My Name Is Nobody (1973)
Jack Beauregard: Folks that throw dirt on you aren't always trying to hurt you, and folks that pull you out of a jam aren't always trying to help you. But the main point is when you're up to your nose in shit, keep your mouth shut.
Jack Beauregard: You're sure trying hard to make a hero out of me.
Nobody: You're that already. You just need a special act, something that'll make your name a legend.
Jack Beauregard: What I don't understand is what difference it makes to you.
Nobody: If a man is a man, he needs someone to believe in.
Jack Beauregard: I've met all kinds in my life. Thieves and killers. Pimps and prostitutes. Con men and preachers. Even a few fellas that told the truth. The kind of man you're talking about, never.
Nobody: Maybe you've never met them. Or hardly ever. But they're the only ones who count.
Nobody: [reads the names on the crosses in the Indian cemetery] Sam Peckinpah. That's a beautiful name in Navajo.
Nobody: It's always the best who are the first to go.
Jack Beauregard: Which means you ain't going nowhere.
Nobody: I see it clear as crystal. Jack Beauregard standing alone, facing the Wild Bunch. Just think of it. You'll be written up in all the history books.
Jack Beauregard: You'll be down on Earth reading them while I'm up there playing on a harp.
Jack Beauregard: You shine like the door of a whorehouse. A blind man could spot you ten miles off.
Nobody: I like folks to see me.
Jack Beauregard: Maybe folks don't share your pleasure.
Nobody: The secret of a long life is you try not to shorten it.
Leader of the Wild Bunch: Two things go straight to a man's heart, bullets and gold.
Jack Beauregard: Son, let me give you a little advice. You start admiring someone, pretty soon you're envious so you start showing off, taking chances. Before you know it, you're dead.
Nobody: Well, it ain't good for some folks to live too long.
Jack Beauregard: Fact is, you saved my life today. But I'd rather it was my fault I got shot than your fault I didn't.
Jack Beauregard: [narration] Dear Nobody, dying is not the worst thing that can happen to a man. Look at me... I've been dead for three days now, and have finally found my peace. You used to say that my life was hanging by a thread. Maybe so, but I'm afraid it's your life that's hanging by a thread now. And there's quite a few people who'd like to cut that thread. Yeah, I guess it's your way of feeling alive. See, there's a whole difference between you and me: I always try to steer away from trouble, while you seem to be looking for it all the time. But I must admit, you've been able to solve your share, even if you like others to take the credit. This way, you can remain a "nobody." You got it all nicely figured out. But you gambled too big this time, and there's too many people who know you're "somebody" after all. And you won't have much time left for playing your funny games. They'll make life harder and harder for you, until you too will meet somebody who wants to put you down in history. And so you'll find out that the only way to become a nobody again is to die. Anyhow, from now on, you'll be walking in my boots, and maybe you won't be laughing so loud anymore. But you can still do one thing: you can preserve a little of that illusion that made my generation tick. Maybe you'll do it in your own funny way, but you'll be grateful just the same. I guess looking back, it seems we were all a bunch of romantic fools. We still believed that a good pistol and a quick showdown could solve everything. But then, the West used to be wide-open spaces with lots of elbow room, and you never ran into the same person twice. By the time you came along, it was changed. It got smaller and crowded, and I kept bumping into the same people all the time. But if you're able to run around in the West peacefully catching flies, it's only 'cause fellows like me were there first. Yeah, the same fellow you want to see written up in history books, 'cause people need something to believe in, like you say. But you won't be able to have it your own way much longer, 'cause the country ain't the same anymore, and I'm already feeling a stranger myself. But, what's worse, violence has changed, too. It's grown, and got organized, and a good pistol don't mean a damn thing anymore. But I guess you must know all this, 'cause it's... your kind of time, not mine. And I also figured out the moral to your grandpa's story, the one about the cow that covered the little bird in cowpie to keep it warm, and then the coyote hauled it out and ate it. It's the moral of these new times of yours: Folks that throw dirt on you aren't always trying to hurt you, and folks who pull you out of a jam aren't always trying to help you. But the main point is, when you're up to your nose in shit, keep your mouth shut. This is why people like me gotta' go, and this is why you faked that gunfight to get me out of the West clean. Anyhow, I was getting to be one more old-timer, and the years don't make wisdom, they just make old age. One can be young in years and old in hours, like you. I guess I'm talking like a damn preacher, but it's your fault; what can you expect of a national monument? Well, keep your mind and your heart open, and if you ever meet one of those men you almost never meet, you can keep each other company, and it won't be so lonely for you. They say distance makes friendship grow stronger. Maybe so, 'cause after three days without you dogging my tracks, I kinda' miss you. I really gotta' sign off now, so even if you've been a stinkin' nosy troublemaker all the time, thanks for everything just the same. P.S.: Just one more piece of advice from an old-timer: When you're getting a shave and a cut, be sure the right man's wearing a jacket!