The Meaning of Life Quotes

Mrs. Hendy: Do all philosophers have an 's' in them?
Mr. Marvin Hendy: Yeah I think most of them do.
Mrs. Hendy: Oh. Does that mean Selina Jones is a philosopher?
Mr. Marvin Hendy: Yeah. Right, she could be. She sings about the Meaning of Life.
Mrs. Hendy: Yeah, that's right, but I

don't think she writes her own material.
Mr. Marvin Hendy: No. Oh, maybe Schopenhauer writes her material.
Mrs. Hendy: No. Burt Bacharach writes it.
Mr. Marvin Hendy: There's no 's' in Burt Bacharach...
Mrs. Hendy: Or in Hal David.
Mr. Marvin Hendy: Who's Hal David?

Mrs. Hendy: He writes the lyrics, Burt just writes the tunes... only now he's married to Carole Bayer Sager...
Mr. Marvin Hendy: Oh, Waiter. This conversation isn't very good.
Waiter: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. We *do* have one today that's not on the menu. It's a sort of, uh, speciality of the house: Live Organ Transplants.

Humphrey: And spotteth twice they the camels before the third hour. And so the Midianites went forth to Ram Gilead in Kadesh Bilgemath by Shor Ethra Regalion, to the house of Gash-Bil-Betheul-Bazda, he who brought the butter dish to Balshazar and the tent peg to the house of Rashomon, and there slew they the goats, yea, and placed they the bits in little pots. Here endeth the

lesson.

Ainsworth: During the night, old Perkins got his leg bitten sort of... off.
Dr. Livingstone: Ah, been in the wars, have we?
Perkins: Yes.
Dr. Livingstone: Ah, any headache? Bowels all right? Hm. Well, let's have a look at this "one leg" of yours, then, eh? Yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes...
[Pokes the

stump with his pipe]
Dr. Livingstone: Yes yes. Yes, well, this is nothing to worry about.
Perkins: Oh, good.
Dr. Livingstone: Yes, there's a lot of it around, probably a virus. Keep warm, plenty of rest, and if you're playing football or anything, try and favor the other leg.

Maria the cleaning woman: I used to work in the Académie Française / but it didn't do me any good at all. / And I once worked in the library in the Prado in Madrid / But it didn't teach me nothing I recall. / And the Library of Congress you would have thought would hold some key / but it didn't and neither did the Bodlean Library. / In The British Museum I hoped to find some

clue / I worked there from nine till six / Read every volume through / But it didn't teach me nothing about life's mystery. / I just kept getting older, it got more difficult to see. / Till eventually me eyes went and me arthritis got bad. / So now I'm cleaning up in here but I can't be really sad. / Cause you see I feel that life's a game. / You sometimes win or lose. / And though I may be down

right now at least I don't work for Jews.

General: But of course warfare isn't all fun. Right, stop that! It's all very well to laugh at the military, but when one considers the meaning of life, it is a struggle between alternative viewpoints of life itself. And without the ability to defend one's own viewpoint against other, perhaps more aggresive ideologies, then reasonableness and moderation could quite simply

disappear. That is why we'll always need an Army, and may God strike me down were it to be otherwise.
Sergeant-Major: Don't stand there gawping! Like you've never seen the hand o' God before!

Humphrey: Now two boys have been found rubbing linseed oil into the school cormorant. Now some of you may feel that the cormorant does not play an important part in the life of the school, but I would remind you that it was presented to us by the corporation of the Town of Sudbury to commemorate Empire Day, when we try to remember the names of all those from the Sudbury area who

so gallantly gave their lives to keep China British. So from now on, the cormorant is strictly OUT OF BOUNDS. Oh and Jenkins? Apparently your mother died this morning. Chaplain?

Maitre d': Would monsieur care for an apéritif, or would he prefer to order straight away? Today we have, uh, for appetizers: Excuse me. Mhmm. Uh, moules marinières, pâté de foie gras, beluga caviar, eggs Benedictine, tart de poireaux-- that's leek tart,-- frogs' legs amandine, or oeufs de caille Richard Shepherd-- c'est à dire, little quails' eggs on a bed of puréed

mushroom. It's very delicate. Very subtle.
Mr. Creosote: I'll have the lot.

[the Middle Of The Film]
Lady Presenter: Hello, and welcome to 'The Middle of the Film', the moment where we take a break to invite you, the audience, to join us, the film-makers, in 'Find the Fish'. We're going to show you a scene from another film and ask you to guess where the fish is, but, if you think you know, don't keep it to yourselves. Yell out so that all the

cinema can hear you. So, here we are with... 'Find the Fish'.

Headmaster: [Bible reading] Yay, and placed they the bits in little pots. Now two boys have been found rubbing linseed oil into the school cormorant. Now some of you may feel that the cormorant does not play an important part in the life of the school, but I would remind you that it was presented to us by the corporation of the Town of Sudbury to commemorate Empire Day, when we

try to remember the names of all those from the Sudbury area who so gallantly gave their lives to keep China British. So from now on, the cormorant is strictly OUT OF BOUNDS. Oh, and Jenkins? Apparently your mother died this morning. Chaplain.