The Script Lyrics Quotes

Your life is a movie. You are the main character. You say your scripts and act to your lines. Of course you do your lines in each scene. There is a hidden camera and a director who you can ask for help anytime up above.

You can go the distance You can go the mile You can walk straight through hell with a smile

Standing in The Hall of Fame And the world's going to know your name Yeah -The Hall of Fame

Yeah, do it for your people Do it for your pride How are you ever gonna know if you never even try? Do it for your country Do it for your name

Yeah, you can be the greatest You can be the best You can be the King Kong banging on your chest

What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you? And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're OK? I'm falling to pieces

You can be a master Don't wait for luck Dedicate yourself and you gon' find yourself Standing in the hall of fame

Be students Be teachers Be politicians Be preachers Be believers Be astronauts Be champions Be truth seekers

It's been the longest time Since I've been in this place, Where I spend my whole day Hoping I'll see your face. Then I script things to say, And maybe what you'd say back. You don't know it yet, But, girl, it's a fact That I can see us Staying up late, Talking all night, But I guess I'll have to wait. 'Cause it's brand-new, Yeah, I know we just met. I want to be there with you, But not just yet. Girl, you've got that look, Like you're hard to impress. So I'm bumbling with words, 'Cause my mind is a mess. You were out of the blue And you caught me by surprise, With a slight smile, that long stare, And a challenge in your eyes I could feel all this In that single look, Like you could see my soul. You could read me like a book, And I think it's something. Though I know we just met, I'm gonna get there with you. You just don't know it ... yet.

He was covered with ink, but this piece stood out to her. The script that flowed over his forearm said “If I could, I would. Baby, I swear I would.” She looked the words up later, thinking they were song lyrics, but found nothing that matched. Maybe the tattoo artist had meant to do lyrics but had gotten it wrong. Or maybe she was misremembering, or maybe they were pathless, lyrics to nothing.

April 13: Marilyn consults with Walter Bernstein, Cukor, and her producers about the script. She insists she needs to see Strasberg to “oil the machinery.” Physician Lee Siegel arrives to give her a vitamin injection. It is decided that shooting will not begin until April 23. Broadway composer Richard Adler calls to say he has written special lyrics for Marilyn’s rendition of “Happy Birthday.” She tells him that she will be wearing a “historical gown” for her appearance. Marilyn flies to New York.

To the wreck hunters," Orion said, raising his water bottle, "And to whale songs." "To truthing," said Liv. "To tea leaves," said Felix. We kept toasting: To Fidelia and Ransome. To the rest of the Lyric passengers whose bones has been picked clean by fish. To adventures. Our voices overlapped and were indistinguishable. To baseball caps, to Patsy Cline. To whiskey and blow jobs and cunnilingus, birth control, treasure, no treasure, sleeping bags, bug spray, headphones, and crosswords. "To family," I called. "Surviving," said Sam. "Please can you keep it down!" yelled a voice from inside the kayakers' tent. "To angry, reluctant chaperones," Mariah stage-whispered. We all collapsed into stifled giggles, then put out the fire and trekked down to the beach to stage an impromtu, perfectly imperfect reading of Cousteau! by cell-phone light. Same had brought the latest printout of the script with him. That night, it didn't matter what had come before and what was going to come after. In that moment, we were the last true poets of the sea, and what mattered more than anything else was our quest.

With Circe, I wanted to take a woman’s life and set it at the center of an epic story. Ancient epic almost exclusively features male protagonists, and the few women who appear are there mostly as cameo helpmeets, breeding stock, or obstacles to be overcome; their stories matter only in how they touch the hero’s. I wanted to flip the script, to make Odysseus the cameo and Circe the epic hero. I also deliberately included things that have been shut out of epic because they are considered traditionally female, like parenting, crafts, and childbirth. As anyone who’s ever lived through or witnessed childbirth can tell you, it is one of life’s more epic experiences. "Meanwhile, with The Song of Achilles, I wanted to do the opposite: take a story that was famously epic and tell it from a personal and intimate perspective. I was inspired by Homer in subject matter, but in tone I wanted to come more out of the tradition of the ancient lyric poets, including Sappho and Catullus.

Even with all of this plot to be dispensed, the songs do rise organically out of the script. Doris’s first entrance, in head-to-toe buckskin, finds her astride a stagecoach, belting out the very catchy Sammy Fain/Paul Francis Webster song “The Deadwood Stage (Whip Crack Away).” The rollicking tune and exuberant Day vocal match the physical staging of the song, and character is revealed. Similarly, later in the film there is a lovely quiet moment when Calamity, Bill, the lieutenant, and Katie all ride together in a wagon (with Calamity driving, naturally) to the regiment dance, softly singing the lilting “Black Hills of Dakota.” These are such first-rate musical moments that one is bound to ask, “So what’s the problem?” The answer lies in Day’s performance itself. Although Calamity Jane represents one of Day’s most fondly remembered performances, it is all too much by half. Using a low, gravelly voice and overly exuberant gestures, Day, her body perpetually bent forward, gives a performance like Ethel Merman on film: She is performing to the nonexistent second balcony. This is very strange, because Day is a singer par excellence who understood from her very first film, at least in terms of ballads, that less is more on film. Her understated gestures and keen reading of lyrics made every ballad resonate with audiences, beginning with “It’s Magic” in Romance on the High Seas. Yet here she is, fourteen films later, eyes endlessly whirling, gesturing wildly, and spending most of her time yelling both at Wild Bill Hickok and at the citizens of Deadwood City. As The New York Times review of the film held, in what was admittedly a minority opinion, “As for Miss Day’s performance, it is tempestuous to the point of becoming just a bit frightening—a bit terrifying—at times…. David Butler, who directed, has wound her up tight and let her go. She does everything but hit the ceiling in lashing all over the screen.” She is butch in a very cartoonlike manner, although as always, the tomboyish Day never loses her essential femininity (the fact that her manicured nails are always evident helps…). Her clothing and speech mannerisms may be masculine, but Day herself never is; it is one of the key reasons why audiences embraced her straightforward assertive personality. In the words of John Updike, “There’s a kind of crisp androgynous something that is nice—she has backbone and spunk that I think give her a kind of stiffness in the mind.

I’m a producer. I never knew it was that easy. All these years I been trying to write scripts and characters and plots and stories that had meaning. ‘Will there be titty?’ Sure. Boom! I’m a . . . I’m a producer now. ‘Where’ve you been all our life, boy? We been lookin’ for you in Hollywood. What are these titties gonna do? Jiggle? You’re a fuckin’ genius. Give him another cheque. I can’t write enough cheques for you. You’ve answered our prayers in Hollywood. Jiggling titties, who would have thunk of it?

[Mark] often took expressions from real life and made them feel like dialogue: “See ya mate!” “Yeah. See ya mate.” He overheard sentences and made them feel like poetry: “Nobody has ever called me Sir in my entire life.” Fall songs are often script-like. When writing a script the aim is to form those images and ideas into words then turn those back into a visual medium, by performing and filming them. With Mark's songs he achieved that, too, by richly describing the scene, the images would unfold in the listener's mind.

Consider the power / of the Constitution, the lyric, the tilted script. Unity / among the disparate masses. We could have been / a nation of poets, but instead we're a nation of clerks. / Laid over our country, an impossible map to follow / to figure out where the next problem will burst.