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Being politically correct means always having to say you're sorry. believe me, the power and pleasure and the emotion of this moment is a constant speed of light.

-Tom Hanks

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Being Politically Correct Means Always Having To

Tom Hanks

Being politically correct means always having to say you're sorry. believe me, the power and pleasure and the emotion of this moment is a constant speed of light.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"being politically correct means always having to say you&#039;re sorry. believe me, the power and pleasure and the emotion of this moment is a constant speed of light."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Tom Hanks</footer>
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Sorry Believe Mean

More From Tom Hanks

You say: 'oh, please forgive' you say: 'oh, live and let live.' but sorry doesn't help us. sorry will not save us. sorry is just a word you find so easy to say (so you say it anyway). sorry doesn't help us. sorry won't protect us. sorry won't undo all the good gone wrong.

Be politically correct, but please don't bother other people with conversation about being politically correct, because that's the end of everything. you want to create boredom? be politically correct in your conversation.

Speed is the form of ecstasy the technical revolution has bestowed on man. as opposed to a motorcyclist, the runner is always present in his body, forever required to think about his blisters, his exhaustion; when he runs he feels his weight, his age, more conscious than ever of himself and of his time of life. this all changes when man delegates the faculty of speed to a machine: from then on, his own body is outside the process, and he gives over to a speed that is noncorporeal, nonmaterial, pure speed, speed itself, ecstasy speed.

Greek architecture taught me that the column is where the light is not, and the space between is where the light is. it is a matter of no-light, light, no-light, light. a column and a column brings light between them. to make a column which grows out of the wall and which makes its own rhythm of no-light, light, no-light, light: that is the marvel of the artist.

The master speed no speed of wind or water rushing by but you have speed far greater. you can climb back up a stream of radiance to the sky, and back through history up the stream of time. and you were given this swiftness, not for haste nor chiefly that you may go where you will, but in the rush of everything to waste, that you may have the power of standing still-- off any still or moving thing you say. two such as you with such a master speed from one another once you are agreed that life is only life forevermore together wing to wing and oar to oar.

Sorry' he said. 'no, i'm sorry.' 'what are you sorry for?' 'rattling on like a mad old cow. i'm sorry, i'm tired, bad day, and i'm sorry for being so...boring.' 'you're not that boring.' 'i am, dex. god, i swear i bore myself.' 'well, you don't bore me.' he took her hand in his. 'you could never bore me. you're one in a million, em.

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There was a nobility in poverty when i was growing up. my mom was poor but she was planting roses and she was cleaning the steps, you know what i mean. you didn't feel sorry for yourself.

I feel sorry for anyone who is in a place where he feels strange and stupid.

I can see myself watching him shave every morning. and at other time i see us in that house and see how one bright day (or a day like this, so cold your mind shifts every time the wind does) he will wake up and decide it's all wrong. i'm sorry, he'll say. i have to leave now.

I'm calm," rachel insisted. "every time i'm around you, some monsters attack us. what's to be nervous about?" "look," i said. "i'm sorry about the band room. i hope they didn't kick you our or anything." "nah. they asked me a lot of questions about you. i played dumb." "was it hard?" annabeth asked.

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