Quotes from Season1

“To my son, the writer. Something I never said too much: I love you. My father never said it much, either. And I thought I’d be different, but I guess I’m not. I tried, but somewhere along the line, you slip back into what you know, and I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry we haven’t talked in a while because I miss you. You’re a good kid and a funny kid. And you’re my only son.

I said I never read your books, but I lied. I read them all. I just didn’t know how to talk about them with you. I didn’t like the fathers in them. I know you writers take liberties, but I was afraid that maybe you didn’t take any at all. But the thing is boys become men, and men become husbands and fathers, and we do the best we can. You’re doing the best you can. You’ve done good. Your books will be in libraries long after we’re both gone, and this is important.

More important is how you treat your family. I wasn’t a perfect husband, but I loved your mother, and I’m glad we spent our lives together. And I’m here if you need me. That’s all I wanted to say.

Love, your old man.

P.S. I saw a preview of your movie the other night. It looks like a piece of shit, maybe you were right.”

Okay, so who do I have to fuck to get a cocktail around here?

You know, it’s all well and good to talk about happy endings. But if a person can’t deliver, if he keeps screwing up, well, eventually, I guess you kind of just have to say “fuck you” or words to that effect.

Who says we have to be realistic?

Not to contradict your dear old mom, who’s both wicked smart and wonderful, but, no, we don’t have to be realistic. Not when it comes to love.

What is a marriage, if not an opportunity to mock someone through thick and thin while simultaneously exploring your deepest darkest sexual desires?

I’m trying to mentally masturbate about it, but an image of you keeps popping. That’s a problem.

I know you Hebrews do things a little differently, but last I checked, a ménage ą trois was not a pit stop on the road to redemption.

How the fuck do you option a blog? What is there to option? The title? The font?

So, if it goes badly, I’ll have to fire her. Shit, if it goes well, I’d have to fire her. Either way, I’m out one fucking secretary and up a giant lawsuit.

I don’t wanna go where Hank has been. He probably left booby traps up there like the Vietcong.

I just threw up in my mouth a little. You had 20 centuries of halfway decent verse to choose from and you’re going with some minor Frosty?

Well, basically it’s about how nothing good ever lasts. How, no matter what you do, it all just turns to shit in the end. You know, like you and mom.

Just because something is bleak doesn’t necessarily make it true.

Happy endings may get a bad rep, but they do happen. And when they do, they’re just as true as the unhappy ones.

“Rome is burning”, he said, as he poured himself another drink. “Yet here I am, knee-deep in a river of pussy. Here it comes,” she thought, “another self-indulgent, whiskey-soaked diatribe about how fucking great everything was in the past and how all us poor souls born too late to see the Stones at wherever or snort the good coke like they had at studio 54.” Well, we had all just missed out on practically everything worth living for. And the worst part was, she agreed with him. “Here we are,” she thought, “at the edge of the world, the very edge of western civilization, and all of us are so desperate to feel something, anything, that we keep falling into each other and fucking our way towards the end of days.”

If I can make you laugh like that, why can’t we be together? That’s what I don’t understand.

You don’t want to be with me. You think… I know you think you do. But if I were to give myself to you, you would run for the hills, ’cause you’re not in love with me. You’re in love with the idea… The idea of love.

How can you be so fucking beautiful and so fucking wrong?

You know, I dropped an Advil on the floor earlier and couldn’t find it. I thought maybe you could crawl around and look for it.

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