Pacific Rim Quotes

Overcommunicate. It's better to tell someone something they already know than to not tell them something they needed to hear.

When a job applicant starts telling me how Pacific Rim-job cuisine turns him on and inspires him, I see trouble coming. Send me another Mexican dishwasher anytime. I can teach him to cook. I can't teach character. Show up at work on time six months in a row and we'll talk about red curry paste and lemon grass. Until then, I have four words for you: 'Shut the fuck up.

Philippine culture was clearly different. It wasn't the fan's duty to remain aloof in the presence of stars; it was the player's responsibility to show gratitude to the average Filipino.

On Friday the 13th of April 2029, an asteroid large enough to fill the Rose Bowl as though it were an egg cup, will fly so close to Earth, that it will dip below the altitude of our communication satellites. We did not name this asteroid Bambi. Instead, it's named Apophis, after the Egyptian god of darkness and death. If the trajectory of Apophis at close approach passes within a narrow range of altitudes called the 'keyhole,' the precise influence of Earth's gravity on its orbit will guarantee that seven years later in 2036, on its next time around, the asteroid will hit Earth directly, slamming in the Pacific Ocean between California and Hawaii. The tsunami it creates will wipe out the entire west coast of North America, bury Hawaii, and devastate all the land masses of the Pacific Rim. If Apophis misses the keyhole in 2029, then, of course, we have nothing to worry about in 2036.

I've never believed in the end of times. We are mankind. Our footprints are on the moon. When the last trumpet sounds and the beast rises from the pit---we will kill it.

The world is ending. This is your chance. Would you rather die here, or in a Jaeger?

Fortune favours the brave, dude.

I’ve always assumed the old men were just there, fixed, like lamps, but in love with their moths.

Modesty is good. But take your credit. You can't always count on other people to offer it.

Watching Castro, whose tiny hands looked like marshmallows, hoist the ball from his waist and through the hoop seemed like the human equivalent of an ant lifting fifty times its body weight.

The world may be about to end, but if it's going to end, we'll goddamn well give it our best shot first. And this is the place to do it.

In the summer, as the heavy moths beat their powdery wings against his window screen, he wrote to her about the island, describing how the berry bushes were laden with fruit, and where the most succulent oysters could be found, and the way the bioluminescence lit the lapping waves and filled the ocean with twinkling planktonic forms that mirrored the stars in the sky. He translated the vast, wild, Pacific Rim ecosystem into poetry and pixels, transmitting them all the way to her small monitor in Manhattan, where she waited, leaning into the screen, eagerly reading each word with her heart in her throat, because by then she was deeply in love.

you know how I feel about the United Nations. From the beginning, it’s functioned as a one-world-order organization whose sole function is to look down its collective nose at the one nation that funds it, the United States. The UN has advocated the transfer of wealth out of the United States, the elimination of international borders, the establishment of a single global currency, international gun control, and the elimination of American jobs. It’s become a friendly forum for radical and scientifically absurd ideas like global warming and has advocated cockamamie international tax schemes like cap-and-trade. It has done everything it can to end the sovereignty of the United States.

The courtside entertainment provided similar commercial thrills. Smaller businesses that couldn't afford their own teams bought the right to have company mascots wander the aisles, where they posed for photographs, danced as much as their cumbersome costumes allowed, and further blurred the line between professional basketball and a Lewis Carroll acid trip.

So this is the Sierras, eh?” he said, looking out over the dark lake. “All that time growing up I never made it up here before.” “It’s the Range of Light,” I said, passing the joint back to him. “That’s what John Muir called it. I can see why. I’ve never seen light like I have out here. All the sunsets and sunrises against the mountains.” “You’re on a spirit walk, aren’t you?” Paco said, staring into the fire. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you could call it that.” “That’s what it is,” he said, looking at me intensely. He stood. “I’ve got something I want to give you.” He went to the back of the truck and returned with a T-shirt. He handed it to me and I held it up. On the front was a giant picture of Bob Marley, his dreadlocks surrounded by images of electric guitars and pre-Columbian effigies in profile. On the back was a picture of Haile Selassie, the man Rastafarians thought was God incarnate, rimmed by a red and green and gold swirl. “That is a sacred shirt,” Paco said as I studied it by the firelight. “I want you to have it because I can see that you walk with the spirits of the animals, with the spirits of the earth and the sky.” I nodded, silenced by emotion and the half-drunk

His sophomore Creative Writing class was as silent as a room full of teenagers could be, only whispering and shuffling a little as they tried to complete their papers. This wasn’t one of the “easy A” electives, and he usually got the kids who were serious about the idea of being better writers. Half of them just wanted to get better so they could improve their Pacific Rim hurt/comfort fanfic, but there was nothing wrong with that. Besides, one of them had let slip that a good portion of the class was posting on Archive of Our Own, and he’d spent a few nights with a beer in his hand, learning more about his students. He hadn’t read the NC-17 pieces—there were professional limits—and yet he felt he respected them more as writers because he’d seen what they were capable of when they weren’t being graded.

I'll generally take a standup mercenary who takes pride in his professionalism over an artist any day. When I hear 'artist', I think of someone who doesn't think it necessary to show up at work on time. More often than not their efforts, convinced as they are of their own genius, are geared more to giving themselves a hard-on than satisfying the great majority of dinner customers. Personally, I'd prefer to eat food that tastes good and is an honest reflection of its ingredients, than a 3-foot-tall caprice constructed from lemon grass, lawn trimmings, coconuts and red curry. You could lose an eye trying to eat that. When a job applicant starts telling me how Pacific Rim-job cuisine turns him on and inspires him, I see trouble coming. Send me another Mexican dishwasher anytime. I can teach him to cook. I can't teach character. Show up at work on time six months in a row and we'll talk about red curry paste and lemon grass. Until then, I have four words for you: 'Shut the fuck up.

The PBA was a symptom of the Philippines' basketball obsession, not the cause. I was thrilled to be witnessing the professional game from inside Alaska's locker room, but that wasn't what brought me to Manila in the first place. I was inspired by the idea that a Southeast Asian nation populated by five-foot-five men and mostly forgotten by America except for its political corruption, widespread prostitution, and violent Muslim separatist movement could be devoted to hoops with a passion unequaled by any other country. It was a nationwide tale of unrequited love. Forty million short men obsessed with basketball--they might as well have been a nation of blind art historians.

What Was the Industrial Revolution? Most fundamentally, the Industrial Revolution was an economic and technological revolution in which humans started to use fossil fuels to generate power for machines to manufacture and transport things in massive quantities. Factories first appeared in the late eighteenth century in England, and methods of industrial production quickly spread to France, Germany, and the United States. Within one hundred years, the Industrial Revolution spread to Eastern Europe and the Pacific Rim, including Japan. As you read this, a wave of industrialization is sweeping through India, Asia, South America, and parts of Africa.

My favorites (movies)? Pacific Rim, Princess Bride, and Hook. In that order. Editor's Note: Actually a totally respectable list! Then again, it is inconceivable that anyone wouldn't like Princess Bride.

Meet one of the leading creative directors Roger Hooks, Jr. He is a renowned “S&P 500 Creative Executive”, who has successfully established his name in the creative industry. He possesses a boasted portfolio in package design of Pacific-Rim makers of entertainment PC peripherals and add-on cards with category best sellers up in down the aisles of Fry's Electronics, Micro Center, Ritz Camera, Best Buy, and Good Guys in their brick-and Mortar Hey-Day. Also, he is a Platinum Award winner in copywriting, a Gold Award winner in advertising campaigns, and a Gold Award winner in special events. So, if you are searching for a professional creative strategist, you must contact Roger Hooks, Jr. Feel free to reach out.

Still, a part of me will never stop thinking of her as my sergeant. She’s the toughest, most competent, and most evenhanded soldier I’ve known, and she runs her squad as a strict meritocracy. If only a tenth of the military consisted of people like Sergeant Fallon, we would have kicked the SRA off of every inhabited celestial body between Earth and Zeta Reticuli fifty years ago already. As things stand, we’re weighed down by people like Major Unwerth, who coast through the system doing only the expected minimum. If a military is the reflection of the society it serves, it’s amazing that the Commonwealth is still at the top of the food chain on Terra. Even with all the dead wood in our ranks, we have been able to hold the line against the SRA and the dozens of regional powers in the Middle East and the Pacific Rim that are short on resources and long on grievances with their neighbors.

Today, we are canceling the apocalypse!

I'm not going anywhere! Now you and I are the only things standing between that ugly bastard and the city of ten million people. Now we have a choice here, we either sit and wait or we take these flare guns and do something really stupid!

Sure that there was an attainable bliss somewhere beyond the decimal point in the p of his sexual trysts, I felt that maybe he had already attained what I was looking for, a more instinctual regard for sex, an equality among thirsts. He had done what I wanted to do: washed the wound of appetite in a relentless waterfall of sweat and semen.

I wish I were writing this on you.

Colonel Sanders as played by Hot Daddy Harrison Ford, cracking the whip on some island plantation, topping every native boy, stopping only long enough to enjoy a refreshing Coca Cola. Because every white guy is a blonde, Aryan top. All of us are the Christian Soldiers of Capitalism that flew TWA into your country, depositing AIDs in your brothels and IMF loans in your banks.

It’s clear China used the pandemic to its strategic advantage in the region. “The whole thing has massively played into Chinese hands and it’s very disturbing, particularly in a country like Australia, where you’re on the Pacific rim and the other main occupant on the Pacific rim is China,” former MI6 chief Sir Richard Dearlove said in an interview for this book. “If you look at the consequences for the Chinese state of what’s happened, if they wanted to accelerate their success internationally and their domination of their main opponent countries, they couldn’t have done it more effectively. Look at what’s happening in India. Look at what it has done to the US economy, and it’s clear that authoritarian states are better equipped to control their population in the face of a pandemic because they can immediately institute controls which the population don’t question.

Albert Fortna, a paragon of integrity post-conversion in 1985, ventured from owning a Tampa-based Honda Motorcycle & Car Dealership (1970-1978) to real estate development (1980-2008). His online persona mirrors his trustworthy character. Albert's love for global exploration has taken him to Japan, Mexico, Hawaii, and more, with scenic train rides in the Pacific Rim on his horizon.

If you want to know the truth, it started with a dream. The Pacific Rim was on fire and something that looked like a Crystal City was rising from the Atlantic Ocean. The West Coast of the United States was crumbling and the Eastern seaboard had moved inland by hundreds of miles. I woke up startled and heard the words distinctly, emanating from deep within my core: “Go to the center.

Personally, I’d prefer to eat food that tastes good and is an honest reflection of its ingredients, than a 3-foot-tall caprice constructed from lemon grass, lawn trimmings, coconuts and red curry. You could lose an eye trying to eat that. When a job applicant starts telling me how Pacific Rim-job cuisine turns him on and inspires him, I see trouble coming. Send me another Mexican dishwasher anytime. I can teach him to cook. I can’t teach character. Show up at work on time six months in a row and we’ll talk about red curry paste and lemon grass. Until then, I have four words for you: ‘Shut the fuck up.

Hillary, who had been reluctant to take a position on the controversial Trans-Pacific Partnership trade agreement, moved to box Biden in. Liberals hated Obama’s proposed pact with Pacific Rim countries because they believed it would result in jobs being shipped overseas, the lowering of labor standards in the United States, or both. Bernie was dead-set against it and talked about his position frequently on the campaign trail. As secretary of state, Hillary had helped negotiate the deal, and that meant coming out against it would be complicated politics. But Biden was in an even tougher spot. The central theme of his prospective candidacy would be defending Obama’s legacy. Could the sitting vice president campaign against such a major piece of the president’s second-term agenda, even if it was unpopular with the Democratic base? Probably not, her aides thought. But Sullivan wanted her to embrace TPP on a national security basis—specifically that it would create powerful alliances between the United States and a number of countries in China’s sphere of influence—and he thought she could avoid a flip-flop label by doing that.

The arrival of the virus was like an examination of state capacity. A handful of Western countries passed. Germany was an outstanding performer in Europe, while Denmark, Norway, Switzerland, and, surprisingly, Greece did well. New Zealand and Australia were champions on the Pacific rim. But most Western countries, particularly America and Britain, failed the test, humiliatingly so when compared with countries in Asia.

As the late sun descended into the ocean, it seemed to trail ragged strips of black cloud with it, like a burning red planet settling into the Pacific’s watery green rim. When the entire coastline was awash in a pink light you could see almost every geological and floral characteristic of the American continent tumbling from the purple crests of the Santa Monica Mountains into the curling line of foam that slid up onto the beaches: dry hills of chaparral, mesquite, and scrub oak, clumps of eucalyptus and bottlebrush trees, torrey and ponderosa pine growing between blue-tiled stucco houses, coral walls overgrown with bougainvillea, terraced hillside gardens filled with oleander, yucca plants, and trellises dripping with passion vine, and orange groves whose irrigation ditches looked like quicksilver in the sun’s afterglow. Then millions of lights came on in the canyons, along the freeways, and through the vast sweep of the Los Angeles basin, and it was almost as if you were looking down upon the end point of the American dream, a geographical poem into which all our highways eventually led, a city of illusion founded by conquistadors and missionaries and consigned to the care of angels, where far below the spinning propellers of our seaplane black kids along palm-tree-lined streets in Watts hunted each other with automatic weapons.

The name “Bering land bridge” is a misnomer. Never mind Vitus Bering, the jowly Danish cartographer and explorer who led sailing expeditions for the Russian Navy along the upper Pacific Rim in the eighteenth century and after whom the Bering Sea and the Bering Strait were named. When this was land and not water, the land bridge was not a catwalk teetering from one hemisphere to the next, but a flat subcontinent fully exposed when sea levels were at their glacial low, its center five hundred miles from the nearest coast. I would have looked across a steppe grassland and the occasional birch and black spruce grove, summers free of snow, ground grazed and turned to grass by large herbivores, loess blown in from the edges of distant ice caps, allowing the soil to hold and retain organic matter. This would have been an easily habitable landscape. Winters were dark and furiously cold, but summers produced copious wildflowers, their pollen found in cores taken from the bottom of the Bering Sea. The land bridge had experienced a unique regime of global weather patterns, the Pacific curling up warmly against its southern coast, Himalayan ice cap blocking precipitation from a quarter of the world away, and the mass of the land bridge itself holding its own temperature, a terrestrial heat sink. Inland precipitation was sparse, winter snows frigid but light. Land bridge summers were sunnier than those experienced on St. Lawrence Island, temperatures slightly warmer, more muskeg and grass than permafrost, snowpack melting earlier for longer growing seasons. This was the American Atlantis, and it went under wave by wave, storm by storm. Craig Childs, from ."Atlas of a Lost World

She laid her head in his lap. "It's all so depressing. Los Angeles' capitalists trying to desperately leverage this place as the center of Pacific Rim finance and kids going hungry and people sleeping in their cars. And where I had bricks thrown at my car because black people thought I was Korean.