Shark Movie Quotes

This is the only way that you can hope to survive. Because life... is not a movie. Everyone lies. Good guys lose. And love... does not conquer all.

I bit my lip. "I just think they're dangerous, that's all." "Dangerous? Like antibiotic resistance? And...umm... SHARKS?" I kicked him softly. "You know what I mean, I think they're dangerous for, like, society.

The problem with real life is there’s no musical score. In movies, you know you’re in danger because there’s an ominous chord underlining the scene, a dissonant melodic line that warns of sharks in the water and boogeymen behind the door. Real life is dead quiet, so you’re never quite sure if there’s trouble coming up.

Huh-uh,” Archy said, not trying to charm or work her anymore, the deep 1978 El Cerrito–apartment sullenness starting to seep out of him as he remembered how Luther and Valletta used to leave him there all night by himself, nothing on the television but Wolfman Jack and some movie where a shark-toothed devil doll was biting Karen Black on the ankles.

Who’d play her in the movie?” “The shark from Jaws,” muttered Trout.

I began scribbling in notebooks and notebooks, trying to write my way into being since I never saw anyone who looked like me in books, movies, or videos. None of this writing was what I would remotely call poetry, but I know it had a lyric register. I was teaching myself (and badly copying) metaphor. I was figuring out the delight and pop of music, and the electricity on my tongue when I read out loud. I was at the surface again. I was once more the girl who had begged my parents and principal to let me start school a whole year early. And I was hungry.

Would you rather be the mayor from the movie Jaws who keeps the beaches open when there’s a killer shark out there? Or do you want to be the sheriff who turns out to be right about the killer shark, and saves thousands of people’s lives?

The horror movies made in the ’70s didn’t have rules and often lacked the reassuring backstory that explained the evil away or turned it into a postmodern meta-joke. Why did the killer stalk the sorority girls in Black Christmas? Why was Regan possessed in The Exorcist? Why was the shark cruising around Amity? Where did Carrie White’s powers come from? There were no answers, just as there were no concrete connect-the-dot justifications of daily life’s randomness: shit happens, deal with it, stop whining, take your medicine, grow the fuck up.

I have a totally unhealthy and unrealistic fear of being eaten by a great white shark. This is because I belong to a very specific demographic called American Child Whose Parents Made the Ill-Advised Decision To Allow Her To Watch the Movie Jaws At a Sleepover During Her Formative Years.

You spend hours wrestling with yourself, trying to keep your vision intact, your intensity undiminished. Sometimes I have to stick my head under the tap to get my wits back. And for what? You know what publishing is like these days. Paper costs going up all the time. Nothing gets printed unless it can be made into a movie. Everything is media. Crooked politicians sell their unwritten memoirs for thousands. I’ve got a great idea for a novel. It’s about a giant shark who’s possessed by a demon while swimming in the Bermuda Triangle. And the demon talks in CB lingo, see? There’ll be recipes in the back.

Nearby,one of the overexcited frat boys started wildly windmilling his arms. He had overbalanced and now tipped himself right over the wall.In a second, the diver with us had grabbed his ankle and hauled him back.The sharks, instead of being attracted by the flailing, like they are in every single scary underwater movie, took one sideways look and promptly turned tail,heading for the other side of the tank. They stayed there and didn't come back. The culprit's buddies pounded him when we climbed out of the water. "Smooth move, Ex-Lax," one muttered. "Way to be a buzzkill." "hey" was the red-faced retort, "at least I can say I scared off a shark.

Where do you get your confidence?” is a complex, dangerous question. First of all, if you are a thin person, please do not go around asking fat people where they got their confidence in the same tone you’d ask a shark how it learned to breathe air and manage an Orange Julius. As a woman, my body is scrutinized, policed, and treated as a public commodity. As a fat woman, my body is also lampooned, openly reviled, and associated with moral and intellectual failure. My body limits my job prospects, access to medical care and fair trials, and— the one thing Hollywood movies and Internet trolls most agree on— my ability to be loved. So the subtext, when a thin person asks a fat person, “Where do you get your confidence?” is, “You must be some sort of alien because if I looked like you, I would definitely throw myself into the sea.

Hello,” he said. “Who is this? . . . Who? You’re breaking up a bit there, pal. I can barely hear you . . . You’re the president of what? . . . Of the Citizen Kane fan club? Well, how about that? . . . You want to what? Sorry, the connection is still bad. You’re breaking up . . . You wish I’d just drop by already? Is that what you said? Well, thank you! That’s awfully nice of you. I will certainly do so as soon as my schedule permits. Unfortunately, I’m kinda busy at the moment, hoss . . . Ah, I can hear you much better now! . . . Eh, you’re not the president of the Citizen Kane fan club? You’re the president of the Citizen Kane is the Worst Movie of All Time fan club? . . . And you don’t wish I’d just drop by already, you wish I’d just die already? . . . Well, fuck you too, mang! I hope you and your whole fucking family get cancer and AIDS and leprosy and anthrax and catch on fire and die! Call this number again, asshole, and I’ll come whoop your ass myself!

Harvey didn’t set his phone to beep or buzz or vibrate like a normal person. Harvey’s phone screeched with a string piece from the Hitchcock movie Psycho, the scene with Janet Leigh in the shower, the knife rising and falling, the string section shrieking with short, staccato stabs, the lone violin slashing through the fermata with discordant glissandos, more violins joining the first, violas adding their teeth, mad strings schooling like orchestral sharks at a blood-drunk feast.

Movie people refer to that moment in the script when the main character hits rock bottom as the act two crisis. Romeo is dead. Jaws just ate the captain and first mate, and the killer shark is circling your sinking boat. In the last forty-eight hours, I’d lost a potential boyfriend, a dream casting, and the roommate who had supported me both emotionally and financially for the last seven years. If this wasn’t my personal act two crisis, I didn’t know what was. The only question was whether the hero in my narrative was going to rise up and kill that shark, or succumb to defeat like poor jilted Juliet.

The horror of Jaws is not the rows of teeth, but the endless sea of white faces who are afraid of losing money knowing the ocean has always been full of sharks, blood, and everything else they cannot see.

The hot blond in shark movies always gets ripped to shreds.

People say movies are escapist, just entertainment, but I think that’s only an alibi, a way of hiding from ourselves just how effective what we do actually is. When something is in a movie, and especially when something is in a particularly successful film, its language, its grammar, is added into the grammar of possible reality. The banal fact that sharks are terrifying was cemented into our cultural imagination after Jaws. We have no idea how much power we have and absolutely no idea how to use it. It’s like we invent people’s dreams.

He grinned evilly, like Bruce the shark from that fish movie Odelia likes to watch when she’s babysitting one of her cousins.

A lot of girls like to joke about being a handful, but the truth is: You probably fucking are. Fortunately, there are plenty of dudes who dig the shit out of girls slightly off their rocker. There’s something oddly rewarding about being able to handle a girl no one else can. It’s like being a pirate, and crazy girls are like an ocean — full of sharks, saltwater crocodiles, jellyfish, and a bunch of other shit that will totally fucking kill you — but, if you know how to navigate her deadly, crazy-lady waters, you’ll reach  an island filled with treasures. Treasures like: exciting conversations, R-rated movies, and sex on a Tuesday.

What’s more, the movie that most modern film critics now agreed was the greatest movie of all time was a 2016 documentary titled Citizen Kane is the Worst Movie of All Time directed by Michael Bay and starring Miley Cyrus, Taylor Swift, Britney Spears, Kanye West, and Kim Kardashian.

Look at that,’ I say, ‘Cowhouse: The Mooo-vie! Now do you believe me?’ ‘Shh!’ says Terry. ‘The mooo-vie’s about to start.’ ‘Hey,’ says Terry. ‘Those cows look just like us.’ ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Except they’re cows!’ ‘Shh!’ says Jill. ‘Hey,’ says Terry, ‘that’s just like when my pants were on fire.’ ‘I know,’ I say. ‘That’s where they got the idea!’ ‘Shh,’ says Jill. ‘Hey,’ says Jill, ‘that’s just like what happened to Silky.’ ‘No, it’s not,’ says Terry. ‘She turned into a catnary, not an udderfly.’ ‘Shh!’ I say. ‘Hey,’ says Terry, ‘that’s just like my Ninja Snails.’ ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Those cows have stolen all our stories.’ ‘Shh!’ says Jill. ‘Hey,’ says Terry, ‘that’s just like when the shark ate my underpants.’ ‘Duh!’ I say, jumping up in front of him. ‘Don’t you get it yet?’ ‘Sit down, Andy,’ says Jill. ‘I can’t see the mooo-vie.’ ‘Cows are funny,’ says Terry. ‘They’re also thieves,’ I say. ‘They stole that idea from Barky the Barking Dog.’ ‘Shh,’ says Jill. ‘I can’t hear what Mooey is saying.’ ‘Remember when we had an epic interstellar space battle, Andy?’ says Terry. ‘I sure do,’ I say. ‘And it looks like the cows do too. They are such copycats.’ ‘I think you mean copycows,’ says Jill. ‘Oh, that’s so sweet,’ says Jill. ‘But it’s OUR story,’ I say. ‘No, it’s not,’ says Terry. ‘We’re best friends not barn buddies.’ ‘Hey!’ says Terry. ‘That’s exactly how our story ends … Wait a minute … WAIT a minute … Hang on … Just one more minute … ‘THOSE THIEVING COWS STOLE OUR MOVIE!