London (I) (2005)
Bateman: Personally, I'd much rather regret something I'd done rather than something I was too afraid to do.
Bateman: Motherfucker, you wanna know what it is? Pain, my friend is when the woman you love wants to fuck you four, five times a night and you can't!
Bateman: Why? Why? I'll tell you why, because I'm an impotent man! Motherfucker, that's pain! That's fucking pain! When your wife wants to fuck you four times a night and you fucking can't! You know that some fucker before you could. And you know that some fucker after you will! Well, I couldn't cope with that, could I? That sense of ruination. That insolvency that burns in your soul. I couldn't fuck my wife! Do know what that fucking means, mate? Do you understand what impotent rage really is?
Syd: When that first wave of anxiety hits it's fucking terrifying because you're like fuck, "maybe I'm really going crazy. Maybe I've finally done enough drugs and fucked with my head enough that I've just detached from reality." You know? You know... you start having these horrible revelations.
Mallory: Like what?
Syd: Like I started freaking out about death. You know... I became obsessed with it. I just couldn't conceptualize not being here. Just not being here someday. One day, Mallory, you and I are gonna be dead. Buried. Gone. And you start thinking about religion. And how people are just blindly swallowing these concepts like God, and heaven, and afterlife... just to suppress our deepest most fears... which is that we don't know why we're here. Why are we here? It makes no sense!
Mallory: It totally makes sense! Okay. Because the same time as us people, the masses, to go on living their every day lives without constantly obsessing over these things you're talking about, man. You know... these realities: life, death; heaven, hell; existence; why we're here. You know... who knows... it's possible that a god does exist. You know... an energy, force, spirit... whatever you wanna call it.
Syd: Right. Sure.
Mallory: I believe that.
Syd: Fine. Fair enough. So what do you think happens when you die?
Mallory: I don't fucking know! You fucking die. Why does there have to be an answer to every fucking question? Why can't there just be mysteries in the world? You know what I'm saying? I don't know... your body dies! Your actual physical being dies! But your spirit, I do believe, lives on. It lives on in the world. Man, it's a continuing thing of... of existence, dude. It doesn't have to have a fucking perfect answer. Why?
Syd: Alright, fine. I buy that a little bit more than an invisible guy in the sky taking checks and balances on 6 billion people. I think that sounds like Santa Claus to me. You know.
Mallory: Yeah, yeah.
Syd: It's like a fairy tale for adults who can't handle death.
Bateman: You know, they say the greatest conversation you'll ever have is with a stranger?
Syd: Who says that?
Bateman: Some useless cunt.
Syd: I'm sorry.
Bateman: You're sorry? Oh, you're sorry, are you? You dare, you fucking dare ask me if there's a God? Well, man, I feel forsaken! I feel cheated, you cunt! I've lost in the big game, and nothing else fucking matters. It doesn't matter what you do. If you can't hack it in the sack, mate, if you can't hack it in the game of love and sex, then you are shit, my friend. Because you can't do what the other man can do to your fucking wife, mate!
Syd: I know what you mean.
Bateman: No, motherfucker, you do not know what I mean! You couldn't possibly know what the fuck I mean! I failed. I fucking failed, mate. And I'm still failing every fucking day of my life! Every day. Every fucking day.
Syd: Ever since you and I broke up, I've wanted to have a normal conversation, just a normal conversation with you. And I just feel like everytime I see you, it just gets like so wierd and chaotic and scrambles, and I can't organize my thoughts and I can't even express the most basic words I want to say to you.
London: I know. Me too.
Syd: Whatever we had when we were together, when we were in love that feeling of just being able to lie in bed for days and not give a fuck about the outside world... is gone. And I feel like there's nothing I can do to ever get it back. Do you know how painful that is?
London: Yeah, yeah I do. I cried for weeks when we broke up.
Syd: You cried for weeks?
London: The hardest thing I've ever dealt with in my life.
Syd: How long did you go through that?
London: A long time. A long time. I mean, the first month, it was so fucking bad. And then you know, slowly, it gets better.
Syd: That's the difference between you and me London. I'm still going through it.
London: I've been calling you a dozen times today. I'm terrified. I'm - I'm afraid.
Syd: Of what? What are you afraid of?
London: I'm afraid of falling in love with you again.
Syd: [talking to himself] All right, all right, all right, come on. Come on, Syd. You gotta mellow out. You gotta mellow out. You need a beer. You need a bottle. Ok. Stop doing blow. You gotta stop doing coke. Don't grind your teeth. If she sees you grind your teeth, you're fucked. Come on, Syd. Mellow out, mellow out. Be a man. Be a man. There, get a drink. Go out there, get a drink. What's the worse that can happen, right? What's the worse that can happen? I can see London, so what? Fuck, fuck. Ok, you fuck up tonight, it's over. Ok.
London: And your ego, your ego is just huge! It's out of fucking control!
Syd: Why are you freaking out? There's no need to freak out.
London: Syd, because you don't know when to stop. You keep going and going and going, until people just wanna smash your face in!
Syd: Can I ask you something?
Syd: Do you love him?
London: I never that I was in love with him.
London: Syd? Its gonna be a really really long time before, you know, I fall in love with anybody the way that I was in love with you.
Syd: The bottom line, London, is that I have known you since you were ten fucking years old, we have been through everything together, and you don't even have the decency to tell me you're moving across the fucking country.
George: What are you drinking, Bruiser? Oh, is that a bottle of Cock Block?
Bateman: [while Fighting] Come on, then, you fucking slag! You cunts! Fucking niggers!
[while kicking a black party guest]
Bateman: Fucking cunt! You fucking piece of shit cocksuckers!
Bateman: [while getting whipped by S&M chicks] Come you fucking... shit, cunt, whore... FUCKING WHIP ME!
Bateman: I understood where I stood in relation to where the Romans and the Jews were 2000 years ago and why I was here now. Then I felt this enormous compassion for the struggle of the human race and what it had to go through for us. You know, for life as we know it to come to this point. It's truly remarkable, but at the same time, it's utterly fucking disturbing. I mean, we're the same people that were living in Roman times throwing boiling oil on each other and crucifying Christians. Not that that's entirely a bad thing.
Bateman: If we told women a tenth of the things we think and do you think we'd ever get laid?
Bateman: How old is she?
Syd: I don't know, like 16, 17.
Bateman: Seventeen? Now I really wanna fuck her.
Bateman: I think it has a lot to do with pain and self-flagellation both literally and metaphorically. I mean, I don't know whether it's the culture or what but the English, in general, are very into pain and spanking.
Syd: I started freaking out about death. I became obsessed. I couldn't conceptualize not being here. Just not being here. One day, Mallory, you and I are gonna be dead. Buried. Gone. You think about religion. People are just swallowing these concepts. Like God and heaven, just to suppress our deepest fears that we don't know why we're here. It makes no sense.
Mallory: It totally makes sense, okay? At the same time it allows people to go on living their everyday lives without constantly obsessing over these things. These realities. Life, death, heaven, hell. Existence, why we're here. You know, who knows, it's possible that a god does exist. Energy, force, spirit, whatever you wanna call it. I believe that.
Syd: Fair enough. So, what happens when you die?
Mallory: I don't know. You fucking die. Why does there have to be an answer? Why can't there just be mysteries? I don't know. Your body dies. Your actual physical being dies, but your spirit, I do believe, lives on. It lives on in the world. Man, it's this continuing thing of existence. It doesn't have to have a perfect answer why.
Syd: I buy that a little bit more than an invisible guy taking checks and balances on 6 million people. That sounds like Santa Claus to me. It's like a fairy tale for adults who can't handle death.
London: There was a study that was done in Japan with physicists, okay? They took two vats of rice they put one in one room, and one in another room. They put a time-lapse camera on it so they could observe it for a month. They let all these people come into one room and they would say, I love you, rice. You are the best rice. You are the most beautiful, most gorgeous, sexy rice there is. And in the other room,they say, I fucking hate you, rice. I hate you. You're the worst rice. Fuck you, rice, you're the worst rice. After a month, the rice that they said I love you to? Still edible. The other rice looks like fucking black sludge.
Syd: You know what your problem is? You're so undyingly convinced that everything your parents and teachers taught you hold it as this indisputable, almighty truth.
Bateman: Look, they have this theory. Maybe it'll help. I don't know. Fuck knows where it comes from. The broad strokes of it are that it takes a third of the time to recover from a relationship as the relationship was long.