Francis Ford Coppola

When are you gonna get a new scrambler, Harry? This one went out with the Trojan War.

Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen, what we have here is the Moran S-15 harmonica tap. This electronic marvel can be installed in a matter of two minutes. Notice here it has its own nickel cadmium power source, so it cannot be detected on the line. Once installed, it can be phoned from any telephone in the world, Singapore, Karachi, even Moscow. I say Moscow 'cause you look a little Russian there, sir, with the beard. You just dial the target's phone number, pause before the last digit, blow the harmonica tone into the phone, press the last digit. The phone will not ring in the target's house. Instead, the receiver will be turned into an actual room microphone, thus enabling surveillance to take place.

I know you heard this a thousand times, Harry, but let me say it again. Here's to Harry, the best, bar none. I'll drink to that.

You know, I was rereading Dear Abby the other night, and there was this article, a letter from a fella called "Lonely and Anonymous." I think it was Harry.

You know something, Harry? Twelve years ago, I recorded every telephone call made by the presidential nominee of a major political party. I don't want to say which party. But everywhere he went, that's where I was. Coast to coast, I was listening, Harry. I'm not saying I elected the President of the United States, but you can draw your own conclusions, Harry.

Know what these things cost, Harry? This cost 1,500 beans. Come on. On the house, from me to you.

Now I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.

My compliments to the General. Please inform him that I do not care to drink with him or any other Russian son of a bitch.

Fixed fortifications are monuments to the stupidity of man. If mountain ranges and oceans can be overcome, then anything built by man can be overcome.

They're ivory. Only a pimp from a cheap New Orleans whorehouse would carry a pearl-handled pistol.

Now there's another thing I want you to remember. I don't want to get any messages saying that "we are holding our position." We're not holding anything. Let the Hun do that. We are advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding onto anything except the enemy. We're going to hold onto him by the nose and we're going to kick him in the ass. We're going to kick the hell out of him all the time and we're going to go through him like crap through a goose!

For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of a triumph - a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot, or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting.

Now, there's one thing that you men will be able to say when you get back home. And you may thank God for it. Thirty years from now, when you're sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks you, "What did you do in the great World War II," you won't have to say, "Well... I shoveled shit in Louisiana."

We're gonna keep fighting. Is that CLEAR? We're gonna attack all night, we're gonna attack tomorrow morning. If we are not VICTORIOUS, let no man come back alive!

The last great opportunity of a lifetime - an entire world at war, and I'm left out of it? God will not permit this to happen! I will be allowed to fulfill my destiny! His will be done.

This is where it pays off, the training and the discipline. No other outfit in the world could pull out of a winter battle, move a hundred miles, go into a major attack with no rest, no sleep, no hot food. God… God, I'm proud of these men!

In about fifteen minutes, we're going to start turning these boys into fanatics - razors. They'll lose their fear of the Germans. I only hope to God they never lose their fear of me.

Don't admit this yellow bastard. There's nothing wrong with him. I won't have sons-of-bitches who are afraid to fight stinking up this place of honor!

You're going back to the front, my friend. You may get shot, and you may get killed, but you're going up to the fighting. Either that, or I'm going to stand you up in front of a firing squad. I ought to shoot you myself, you god-damned... bastard! Get him out of here!

Take him up to the front! You hear me? You God-damned coward!

Gentlemen, from this moment, any soldier without leggings, without a helmet, without a tie, any man with unshined shoes or a soiled uniform… is going to be skinned.

Now, an army is a team - it lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team. This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap. The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about individuality for the Saturday Evening Post don't know anything more about real battle than they do about fornicating.

Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech Thee of Thy great goodness to restrain this immoderate weather with which we have had to contend. Grant us fair weather for battle. Graciously harken to us as solders who call upon Thee that, armed with Thy power, we may advance from victory to victory, and crush the oppression and wickedness of our enemies, and establish Thy justice among men and nations. AMEN.

The Carthaginians defending the city were attacked by three Roman legions. The Carthaginians were proud and brave but they couldn't hold. They were massacred. Arab women stripped them of their tunics and their swords and lances. The soldiers lay naked in the sun. Two thousand years ago. I was here.

There's only one proper way for a professional soldier to die: the last bullet of the last battle of the last war.

Now, we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. You know, I actually pity those poor Hun bastards we're going up against, by God, I do. We're not just going to shoot the bastards, we're going to cut out their living guts and use them to grease the treads on our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun bastards by the bushel.

I love it. God help me I do love it so. I love it more than my life.

Men, all this stuff you've heard about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans traditionally love to fight. All real Americans love the sting of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, big league ball players, the toughest boxers. Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost, and will never lose a war… because the very thought of losing is hateful to Americans.

Look at that, gentlemen. Compared to war, all other forms of human endeavor shrink to insignificance.

I can assure you that I had no intention of being either harsh or cruel in my treatment of the... soldier in question. My sole purpose was to try to restore in him some sense of appreciation of his obligations as a man and as a soldier. "If one could shame a coward," I felt, "one might help him to regain his self-respect." This was on my mind. Now, I freely admit that my method was wrong, but I hope you can understand my motive. And that you will accept this explanation... and this... apology.

You want to know why this outfit got the hell kicked out of it? A blind man could spot it. They don't act like soldiers; they don't look like soldiers; why should they be expected to fight like soldiers?

Well, I'm my favorite General. I don't want to be told that some second stringer is up against me; Then *I* lose face.

You know, Dick, if I had my way, I'd meet Rommel face to face; him in his tank and me in mine. We'd meet out there somewhere... salute each other, maybe drink a toast, then we'd button up and do battle. The winner would decide the outcome of the entire war.

Well, the hell with the Mongoloid Russians. We've given them Berlin, we've given them Prague, God knows what else. Are we gonna let them dictate policy too?

Well, the war shouldn't be over. We should stop pussyfooting about the goddamn Russians! We're gonna have to fight them sooner or later anyway. Why not do it now, when we got the the army here to do it with? lnstead of disarming these German troops, we oughta get them to help us fight the damn Bolsheviks!

I don't give a damn if it is. I'll tell you something Bedell, up until now, we've been fighting the wrong people. Look, you and Ike don't have to get involved, you're so damn soft about it. You leave it to me. In 10 days, I'll have us a war with those sons of bitches and I'll make it look like their fault!

Well, I'm no diplomat! I'm a combat soldier! That's all these jokers understand! You get Ike to give me the word, and I'll kick their behinds back into Russia where they belong!

The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them. Spill their blood. Shoot them in the belly. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do.

"Wonder weapons?" My God, I don't see the wonder in them. Killing without heroics. Nothing is glorified? Nothing is reaffirmed? No heroes, no cowards, no troops, no generals. Only those who are left alive and those who are left… dead. I won't live to see it.

Oh God, thou are my God. Early will I seek thee. My soul thirsteth for thee. My flesh longeth for thee, in a dry and thirsty land, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary. My soul followeth hard after thee, but those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the Earth. They shall fall by the sword. They shall be a portion for foxes. But the king shall rejoice in God. Everyone that sweareth by Him shall glory, but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.

There's absolutely no reason for us to assume the Germans are mounting a major offensive. The weather is awful, their supplies are low, and the German Army hasn't mounted a winter offensive since the time of Frederick the Great. Therefore, I believe that's exactly what they're going to do.

Ah, doctor. I understand you have two cases of, uh, self-inflicted wounds. Uh, get 'em out of here. I don't care if he dies. Just get him someplace, but out of here. He doesn't belong in the same building with men that have been wounded in battle.

Please don't argue with me, sergeant. I can smell a battlefield.

All my life… I've wanted to lead a lot of men in a desperate battle. Now I'm going to do it.

Yesterday, the inspector general's office told me… my Italian prisoners didn't have enough latrines. Hell, they didn't know what a damn latrine was till I showed 'em.

Uh, my dear ladies… Until today, my only experience at welcoming… Has been to welcome Germans and Italians… To the infernal regions.

Because, uh, as soon as our soldiers… Meet and get to know the English ladies… And, uh, write home and tell our women… Just how lovely you- you truly are… Then the sooner the American ladies will get jealous… And force this war to a quick termination. And then I will get a chance to go to the pacific… And kill Japanese.

There are no coffins here, since there is no wood.

You know, I think those stars would better on a green shirt. Did I ever tell you about the time I designed a uniform for tank crewmen? It was, uh, green leather, had red stripes, and sort of, uh, a row of brass buttons down across here, and topped off by a gold football helmet.

The Army rejected it, of course. Goddamn, it was beautiful.

I'd crawl on my belly to get a command. For god's sake, you've gotta get me in this fight. Only way I can get out of the doghouse is to do something spectacular. I gotta get back in the war. My god, Hitler's own people tried to kill him a couple of days ago. First thing you know, it'll all be over, and… I'll… keep my mouth shut. I'll behave myself. I give you my word.

We'll, then cut two holes in your helmet so that you can, and get those yellow bellies out of here, today.

What's the difference between a lawyer and a hooker? A hooker'll stop screwing you when you're dead.

How do you know when a lawyer is lying? When his lips are moving.

In my first year of law school everybody loved everybody else, 'cause we were all studying the law, and the law was a noble thing. By my third year you were lucky if you weren't murdered in your sleep. People stole exams, hid research materials from the library, and lied to the professors. Such is the nature of the profession.

My dad hated lawyers. You might think I became one just to piss him off, but you'd be wrong. Did piss him off so much though that when he heard he fell off a ladder and didn't know who to sue first.

There's gotta be a hundred years of law experience sitting at this very table. My staff has flunked the bar exam six times.

Sworn in by a fool and vouched for by a scoundrel. I'm a lawyer at last.

My father hated lawyers all his life. He wasn't a great guy, my old man. He drank and beat up my mother; he beat me up too. So you might think I became a lawyer just to piss him off. But you'd be wrong. I wanted to be a lawyer ever since I read about the Civil Rights lawyers in the 50s and 60s, and the amazing uses they found for the law. They did what a lot of people thought was the impossible. They gave lawyers a good name. And so I went to law school. And it did piss my father off - he was pissed off anyway.

I knew exactly what was going on here. Just like when Daddy was in the bedroom crying and Mommy was sitting in the kitchen, face all bloody, saying that Daddy was sorry.

I'm hot. In fact, I'm so hot, there's no place for me to go but down. Every client I ever have will expect the same magic, nothing less. I could probably give it to them, if it didn't matter how I did it. Then I'd wake up one morning and find that I'd become Leo Drummond

Half an hour ago her husband came in and threw a bowl of soup at her, because she just didn't get how much he loved her.

Every lawyer, at least once in every case, feels himself crossing a line that he doesn't really mean to cross. It just happens, and if you cross it enough times it disappears forever. And then you're nothing but another lawyer joke, just another shark in the dirty water.

A lawyer's not supposed to become personally involved with his clients. but there's all kinds of lawyers. and all kinds of clients, too.

Saigon… shit; I'm still only in Saigon… Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the jungle. When I was home after my first tour, it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. I hardly said a word to my wife, until I said "yes" to a divorce. When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle. I'm here a week now... waiting for a mission... getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger. Each time I looked around the walls moved in a little tighter.

I was going to the worst place in the world and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up a river that snaked through the war like a main circuit cable plugged straight into Kurtz. It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz's memory any more than being back in Saigon was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story really is a confession, then so is mine.

Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. It was a real choice mission, and when it was over, I never wanted another.

How many people had I already killed? There were those six that I knew about for sure. Close enough to blow their last breath in my face. But this time, it was an American and an officer. That wasn't supposed to make any difference to me, but it did. Shit… charging a man with murder in this place was like handing out speeding tickets in the Indy 500. I took the mission. What the hell else was I gonna do?

In a war there are many moments for compassion and tender action. There are many moments for ruthless action - what is often called ruthless - what may in many circumstances be only clarity, seeing clearly what there is to be done and doing it, directly, quickly, awake, looking at it.

As for the charges against me, I am unconcerned. I am beyond their timid lying morality, and so I am beyond caring.

It's a way we had over here for living with ourselves. We cut 'em in half with a machine gun and give 'em a Band-Aid. It was a lie. And the more I saw them, the more I hated lies.

Well, he wasn't a bad officer, I guess. He loved his boys, and he felt safe with 'em. He was just one of those guys with that weird light around him. He just knew he wasn't gonna get so much as a scratch here.

I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror... Horror has a face... and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies! I remember when I was with Special Forces... seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate some children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for polio, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there, and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile. A pile of little arms. And I remember... I... I... I cried, I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out; I didn't know what I wanted to do! And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it... I never want to forget. And then I realized... like I was shot... like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought, my God... the genius of that! The genius! The will to do that! Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we, because they could stand that these were not monsters, these were men... trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love... but they had the strength... the strength... to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men, our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral... and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling... without passion... without judgment... without judgment! Because it's judgment that defeats us.

We train young men to drop fire on people, but their commanders won't allow them to write "fuck" on their airplanes because it's obscene!

I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my dream; that's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor... and surviving.

They train young men to drop fire on people. But their commanders won't allow them to write 'fuck' on their airplanes because it is obscene.

I worry that my son might not understand what I've tried to be. And if I were to be killed, Willard, I would want someone to go to my home and tell my son everything. Everything I did, everything you saw, because there's nothing that I detest more than the stench of lies. And if you understand me, Willard, you will do this for me.

I went down that river once when I was a kid. There's a place in that river - I can't remember - must have been a gardenia plantation at one time. It's all wild and overgrown now, but about five miles, you'd think that heaven just fell on the earth in the form of gardenias. Have you considered any real freedoms? Freedoms from the opinions of others. Even the opinions of yourself.

We must kill them. We must incinerate them. Pig after pig… cow after cow… village after village… army after army…

As long as cold beer, hot food, rock 'n' roll, and all the other amenities remain expected norm, our conduct of the war will only gain impotence.

The horror… the horror…