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“I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me.
A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain.
His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling.
“Truth, truth.”
Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough.
You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying,
to the moment we leave dying,
it'll just cover your face,
as you wail and cry and scream.”
― Dead Poets Society
A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain.
His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling.
“Truth, truth.”
Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough.
You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying,
to the moment we leave dying,
it'll just cover your face,
as you wail and cry and scream.”
― Dead Poets Society
“I'm bad at good-byes," says the boy.
Grandpa's lips reveal all his teeth when he smiles.
"We'll have plenty of chances to practice. You'll be good at it. Almost all grown adults walk around full of regret over a good-bye they wish they'd been able to go back and say better. Our good-bye doesn't have to be like that, you'll be able to keep redoing it until it's perfect. And once it's perfect, that's when your feet will touch the ground and I'll be in space, and there won't be anything to be afraid of.”
― And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer
Grandpa's lips reveal all his teeth when he smiles.
"We'll have plenty of chances to practice. You'll be good at it. Almost all grown adults walk around full of regret over a good-bye they wish they'd been able to go back and say better. Our good-bye doesn't have to be like that, you'll be able to keep redoing it until it's perfect. And once it's perfect, that's when your feet will touch the ground and I'll be in space, and there won't be anything to be afraid of.”
― And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer
“It's an awful thing to miss someone who's still here.”
― And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer
― And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer
“... there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular.”
― Dead Poets Society
― Dead Poets Society
“Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold!”
― Dead Poets Society
― Dead Poets Society
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