— I’m gonna kill myself. — Oh, shit, Howard. — I’m gonna blow my brains out, right on the air, right in the middle of the seven o’clock news. — You’ll get a hell of a rating, I’ll guarantee you that. 50 share, easy. — You think so? — Sure. — We could make a series out of it. Suicide of the Week. Hell, why limit ourselves? Execution of the Week. — Terrorist of the Week!  — I love it. Suicides, assassinations, mad bombers, Mafia hit men, automobile smash-ups..The Death Hour. Great Sunday-night show for the whole family. We’ll wipe that fuckin’ Disney right off the air.
Network, Sidney Lumet

— I’m gonna kill myself.
— Oh, shit, Howard.
— I’m gonna blow my brains out, right on the air, right in the middle of the seven o’clock news.
— You’ll get a hell of a rating, I’ll guarantee you that. 50 share, easy.
— You think so?
— Sure.
— We could make a series out of it. Suicide of the Week. Hell, why limit ourselves? Execution of the Week.
— Terrorist of the Week!
— I love it. Suicides, assassinations, mad bombers, Mafia hit men, automobile smash-ups..The Death Hour. Great Sunday-night show for the whole family. We’ll wipe that fuckin’ Disney right off the air.

Network, Sidney Lumet

— Yesterday I announced that I was going to commit public suicide. Admittedly, an act of madness. I’ll tell you what happened: I just ran out of bullshit.  — Alright, cut him off. — Leave him on! — Bullshit is all the reasons we give for living. If we can’t think up reasons of our own, we have the God bullshit. Through all this pointless pain, humiliation and decay, so there better be someone somewhere who does know, that’s the God bullshit.  — He’s saying life is bullshit, and it is! So what are you screaming about? — Man is a noble creature that can order his own world. Who needs God? If there’s anybody that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world and say man is a noble creature, believe me, that man is full of bullshit! I was married for 33 years of shrill, shrieking fraud. So, I don’t have any bullshit left. I just ran out of it, you see.Network, Sidney Lumet

— Yesterday I announced that I was going to commit public suicide. Admittedly, an act of madness. I’ll tell you what happened: I just ran out of bullshit.
— Alright, cut him off.
— Leave him on!
— Bullshit is all the reasons we give for living. If we can’t think up reasons of our own, we have the God bullshit. Through all this pointless pain, humiliation and decay, so there better be someone somewhere
who does know, that’s the God bullshit.
— He’s saying life is bullshit, and it is! So what are you screaming about?
— Man is a noble creature that can order his own world. Who needs God? If there’s anybody that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world and say man is a noble creature, believe me, that man is full of bullshit! I was married for 33 years of shrill, shrieking fraud. So, I don’t have any bullshit left. I just ran out of it, you see.

Network, Sidney Lumet

Felice del bene presente, smunto del male sofferto, l’Uomo vuole tutto sondare, e sapere. Il Pensiero, la giumenta a lungo, a lungo oppressa si slancia dalla sua fronte. E saprà il Perché! Che balzi libera, e l’Uomo avrà la Fede! […] Noi non possiamo sapere! Noi siamo vinti da un manto d’ignoranza e di grette chimere. Scimmie d’uomini cadute dalla vulva materna, la nostra pallida ragione ci occulta l’infinito. Noi vogliamo guardare. Il Dubbio ci punisce! Il dubbio, mesto uccello, ci colpisce con l’ala e l’orizzonte fugge in una fuga eterna.
Sole e Carne, A. Rimbaud

Felice del bene presente, smunto del male sofferto,
l’Uomo vuole tutto sondare, e sapere. Il Pensiero,
la giumenta a lungo, a lungo oppressa
si slancia dalla sua fronte. E saprà il Perché!
Che balzi libera, e l’Uomo avrà la Fede!
[…] Noi non possiamo sapere! Noi siamo vinti
da un manto d’ignoranza e di grette chimere.
Scimmie d’uomini cadute dalla vulva materna,
la nostra pallida ragione ci occulta l’infinito.
Noi vogliamo guardare. Il Dubbio ci punisce!
Il dubbio, mesto uccello, ci colpisce con l’ala
e l’orizzonte fugge in una fuga eterna.

Sole e Carne, A. Rimbaud