The Meaning of Life Quotes

[the End Of The Film]
Lady Presenter: Well, that's the end of the film. Now, here's the meaning of life.
[Receives an envelope]
Lady Presenter: Thank you, Brigitte.
[Opens envelope, reads what's inside]
Lady Presenter: M-hmm. Well, it's nothing very special. Uh, try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a

good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations. And, finally, here are some completely gratuitous pictures of penises to annoy the censors and to hopefully spark some sort of controversy, which, it seems, is the only way, these days, to get the jaded, video-sated public off their fucking arses and back in the

sodding cinema. Family entertainment? Bollocks. What they want is filth: people doing things to each other with chainsaws during tupperware parties, babysitters being stabbed with knitting needles by gay presidential candidates, vigilante groups strangling chickens, armed bands of theatre critics exterminating mutant goats. Where's the fun in pictures? Oh, well, there we are. Here's the theme

music. Goodnight.

Noel Coward: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Here's a little number I tossed off recently in the Caribbean.
[singing]
Noel Coward: Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis? / Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong? / It's swell to have a stiffy. / It's divine to own a dick, / From the tiniest little tadger / To the world's biggest prick. / So,

three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas. / Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake, / Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend, / Your Percy, or your cock. / You can wrap it up in ribbons. / You can slip it in your sock, / But don't take it out in public, / Or they will stick you in the dock, / And you won't come back.

Man in Pink: [singing] Whenever life gets you down Mrs. Brown / and things seem hard or tough / and people are stupid, obnoxious or daft / and you feel that you've had quite enough! / just remember that your standing on a planet thats evolving / revolving at nine-hundred miles an hour / its orbiting at ninety miles a second / so its reckoned / a sun that is the source of all our

power / the sun and you and me / and all the stars that we can see / are moving at a million miles a day / in an outer spiral arm at forty-thousand miles an hour / of the galaxy we call the Milky Way / Our galaxy itself / contains a hundred billion stars / its a hundred thousand lightyears side to side / it bulges in the middle / sixteen-thousand lightyears thick / but out by us its just

three-thousand lightyears wide / were thirty-thousand lightyears from galatic central point / we go round every two-hundred-million years / and our galaxy is only one of millions of billions in this amazing and expanding universe.
[musical interlude]
Man in Pink: The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding / in all of the directions it can whiz / as fast as

it can go / the speed of light you know / twelve million miles a minute and thats the fastest speed there is / so remember when your feeling very small and insecure / how amazingly unlikely is your birth / and pray that there intelligent life somewhere up in space / cause theres bugger all down here on Earth.
Mrs. Brown: [sigh] Makes you feel so, sort of, insignificant,

doesn't it?

[Large corporate boardroom filled with suited executives]
Exec #1: Item six on the agenda: "The Meaning of Life" Now uh, Harry, you've had some thoughts on this.
Exec #2: Yeah, I've had a team working on this over the past few weeks, and what we've come up with can be reduced to two fundamental concepts. One: People aren't wearing enough hats. Two:

Matter is energy. In the universe there are many energy fields which we cannot normally perceive. Some energies have a spiritual source which act upon a person's soul. However, this "soul" does not exist ab initio as orthodox Christianity teaches; it has to be brought into existence by a process of guided self-observation. However, this is rarely achieved owing to man's unique ability to be

distracted from spiritual matters by everyday trivia.
Exec #3: What was that about hats again?
Exec #2: Oh, Uh... people aren't wearing enough.
Exec #1: Is this true?
Exec #4: Certainly. Hat sales have increased but not pari passu, as our research...
Exec #3: [Interrupting] "Not wearing enough"?

enough for what purpose?
Exec #5: Can I just ask, with reference to your second point, when you say souls don't develop because people become distracted...
[looking out window]
Exec #5: Has anyone noticed that building there before?

Grim Reaper: Shut up! Shut up, you American. You always talk, you Americans. You talk and you talk and say 'let me tell you something' and 'I just wanna say this'. Well, you're dead now, so shut up!
Howard Katzenberg: Dead?
Grim Reaper: Dead!
Angela: All of us?
Grim Reaper: All of you.

Geoffrey: Now, look here. You barge in here, quite uninvited, break glasses, and then announce, quite casually, that we're all dead. Well, I would remind you that you are a guest in this house.

Chaplain: Let us praise God. O Lord...
Congregation: O Lord...
Chaplain: ...Ooh, You are so big...
Congregation: ...ooh, You are so big...
Chaplain: ...So absolutely huge.
Congregation: ...So absolutely huge.
Chaplain: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell You.

Congregation: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell You.
Chaplain: Forgive us, O Lord, for this, our dreadful toadying, and...
Congregation: And barefaced flattery.
Chaplain: But You are so strong and, well, just so super.
Congregation: Fantastic.
Humphrey: Amen.
Congregation: Amen.

Humphrey: So, just listen. Now, did I or did I not... do... vaginal... juices?
Pupils: Mmm. Mmm. Yes, sir. Yes, sir.
Humphrey: Name two ways of getting them flowing, Watson.
Watson: R - rubbing the clitoris, sir?
Humphrey: What's wrong with a kiss, boy? Hmm? Why not start her off with a nice kiss? You

don't have to go leaping straight for the clitoris like a bull at a gate. Give her a kiss, boy.
Wymer: Suck the nipple, sir?
Humphrey: Good. Good. Well done, Wymer.
Pupil: Uh, stroking the thighs, sir.
Humphrey: Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Hmm?
Pupil: Oh, sir. Biting the neck.
Humphrey: Yes.

Good. Nibbling the earlobe, uhh, kneading the buttocks, and so on and so forth. So, we have all these possibilities before we stampede towards the clitoris, Watson.
Watson: Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.
Humphrey: Now, all these forms of stimulation can now take place and, of course, tongueing will give you the best idea of how the juices are coming along.

Harry Blackitt: Look at them, bloody Catholics, filling the bloody world up with bloody people they can't afford to bloody feed.
Mrs. Blackitt: What are we dear?
Harry Blackitt: Protestant, and fiercely proud of it.
Mrs. Blackitt: Hmm. Well, why do they have so many children?
Harry

Blackitt: Because... every time they have sexual intercourse, they have to have a baby.
Mrs. Blackitt: But it's the same with us, Harry.
Harry Blackitt: What do you mean?
Mrs. Blackitt: Well, I mean, we've got two children, and we've had sexual intercourse twice.
Harry Blackitt: That's not the

point. We could have it any time we wanted.
Mrs. Blackitt: Really?
Harry Blackitt: Oh, yes, and, what's more, because we don't believe in all that Papist claptrap, we can take precautions.
Mrs. Blackitt: What, you mean... lock the door?
Harry Blackitt: No, no. I mean, because we are members of the

Protestant Reformed Church, which successfully challenged the autocratic power of the Papacy in the mid-sixteenth century, we can wear little rubber devices to prevent issue.
Mrs. Blackitt: What d'you mean?
Harry Blackitt: I could, if I wanted, have sexual intercourse with you...
Mrs. Blackitt: Oh, yes, Harry.

Harry Blackitt: ...and, by wearing a rubber sheath over my old feller, I could insure... that, when I came off, you would not be impregnated.
Mrs. Blackitt: Ooh.
Harry Blackitt: That's what being a Protestant's all about. That's why it's the church for me. That's why it's the church for anyone who respects the individual and the

individual's right to decide for him or herself. When Martin Luther nailed his protest up to the church door in fifteen-seventeen, he may not have realised the full significance of what he was doing, but four hundred years later, thanks to him, my dear, I can wear whatever I want on my John Thomas...
[sniff]
Harry Blackitt: ... and, Protestantism doesn't stop at the

simple condom. Oh, no. I can wear French Ticklers if I want.
Mrs. Blackitt: You what?
Harry Blackitt: French Ticklers. Black Mambos. Crocodile Ribs. Sheaths that are designed not only to protect, but also to enhance the stimulation of sexual congress.
Mrs. Blackitt: Have you got one?
Harry Blackitt:

Have I got one? Uh, well, no, but I can go down the road any time I want and walk into Harry's and hold my head up high and say in a loud, steady voice, 'Harry, I want you to sell me a condom. In fact, today, I think I'll have a French Tickler, for I am a Protestant.'
Mrs. Blackitt: Well, why don't you?
Harry Blackitt: But they - Well, they cannot,

'cause their church never made the great leap out of the Middle Ages and the domination of alien Episcopal supremacy.

Gaston: You see that house? That is where I was born. My mother said to me, "Garcon. The world is a beautiful place, and you must spread joy and contentment everywhere you go". And so I became a waiter... Well, I know it is not a great philosophy but...
[pauses, looks offended]
Gaston: Well, fuck you. I can live my life in my own way if I want to.

[begins to walk away in disgust]
Gaston: Fuck off. Don't come following me.

Humphrey: All right, settle down. Settle down... Now, before I begin the lesson, will those of you who are playing in the match this afternoon move your clothes down onto the lower peg immediately after lunch, before you write your letter home, if you're not getting your hair cut, unless you've got a younger brother who is going out this weekend as the guest of another boy, in

which case, collect his note before lunch, put it in your letter after you've had your hair cut, and make sure he moves your clothes down onto the lower peg for you. Now...
Wymer: Sir?
Humphrey: Yes, Wymer?
Wymer: My younger brother's going out with Dibble this weekend, sir, but I'm not having my hair cut today, sir.

Pupils: [chuckling]
Wymer: So, do I move my clothes down, or...
Humphrey: I do wish you'd listen, Wymer. It's perfectly simple. If you're not getting your hair cut, you don't have to move your brother's clothes down to the lower peg. You simply collect his note before lunch, after you've done your scripture prep, when you've written your letter home,

before rest, move your own clothes onto the lower peg, greet the visitors, and report to Mr. Viney that you've had your chit signed.

Strange Man: I wonder where that fish has gone!
Transvestite: You did love it so! You looked after it like a son!
Strange Man: [Bends perplexingly long arms]
Strange Man: And it went... where-ever I... did go!
Transvestite: Is it in the cupboard?
Audience: Yes! Yes!

Transvestite: Wouldn't you like to know? It was a lovely little fish!
Transvestite: And it went... where-ever I... did go!
Audience: It's behind the sofa!
Transvestite: Where can that fish be?
Audience: Have you searched the drawers in the bureau?
Transvestite: [a strange, half-elephant/half-man

creature wanders up out of nowhere holding a drinks tray]
Transvestite: It was a most elusive fish.
Strange Man: [twists the brass handles on the transvestite's corset]
Strange Man: And it went... where-ever I... did go!
Transvestite: Ohhh! Fishy, fishy, fishy, fish!
Strange Man:

A fish, a fish, a fish, a fishy, ohhh!
Transvestite: Ohhh, fishy, fishy, fishy, fish!
Strange Man: [Pulls the plug attached on the transvestite's corset]
Strange Man: That went... where-ever I... did go!
Audience: Look up his trunks! Yes, in his trousers!

Father: The mill's closed! There's no more work. We're destitute.
Children: Ohhhhh.
Father: Come in, my little loves. I've got no option but to sell you all for scientific experiments.
[children whining]
Father: No, no. That's the way it is, my loves. Blame the Catholic church for not letting me wear one of those little

rubber things. Oh, they've done some wonderful things in their time. They preserved the might and majesty, the mystery of the Church of Rome, and the sanctity of the sacraments, the indivisible oneness of the Trinity, but if they'd let me wear one of those little rubber things on the end of my cock, we wouldn't be in the mess we are now.

Distraught Male Voice: I just can't go on. I'm not good any more, goodbye... goodbye... aaaargh... Aaaargh.
[a leaf falls to the ground]
Distraught Female Voice: Oh my God. What'll I do? I can't live without him... I... aaaargh.
[Another leaf falls]
Distraught Children's Voices: Mummy... Mummy... Mummy... Daddy...
[Two more leaves fall]
More Distraught

Voices: Oh no. Aaaargh.
[the rest of the leaves fall at once]