— Stand! Stand! All of you who defiled your sacred marriage beds and declare your sin! Stand up with me! As we stood against our enemies at sea!
— There. You seee, your Grace? There are: no accomplices. He does this to rescue her from your justice.
— Then I stand alone for Venice: and for this woman.
— Arrest the senator. His trial will commence tomorrow.
— Minister. Do you wish to speak? I repeat, do you have something to say to this court?
— I am standing.
Your heart is unobtainable
Even though Lord knows you have mine.
What a kid I got, I told him about the birds and the bee and he told me about the butcher and my wife.
But you were just friends
At least that's what you said
Now I know better from his fingers in your hair...
"My anniversary with Michael is August 17. And this year, I decided impulsively to surprise him. He was in Atlanta. So I open his computer to check when his last meeting will be, and this e-mail pops up... flagged urgent, and the subject is "tonight." It was about a meeting, all right. It was the Ritz-Carlton, room 1216, at midnight, signed And over the months that followed, he would address her as Lynn and she would sign back... 'Linny.' "
"What'd you do?"
"Nothing. I just read the e-mails over and over, like a novel. He would tell her things from the heart. Things... Worries... Funny things. Things that you tell someone that you love".
"And your marriage?"
"It was seemingly unchanged. Except that, every look, every joke... every time we made love...became lies."
— No, Lisa. I shouldn't have asked you to come down here. I'm not getting back together with you.
— What are you talking about? W-Why?
— Why? You screwed a scuba diving instructor on our honeymoon. I mean, what kind of cold, heartless bitch... would do that to someone they love? I'd have to be an idiot to get back together with you after that. Oh, and by the way, I destroyed all your little throw pillows. Yeah, because throw pillows suck, okay? They serve no purpose. They're purely decorative.
— You told the cops...
— I told them Mike came by to farm out a surveillance job this morning.
— That's all? You didn't mention...
— No. I didn't mention it.
— You knew, didn't you?
— I suspected.
— Goddamn it. Why didn't you say something?
— What do you want me to say, Sarah? "Fuck you, Sarah"?
— Yes. Yeah. Or anything to get a rise out of you. How about, "You're a lying bitch"? How about, "If there weren't cops here, I'd spit in your face"?
— You want me to spit on you?
— It would show you had some pride left. Fresh out, honey.
— You know what? Fuck you, Joe. You were never around. I was lonely!
— Buy a dog.
— Listen, that girl wasn't your type. Her loss, right?
— I should have broke that bastard's jaw.
— Maybe you were lucky.
— He could have broke yours.
— Impossible.
— You know, Christmas, I understand, but let's just say you were with her for a couple of hours, and it's nice, and it's hot and heavy, but after that, think about it. What do you do for the rest of the day? She probably did you a favor. Now you have more time to feel sorry for yourself.
— You're a bleak bastard.
— I loved you.
— You don't know the meaning of the word, Charles. You can love for perhaps a year, a month, a day, even for an hour. And in that hour, I believe you love as well and deeply as any man. But after that hour... you love another, and another. Your love is most generous where it is most hurtful.