days. If you really start to think about what it is to think positively, it’s a lot more effort, and a lot less cozy, than that cliché makes it sound. It’s tough. And that’s right, it should be. Because we have to break an addiction. Our culture is addicted to negativity, and that means being addicted to death. It’s a death culture. That’s what we have to break.

All of us may believe, or wish to, that our lives are tales that demand words aplenty for the telling. This is foolish and wicked pride: the age of prophets, of tales worth telling, is over.

There is unique pathos to the grief of the stoic.

They’d rather have rules I don’t care about,” B said, “and that I break, than not have them at all. Insubordination’s a lesser evil than independence, I guess.

Being "raised right" doesn't mean you don't drink, party and smoke. Being raised right is how you treat people, your manners and respect.

The brew opened the doors of the storm and I went to a blue place, to where the storm lives, or the storm came through or we met on the threshold, and I fucked the lightning, and the next day my tummy was big, and we called you the Impatient Boy. Two moons later out you came. So my father is not my father? you said. Hush, silly, she said. Your father is your father, he’s your dayfather, and the blue lightning is your nightfather.

I'm at the stage in life where I stay out of arguments. Even if you say 1+1=5, you're right. Have fun.

Generation X has marinated in the fat of boomer mythology for so long now that we're like Keanu Reeves in The Matrix when he's hooked up to all those tubes and wires in a tub of gelatin. We don't even notice.

Thus many of the new revisers of hell contend that it is only remedial. In effect, you take a really nasty purgatorial bus ride, like Greyhound with a better destination. I’m sure it’s bumpy, and crowded with people who should never take off their shoes but do, and Keanu Reeves is driving and screaming about not being able to go slower than 50 mph or the bus will explode. But this particular hypothetical hell does have “good news”—once you see the error of your ways, there is an exit. My guess is that you pull the cord as an act of repentance, the bell rings, and as you hop off at the next stop Keanu says he was just kidding about the bus blowing up and hands you a transfer pass allowing you to jump on an express bus to the good and happy place.

Many of my ex-girlfriends were habitual half-asian daters. These women considered half-asian men 'exotic,' 'sexy,' and 'just-like-Keanu Reeves-in-the-Matrix. I consider these stereotypes appropriate because I got laid.

The only time in history Keanu Reeves' acting would have been considered appropriate is if he were the first human being on earth. But then you have to consider that the flowers would wilt.

Falling in love and having a relationship are two different things. -Keanu Reeves

Well, you think, you have the answers to everything right here. But how do you even know where to start? How do you know what questions to spend your time on, when every sliver of information, every history-shattering revelation he drops over vending-machine coffee or idly while you draw his blood, throws up its own infinite library of further questions?

Death not as destination but as horizon. Not death up close. His desire not for the end but to continue not-ending in a quite new way. In the shadow of life’s culminating end. And if that was what he craved, wasn’t that, though he hadn’t said this to her either, to suggest that he was not, now, living? What could it be, to exist with the banality of endlessness?

I have always used writing to learn what it is that I think. And I find myself disinclined to leave these mysteries unexamined. I would like to know what I think about this.

I am a lightning child, you do not say, like the pig, and we are tools, and only broken tools know they are tools.

Underneath what? The latest supermodel? Let Google tell it. He’s got a deli number-counter at the foot of his bed.

But if we’re talking hypotheticals, I wouldn’t mind finding a time-skip with Keanu Reeves. Especially nineties-era Keanu. Yum. But current Keanu is hot too. He’s from Toronto—maybe I can find a house he used to live in.

Diana Ahuja had dutifully read Sontag; she had a Tom of Finland coffee-table book; she’d shaken her stuff to the Village People now and then: it was hardly a revelation to her that the machismo of the military was camp.

Goetic magic? The Abramelin?” She kept her voice neutral. “Some stuff from the Schemhamphorash, I think, and Le Dragon Rouge. I know, it’s a long shot.

I told you,” he had said. “I don’t want to die. What I want is mortality, and that’s not the same thing.

The ends," Diana said, "never justify the means." "Oh, baloney," the woman said. "Sure they do. If I knew, if I was absolutely sure, that his methods would work, then I'd never have left. But they won't. I don't believe they can. And it's one thing to be the necessary evil. But if it's not necessary, or even if it is necessary but it's not also sufficient, then it's just evil. And that I won't do. Not even for this.

Women get it wrong when they complain about media images of women. Men understand that not everyone has Bardot's breasts, or Jamie Lee Curtis's neck, or Felicity Kendall's bottom, and we don't mind at all. Obviously we'd take Kim Basinger over Hattie Jacques, just as women would take Keanu Reeves over Bernard Manning, but it's not the body that's important, it's the level of abasement. We worked out very quickly that Bond girls were out of our league, but the realization that women don't ever look at us the way Ursula Andress looked at Sean Connery, or even in the way that Doris Day looked at Rock Hudson, was much slower to arrive, for most of us. In my case I'm not at all sure that it ever did. I'm beginning to get used to the idea that Laura might be the person I spend my life with, I think (or at least, I'm beginning to get used to the idea that I'm so miserable without her that it's not worth thinking about alternatives). But it's much harder to get used to the idea that my little-boy notion of romance, of negligées and candlelit dinners at home and long, smouldering glances, had no basis in reality at all. That's what women ought to get all steamed up about; that's why we can't function properly in a relationship. It's not the cellulite or the crows feet. It's the... the... the disrespect.

And if the earthly no longer knows your name, whisper to the silent earth: I’m flowing. To the flashing water say: I am. —Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

Everything means something else, it is true, but sometimes it also means precisely itself. Please listen to me. I am here to ask you, Why? What am I?

First, she said, there was Nothing. All at rest. Then came Something, to shake the Nothing out of its peace. Out of Something came Things in proliferation, noise and edges and motion, darkness and light and gloaming, rocks and stars and water and fire and cold. Out of them came muck and slime. Out of that came darting specks. Out of them after a while came trees and birds and us.

some people who hated me said I was death, and that the god of life was on their side, and wanted to kill me. I always wanted to say, Why the fuck would you think life would give a fuck about you?

Dave shrugged. 'Gary was going to do a Die Hard marathon tonight.' 'All of them? Even the fifth one? Hardcore. That's actually quite heroic.' 'No,' said Dave, 'John McClane is the true hero because he met Ellis just once at a party in the first one and can remember his name a few hours later.' 'He's not as heroic as Keanu Reeves in Speed,' Melanie replied. 'Blasphemy.' 'He handles everything John McClane does while also dealing with a massive hangover.' Dave nodded in agreement. 'That's a good point. Okay, let's paint the town red. Get your cardigan.

He goes up on the roof and finds exactly what he was looking for—a crane with a rope on it! That might seem like a convenient coincidence, but if you put good out into the world, good is what you get back. Keanu can have whatever he wants.

But, as fate would have it, God actually had a surprise in store for me. The one. No, not Neo…though I can’t say I would be sad to get Keanu Reeves, I wanted someone just as sexy but way more low-key. My ONE and only.

But shit, the meditation app I’d sworn I’d listen to every day had lasted less than a week. The pressure of daily relaxation was too stressful. Now all I had was a monthly bill because I kept forgetting to cancel the stupid subscription in the app store. Besides, if I did cancel, that would mean giving up on meditating and therefore admitting defeat.

Animals accumulate living facts relevant to their everyday lives: Bees remember the location of a good dandelion field, dogs remember the path through the woods that leads to their favorite pond, and crows remember which human fed them in a park. But humans accumulate a seemingly endless number of useless (i.e., dead) facts: the distance to the moon (384,400 km), the true identity of Luke Skywalker’s father (Darth Vader), or which Paula Abdul video starred Keanu Reeves (“Rush Rush”). Our heads are full of dead facts—both real and imagined. Most of them will never be of any use to us. But they are the lifeblood of our why specialist nature as they help us to imagine an infinite number of solutions to whatever problems we encounter—for good or ill.

And you shouldn't be---" I say, looking up and taking in his appearance. So damn hot. My throat catches. Words do not form. He's sexier than the ceviche I'm planning on making---slick and smooth, cool and hot. Confession: I may have a problem binge-watching rom-coms and steamy romances, hoping for my own meet-cute. If they happen in the movies, why not in real life? When I'm not in the kitchen, I watch them all, inhaling the happy endings---from Sleepless in Seattle to Pretty Woman to Sixteen Candles, the latter so politically incorrect and cringe-worthy today but made up for with the drool-worthy hotness that is Jake Ryan. Something about this guy reminds me of Keanu Reeves, with his razor-sharp cheekbones, mildly unkempt black hair that nearly touches his shoulders, two-day scruff, penetrating hazel eyes, and, from what I can tell---dressed in a casual but elegant fitted black suit---a buff body. I may have developed a slight Keanu obsession after I saw him in Always Be My Maybe, the story of him being the temporary love interest of an ambitious chef. Even though he played a douchebag version of himself, he was funny and hot as hell. Normally, I only salivate over recipes, but this feast for the eyes is clearly an exception.

In the sewer of human civilization that is L.A. some unicorn like Keanu Reeves exists which is truly a miracle. I'm not sure Jesus existed and I'm not religious so every time I have second thoughts on anything, I would imagine what Keanu would do. And I'd probably do the opposite.

In this way DNA Dreams brings to life the dystopian nightmare we encounter in the 1997 film Gattaca, in which the main character Vincent, played by Ethan Hawke, narrates: “I belonged to a new underclass, no longer determined by social status or the color of your skin. No, we have discrimination down to a science.”46 As in so much science fiction, the Whiteness of the main protagonist is telling. Not only does it deflect attention away from the fact that, in the present, many people already live a version of the dystopia represented in the film in future tense. The “unbearable Whiteness” of sci-fi expresses itself in the anxiety underlying so many dystopian visions that, if we keep going down this road, “We’re next.”47 Whether it’s Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, Matt Damon in Elysium, Chris Evans in Snowpiercer – all characters whose Whiteness, maleness, straightness, and (let’s just admit) cuteness would land them at the top of the present social order – they all find themselves in a fictional future among the downtrodden. Viewers, in turn, are compelled to identify with the future oppression of subordinated White people without necessarily feeling concern for the “old” underclasses in our midst.

Aunque a veces mi flojera como alumno me provoca repentinos ataques de sueño. Esos ataques se llaman narcolepsia y los sufrió River Phoenix en aquella película de Gus Van Sant. Pero River Phoenix tenía a Keanu Reeves, o dicho de otra manera: Phoenix tenía dónde apoyar su cabeza dormida y yo solo puedo apoyarla en los libros.

Huh! Keanu Reeves solved the problem Keanu Reeves caused. Everybody underestimates that guy.

But data are rarely adequate to change one’s ideas. What is needed is a shock, a crisis all one’s own.