Meryl Streep Monologues

Do you know what my husband said about the news? He called it the first rough draft of history.

My decision stands, and I'm going to bed.

Well, I've never smoked a cigar. And I have no problem holding Lyndon or Jack or Bob or any of them accountable. We can't hold them accountable if we don't have a newspaper.

I'm here asking your advice, Bob, not your permission.

This is no longer my father's company. It's no longer my husband's company. It's my company.

For them! But, you know, the bankers always fiddle with the prices. But, for *us*, that's over 3 million dollars and that represents over 5 years salary for 25 good reporters.

The Nixon White House is nothing if not vindictive. Just this morning they barred us from covering Trisha Nixon's wedding.

No. Probably not. Although, when Ben sets his mind to plunder, its not hard to imagine something more serious. Catastrophic events - do occur, you know.

Ben, that's not my role. You know that. I wouldn't presume to tell you how to write about him. Just as I wouldn't take it upon myself to tell him he should hand over a classified study, which would be a crime, by the way, just so he can serve as your source.

When Phil died it was just - I was 45 years old and I had never held - I never had to hold a job in my life. But, I just, I loved the paper, you know. I do. I do so love the paper. I don't want it to be my fault. I don't want to be the one - I don't want to let Phil and my father and all of you kids and everybody down.

This company has been in my life for longer than most of the people working there have been alive. So, I don't need the lecture on legacy.

Alright, then. My decision stands. And I'm - going to bed.

My mother, she's very sick, you know. And I can't do anything. But I think - if only I could have got - that meat for my mother it would make her strong. So I go to the country and er… the peasants were selling ham and I buy it with the black market money and I bring it back. But it's forbidden, you know, because all the meat goes to the Germans. So I sat on the train and I hid it under my skirt, I am pretending that I am pregnant, you know? Oh I was so afraid. I was shaking. And then the German, was in front of the train and he saw me. So he come over and take under my skirt that ham and…

So they sent me Auschwitz.

No, I was sent to Auschwitz because they saw that I was afraid.Mmm. You know, when you… when you live a good life… like a saint… and then you die, that must be what they make you to drink in paradise.

Mmm. You know, when you… when you live a good life… like a saint… and then you die, that must be what they make you to drink in paradise.

Don't you see? We are dying. I longed desperately to escape, to pack my bags and flee, but I did not.

The truth does not make it easier to understand, you know. I mean, you think that you find out the truth about me, and then you'll understand me. And then you would forgive me for all those… for all my lies.

You must never promise that. No one, no one should ever promise that. Ah, the truth, ah, the truth, I don't even know what is the truth - after all these lies I have told.

So, we'll go to that farm tomorrow. But please, Stingo, don't talk about marriage and children. It's enough that we'll go down there on that farm to live... for a while.

Listen, Stingo, I'm beyond 30 years now, you know. What are you going to do with an old Polish lady like me?

I am six months in the... in here, in U.S., and so I eat more good now than in my life.

When I was a little girl, I - I remember, I lay in bed and I hear my mother downstairs playing the piano and the sound of my father's typewriter. I think no child has a more wonderful father and mother. And a more beautiful life.

I knew that - Christ had turned his face away from me - and that only a Jesus who no longer cared for me could kill those people that I love, but - leave me alive - with my shame.

My father. How can I explain how much I loved my father? My father believed that human perfection was possibility. Every night, I pray to God, to forgive me for always making a disappointment to my father. And I pray to him - to make worthy of such a great, good man. I was a grown woman. I was wholly come of age. I was a married woman when I realized that I hate my father beyond all words to tell it.

I see many, many women in your life. Many beautiful women - who adore you and that make all that love with you.

Robert, please. You don't understand, no-one does. When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself. You never in your life think that love like this can happen to you.

I want to keep it forever. I want to love you the way I do now the rest of my life. Don't you understand... we'll lose it if we leave. I can't make an entire life disappear to start a new one. All I can do is try to hold onto to both. Help me. Help me not lose loving you.

I realized love won't obey our expectations, it's mystery is pure and absolute.

I had thoughts about him I hardly knew what to do with, and he read every one. Whatever I wanted, he gave himself up to, and in that moment everything I knew to be true about myself was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before.

I was just going to have some iced tea and split the atom, but that can wait.

We are the choices that we have made, Robert.

And in that moment, everything I knew to be true about myself up until then was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before.

But love won't obey our expectations. Its mystery is pure and absolute. What Robert and I had, could not continue if we were together. What Richard and I shared would vanish if we were apart. But how I wanted to share this. How would our lives have changed if I had? Could anyone else have seen the beauty of it?

I gave my life to my family, I wish to give Robert what is left of me.

So, do you want more eggs or should we just fuck on the linoleum one last time?

They came home. And with them, my life of details.

Watch your thoughts, for they become words. Watch your words, for they become actions. Watch your actions, for they become habits. Watch your habits, for they become your character. And watch your character, for it becomes your destiny. What we think, we become. My father always said that. And I think I am fine.

"How do you feel?" / "Oh, I don't feel comfortable." / "Oh, I'm so sorry, we the group, we're feeling..." Do you know, one of the greatest problems of our age is that we are governed by people who care more about feelings than they do about thoughts and ideas? Now, thoughts and ideas, that interests me.

1941, when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. Did America go cap in hand and ask Tojo for a peaceful negotiation of terms? Did she turn her back on her own citizens there because the islands were thousands of miles from mainland United States? No! No, no! We will stand on principle, or we shall not stand at all.

With all due respect, sir, I have done battle every single day of my life and many men have underestimated me before. This lot seem bound to do the same, but they will rue the day.

It used to be about trying to *do* something. Now it's about trying to *be* someone.

We will stand on principle... or we will not stand at all.

Watch your thoughts, for they become words. Watch your words, because they become actions. Watch your actions, because they become habits. Watch your habits, because they become your character. Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny. What we think, we become.

It's time to get up! It's time go to work! It's time to put the great back into Great Britain!

The Trade Union Movement was founded to protect workers. Now it persecutes them. It stops them from working. It is killing jobs and it is bringing this country to its knees. I say enough. It's time to get up. It's time to go to work. It's time to put the Great back into Great Britain!

Gentlemen, if we don't cut spending we will be bankrupt. Yes the medicine is harsh but the patient requires it in order to live. Shall we withhold the medicine? No! We are not wrong. We did not seek election and win in order to manage the decline of a great nation.The people of this country chose us because they believe we can restore the health of the British economy and we will do just that! Barring a failure of nerve.

It's an odd feeling, farewell. There is such envy in it. Men go off to be tested, for courage. And if we're tested at all, it's for patience, for doing without, for how well we can endure loneliness.

Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road.

The mail has come today, and a friend writes this to me.

"The Masai have reported to the district commissioner at Ngong, that many times, at sunrise and sunset, they have seen lions on Finch-Hatton's grave. A lion and a lioness have come there, and stood or lain on the grave for a long time. After you went away, the ground around the grave was leveled out into a sort of terrace. I suppose that the level place makes a good site for the lions. From there, they have a view over the plain, and the cattle and the game on it."... Denys will like that. I must remember to tell him.

He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.

If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?

I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills. The Equator runs across these highlands, a hundred miles to the north, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet. In the day-time you felt that you had got high up; near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid and restful, and the nights were cold.

"The time you won your town the race, we chaired you through the marketplace; man and boy stood cheering by, as home we brought you shoulder-high. Smart lad, to slip betimes away from fields where glory does not stay. Early though the laurel grows, It withers quicker than a rose. Now you will not swell the rout of lads that wore their honors out. Runners whom renown outran, and the name died 'fore the man. And round that early-laureled head will flock to gaze the strengthless dead and find unwithered on its curls a garland briefer than a girl's."

Now take back the soul of Denys George Finch-Hatton whom you have shared with us. He brought us joy, and we loved him well. He was not ours. He was not mine.

Offers this as a drink toast: "Rose-lipped maidens, Lightfoot lads."

The only woman pretty enough not to wear makeup was Elizabeth Taylor, and she wore a ton.

I thought we were having a funeral dinner not a cockfight.

Karen! Shame on you! Don't you know you're not supposed to say "Cowboys and Indians"? You played "Cowboys and Native Americans". Right, Barb?

Truth is you just can't compete with a younger woman. It's just one of those unfair things in life. Is there a younger woman involved?

You see these babies? These are my best fuckin' friends and they never let me down. You try to take them away from me, I'll eat ya alive!

That man! What I first fell in love with was his mystery. I thought it was sexy as hell! You knew he was the smartest one in the room, then he'd just say something and knock you out. He'd just stand there with a little smile on his face and not say a word. Sexy!

I ever tell you the story of Raymond Qualls? Not much story to it. Boy I had a crush on when I was thirteen or so. Rough-looking boy, beat-up Levis, messy hair. Terrible underbite. But he had these beautiful cowboy boots, shiny chocolate leather. He was so proud of those boots, you could tell, way he'd strut around, all arms and elbows, puffed up and cocksure. I decided I needed to get a girly pair of those same boots and I convinced myself he'd ask me to go steady. He'd see me in those boots and say "Now there's the gal for me." Found the boots in a window downtown and just went crazy: praying for those boots, rehearsing the conversation I'd have with Raymond when he saw me in my boots. Must've asked my momma a hundred times if I could get those boots. "What do you want for Christmas, Vi?" "Momma, I'll give all of it up just for those boots." Bargaining, you know? She started dropping hints about a package under the tree she had wrapped up, about the size of a boot box, nice wrapping paper. "Now, Vi, don't you cheat and look in there before Christmas morning." Little smile on her face. Christmas morning, I was up like a shot, boy, under the tree, tearing open that box. There was a pair of boots, all right... men's work boots, holes in the toes, chewed up laces, caked in mud and dog shit. Lord, my momma laughed for days.

Why don't you go fuck a fuckin' sow's ass?

I dont need your help. I have got myself... I know how this goes. Once all the talking is threw, people just go back to their own nonsenses. I know that so, dont worry about me. I will manage.

I'm a drug addict. I love drug.

I'm so glad one of my girls stayed close to home. In my day, family stuck together.

Every woman needs makeup. Don't let anyone tell you any different.

"This stuff"? Oh. Okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select, I don't know, that... lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis. It's actually cerulean. And you're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? I think we need a jacket here. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers. And then it, uh, filtered down through the department stores, and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs, and it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room, from a pile of "stuff".

Is there some reason that my coffee isn't here? Has she died or something?

You thought I didn't know. I've known what was happening for quite some time. It just took me a little while to find a suitable alternative for Jacqueline. And that James Holt job was just so absurdly overpaid that of course she jumped at it. So I just had to tell Irv that Jacqueline was unavailable. Truth is, there's no one that can do what I do. Including her. Any of the other choices would have found that job impossible and the magazine would have suffered. Especially because of the list. The list of designers, photographers, editors, writers, models, all of whom were found by me, nurtured by me and have promised me they will follow me whenever and if ever I choose to leave Runway. So he reconsidered. But I was very very impressed by how intently you tried to warn me. I never thought I would say this, Andrea, but I really, I see a great deal of myself in you. You can see beyond what people want, and what they need and you can choose for yourself.

Someone must be getting out. Call Donatella. Get her jet. Call everybody else that we know that has a jet - Irv? Call every - this is your responsibi - THIS IS YOUR JOB! Get. Me. HOME!

Do you know why I hired you? I always hire the same girl - stylish, slender, of course... worships the magazine. But so often, they turn out to be - I don't know - disappointing and, um... stupid. So you, with that impressive résumé and the big speech about your so-called work ethic - I, um - I thought you would be different. I said to myself, go ahead. Take a chance. Hire the smart, fat girl. I had hope. My God. I live on it. Anyway, you ended up disappointing me more than, um - more than any of the other silly girls.

Details of your incompetence do not interest me. Tell Simone I'm not going to approve that girl that she sent me for the Brazilian layout. I asked for clean, athletic, smiling. She sent me dirty, tired and paunchy. And R.S.V.P. yes to Michael Kors' party, I want the driver to drop me off at 9:30 and pick me up at 9:45 sharp. Call Natalie at Glorious Foods and tell her no for the 40th time. No! I don't want dacquoise. I want tortes filled with warm rhubarb compote. Then call my ex-husband and remind him that the parent-teacher conference is at Dalton tonight. Then call my husband, ask him to meet me for dinner at that place I went to with Massimo. Tell Richard I saw the pictures that he sent for that feature on the female paratroopers and they're all so deeply unattractive. Is it impossible to find a lovely, slender, female paratrooper? Am I reaching for the stars here? Not really. Also, I need to see all the things that Nigel has pulled for Gwyneth's second cover try. I wonder if she's lost any of that weight yet.