Let us change our traditional attitude to the construction of programs: Instead of imagining that our main task is to instruct a computer what to do, let us concentrate rather on explaining to human beings what we want a computer to do.
— Yes, I'd forgotten you're moonlighting as a criminal mastermind now. Got your next heist planned?
— No. But I'm thinking about growing a big, black moustache. I'm a traditionalist.
No tradition, however time-honored, deserves to live on as anything more than a museum piece if it has outlived its relevance.
You follow in the tradition that you're handed.
There are always going to be counterrevolutionaries threatened by any change in the status quo.
— I could have killed you when I walked through the door. But, you see... I want you to be the last. I want you to be alive after your entire family is dead. Cos my mother says that is what'll hurt you the most. You people have traditions of honour. As do we. Instead of sending you a black hand, I could have had you killed in the night without knowing why. But I want you to know why. And I want to suggest to you that we fight this vendetta with honor.
— No civilians. No children.
— No police.
— Welcome to Birmingham, Mr Changretta.
But this is how I know who I am. And here it is too easy to forget.
— My cage seems bigger than yours, but it's still a cage. If you want sympathy, you won't get it. I don't want your sympathy.
— Do you know what my daughter's nurse told her this morning? That in a girl's voice lies temptation. A known fact. Eloquence in a woman means promiscuity. Promiscuity of the mind leads to promiscuity of the body. She doesn't believe her yet, but she will. She'll grow up just like her mother. She'll marry, bear children and honor her family... spend her youth in needlepoint and rue the day she was born a girl. And when she dies... she'll wonder why she obeyed all the rules of God and country... because no biblical hell could ever be worse... than this state of perpetual inconsequence.
— If we don't respect the past, we'll find it harder to build our future.
— Where did you read that?
— I made it up. I thought it was rather good.
— It's too good. One thing we don't want is a poet in the family.
— Would it be so bad?
— The only poet peer I am familiar with is Lord Byron. And I presume you all know how that ended.
Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do;nd it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags.
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