As 11 melhores:
1. Robert Duvall, Apocalypse Now (1979):
You smell that? Do you smell that? Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for twelve hours. When it was all over I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like... victory. Someday this war's gonna end...
2. Jack Nicholson, A Few Good Men (1992):
You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago, and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know - that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives; and my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives.
3. Marlon Brando, On The Waterfront (1954):
Remember that night in the Garden? You came down to my dressing room and you said 'kid, this ain't your night. We're going for the price on Wilson'... You was my brother, Charlie. You shoulda looked out for me a little bit so I wouldn't have to take them dives for the short-end money. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum. Which is what I am. Let's face it.
4. Samuel L Jackson, Pulp Fiction (1994):
The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
5. Michael Douglas, Wall Street (1987):
The point is, ladies and gentleman, is that greed - for lack of a better word - is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms - greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge - has marked the upward surge of mankind. And Greed - you mark my words - will not only save Teldar Paper but that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA.
6. Peter Finch, Network (1976):
I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's worth; banks are going bust; shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter; punks are running wild in the streets, and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it.
7. Ewan McGregor, Trainspotting (1996):
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends... Choose your future. Choose life.
8. Clint Eastwood, Dirty Harry (1971):
I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?
9. Richard E Grant, Withnail and I (1987):
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a God! The beauty of the world, paragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dusk. Man delights not me, no, nor women neither, nor women neither.
10. Mel Gibson, Braveheart (1995):
You have come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight? Aye, fight and you may die, run and you'll live. At least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!
11. Edward Norton, 25th hour (2002):
Yeah, fuck you, too.
Fuck me?
Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it.
No, no, no, no, no.
Fuck the panhandlersgrubbing for money, smiling at me behind my back.
Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the cleanwindshield of my car. Get a fucking job.
Fuck the Sikhsand the Pakistanis bombing down the avenuesin decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores,stinking up my day.
Terrorists in fucking training.Slow the fuck down!
...getting one of those operations that elongate your penis.
Fuck the Chelsea Boys with their waxed chestsand pumped-up biceps, going down on each otherin my parks and on my piers, jiggling their dickson my Channel!
Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramidsof overpriced fruit and their tulips and seswrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country,still no speakee English.
Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafes,sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth, wheelin' and dealin'and schemin'. Go backwhere you fucking came from.
Fuck the black-hatted Hasidim strolling up and down th Street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff, selling South Africanapartheid diamonds. Come on.Your wife deserves this. Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas-Gordon Gekkowannabe motherfuckers figuring out new ways to rob hardworking people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life. You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break. Worldcom.
Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty to a car,swelling up the welfare rolls. Worst fucking parade in the city. And don't even get me startedon the Dominicans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Who's this fuckin' guy?! Get the fuck outta here!
Fuck the Bensonhurst ltalianswith their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits,their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi Louisville Slugger baseball bats trying to audition for "The Sopranos." Fuckin' crackyour fuckin' head open! Bensonhurst! Bensonhurst! Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their $ Balducci artichoke. Taxi! Overfed facesgetting pulled and lifted and stretched all tautand shiny. You're not fooling anybody,sweetheart. Taxi!
Fuck the Uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want toplay defense, they take five steps on every layup to the hoop, and then they want to turn around and blame everythingon the white man. We not giving it up! We not giving it up! Slavery ended years ago. Move the fuck on.
Fuck the corrupt cops withtheir anus-violating plungers and their shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust!
Fuck the priestswho put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it,fuck J.C. He got off easy a day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity. Try seven years in fucking Otisville, J.
Fuck Osama bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass cave-dwelling fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your whores roasting in a jet-fuel firein hell. You towel-headed camel jockeyscan kiss my royal lrish ass. "l notice how many of what I once thought "were evidences of repression, sexual or otherwise..."
Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent.
Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery,my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass.
Fuck Naturelle Riviera. I gave her my trust,and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch.
Fuck my fatherwith his endless grief, standing behind that bar, sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemenand cheering the Bronx Bombers. Let's go, Yankees!
Fuck this whole cityand everyone in it, from the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho, from the tenementsin Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten lsland, Iet an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, Iet it burn to fucking ash, and then let the waters rise and submerge this wholerat-infested place.
No. No.
Fuck you,Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away,you dumb fuck!