Jesus' Son (1999)
Patient at Beverly Home: There is a price to be paid for dreaming.
FH: All these... weirdos, and me... getting a little better every day right in the middle of 'em. I had never known... I had never even imagined for a heartbeat that... there might be a place in the world for people like us.
FH: Think of being curled up and floating in the darkness. Even if you could think, even if you had an imagination, would you ever imagine its opposite, this miraculous world? The Asian Taoists called it "10,000 Things". And if the darkness just got darker and then you were dead, what would you care? How would you even know the difference?
Georgie: Does everything you touch turn to shit? Does this happen to you every time?
FH: [weeping] No wonder everybody calls me "Fuck-Head."
Georgie: It's a name that's going to stick.
FH: I realize that.
Georgie: "Fuck-Head" is gonna ride you to your grave.
FH: I already said so, I agreed with you in advance.
Georgie: We'll camp in the wilderness, and in the morning we'll breakfast on its haunches!
FH: [voice-over regarding a patient at Beverly Home] No more pretending for him. He was completely and openly a mess. Meanwhile, the rest of us go on pretending to each other.
FH: Will you believe me when I tell you that, there *was* kindness... in his heart. His left hand didn't know what his right hand was doin'. It's just that certain important connections had been burned through. If I opened up *your* head, an' ran a hot soldering iron around in your brain; I might turn you into someone like that.
Mira: Doesn't it make you grateful? Because they were... they were people just like us, only unluckier.
FH: Get out of my house.
John Smith: If this is your house, pal, it's no wonder your woman's hitting the road.
[FH starts up a mock interview]
FH: There are some people out there who would like to know a thing or two about you. Would you describe yourself for those people?
Bill: I don't know...I'm like a fat piece of shit, I guess.
FH: He's overweight.
Bill: I've been shot twice though.
Bill: Yeah, once by each wife. Total of 3 bullets, making 4 holes, 3 in, 1 out.
FH: And you're still alive?
Bill: Are you kidding?
Bill: Well, that is too bad, because it makes you sound awful stupid asking if I'm alive, 'cause obviously I am.
FH: Well, maybe I mean alive in a deeper sense. You could be talking, but still not be alive in a deeper sense.
Bill: Well, there's no deeper shit than the kind we're in right now, I'll tell you that.