What Companies Are Analyzed In 'Good To Great'?

In 'Good to Great', the critical differences between good and great companies are fascinating. Great companies have Level 5 Leadership, where leaders are humble yet driven, focusing on the company's success rather than personal glory. They also follow the Hedgehog Concept, which is about understanding what they can be the best at, what drives their economic engine, and what they are deeply passionate about. Another key difference is the Culture of Discipline, where disciplined people engage in disciplined thought and take disciplined action. Great companies also focus on getting the right people on the bus and the wrong people off the bus before figuring out where to drive it. They use technology as an accelerator, not a creator, of momentum. These principles collectively transform good companies into great ones, making them stand out in their industries.

I’ve always been fascinated by the ideas in 'Good to Great' because it digs into why some companies soar while others stall. One big reason companies fail to make the leap is ignoring the Hedgehog Concept—the sweet spot where passion, talent, and economic drivers intersect. Too many leaders chase trends or spread themselves thin trying to do everything, instead of focusing on what they can be the best at. The book’s case studies show how great companies relentlessly simplify their focus. But failing firms? They get distracted by shiny opportunities or ego-driven projects that don’t align with their core strengths. It’s like watching a chef try to bake, grill, and fry at the same time—they end up burning half the dishes. Another pitfall is weak leadership, especially the lack of Level 5 Leaders. These are the humble, driven CEOs who prioritize the company over personal glory. Struggling companies often have charismatic leaders who love the spotlight but can’t build enduring teams. They might rack up short-term wins, but without a culture of discipline—another key theme in the book—the organization crumbles under pressure. I’ve seen this in tech startups where the founder’s vision overshadows operational grit. The book contrasts this with companies like Kroger, where disciplined action trumped flashy moves. Failing firms also skip the 'flywheel effect,' expecting overnight success instead of compounding small wins. Impatience kills momentum; greatness isn’t a sprint, it’s a thousand tiny pushes in the same direction.

In 'Good to Great', Jim Collins dives deep into what makes companies transition from merely good to truly great. One of the standout traits is Level 5 Leadership. These leaders are a unique blend of humility and professional will. They are not the flashy, charismatic types but rather individuals who are incredibly driven yet modest. They focus on the success of the company rather than their own personal glory. Another critical trait is the Hedgehog Concept. Great companies identify what they can be the best at, what drives their economic engine, and what they are deeply passionate about. This clarity allows them to focus relentlessly on their core strengths. Discipline is another hallmark of these companies. They maintain a culture of discipline where everyone adheres to the company’s core values and long-term goals. This isn’t about rigid control but about empowering people to act within a framework of disciplined thought and action. Technology is also a factor, but not in the way you might think. Great companies use technology as an accelerator, not a creator, of momentum. They carefully select technologies that align with their Hedgehog Concept and use them to enhance their existing strengths. Finally, the Flywheel Effect is crucial. Great companies build momentum through consistent, incremental efforts that compound over time. There’s no single defining action but rather a series of pushes that eventually lead to breakthrough success. This contrasts sharply with the Doom Loop, where companies seek quick fixes and fail to build sustainable momentum. These traits collectively form the blueprint for transforming a good company into a great one, offering valuable lessons for any organization aiming for long-term excellence.

When a scene drops the line 'Don't you remember the secret?', I immediately feel the air change — like someone switching from small talk to something heavy. For me that question is rarely just about a factual lapse. It's loaded: it can be a test (is this person still one of us?), an accusation (how could you forget what binds us?), or a plea wrapped in disappointment. I picture two characters in a quiet kitchen where one keeps bringing up an old promise; it's about trust and shared history, not the secret itself. Sometimes the protagonist uses that line to force a memory to the surface, to provoke a reaction that reveals more than the memory ever would. Other times it's theatrical: the protagonist knows the other party has been through trauma or had their memory altered, and the question is a way of measuring how much was taken. I often think of 'Memento' or the emotional beats in 'Your Name' — memory as identity is a rich theme writers love to mess with. Personally, I relate it to moments with friends where someone says, 'Don’t you remember when…' and I'm clueless — it stings, then we laugh. That sting is what fiction leverages. When the protagonist asks, they're exposing a wound or testing a bond, and that moment can change the whole direction of the story. It lands like a small grenade, and I'm hooked every time.

When I first noticed the repeated line "don't you remember" in the book I was reading on a rainy afternoon, it felt like a tap on the shoulder—gentle, insistent, impossible to ignore. The author uses that phrase as a hinge: it’s both a call and a trap. On one level it functions like a chorus in a song, returning at key emotional moments to pull disparate scenes into a single mood of aching nostalgia. On another level it’s a spotlight on unreliable memory. Whenever a character hears or says "don't you remember," the narrative forces us to question whose memory is being prioritized and how much of the past is manufactured to soothe or accuse. The repetition also creates a rhythm that mimics the mind circling a single painful thought, the way you re-play conversations in bed until they lose meaning. I loved how each recurrence altered slightly—tone, punctuation, context—so the phrase ages with the characters. Early uses read like a teasing prompt; later ones sound like a tired demand. That shift quietly maps the arc of regret, denial, and eventual confrontation across the story, and it made me want to reread scenes to catch the subtle changes I missed the first time.

Watching a movie or reading a novel, I often don’t register certain scene features as twists until much later — the little calm-before-the-storm moments that are designed to feel normal. One time in a packed theater I laughed at a throwaway line in 'The Sixth Sense' and only on the walk home did it click how pivotal that tiny exchange actually was. Those things that I gloss over are usually background reactions, offhand props, or a seemingly pointless cutaway to a street vendor. I’ve also missed musical cues that later reveal themselves as twist signposts. A soft melody repeating in different scenes, or a sudden silence right before something big happens, doesn’t always register for me in the moment. In TV shows like 'True Detective' or games like 'The Last of Us', the score does a lot of the heavy lifting — but my brain sometimes treats it like wallpaper. Finally, I’m terrible at spotting intentional mise-en-scène tricks: color shifts, mirrored frames, or a one-frame insert that telegraphs a reveal. I’ll only notice them on a rewatch and then feel thrilled and slightly annoyed at myself. It’s part of the fun though — those delayed realizations make rewatching feel like a second, sweeter first time.

Oh, I love questions like this because they bring out my inner film nerd and my habit of pausing at the credits to rewatch the final line. Without the movie title I can't be 100% sure if the film ends with the line "don't you remember?", because that exact line shows up in lots of movies and TV moments—especially those that toy with memory, regrets, or unresolved relationships. If you want to check quickly, grab the subtitle file (SRT) and Ctrl+F for the exact phrase; subtitles are the fastest way to confirm dialogue word-for-word. Another trick I use when I'm too lazy to open the subtitles is to search the web for the phrase in quotes plus the word movie—Google often pulls up transcripts, forum posts, or a snippet from a script. If you tell me the title, I can tell you exactly where the last line falls and whether that line is really the final spoken line or just the last line before credits or an epilogue. Either way, I find it fun to see how that sort of line changes a whole film's meaning depending on whether it's truly the last word or part of a fading memory.

I get why you're hunting for a continuation of 'Don't You Remember' — that cliffhanger can keep you up at night. The easiest places I start are Archive of Our Own and FanFiction.net because a lot of writers post sequels or linked works there, and both sites have author profile pages where they list series or sequel links. If you know the author name, search their profile first; if they wrote a follow-up it’s usually listed as part of a series or under “works in progress.” If that fails, I go broader: Wattpad for teen-targeted continuations, Tumblr tags (search the story title in quotes plus the fandom), and Reddit subs dedicated to the fandom. I also sometimes find authors cross-posting on their blogs, Patreon, or Ko-fi, so check any linked social accounts on the author’s profile. If a chapter was deleted, the Wayback Machine or archive.is can be a lifesaver; paste the original chapter URL there and see if an archived copy exists. When all else fails, I politely DM the author or leave a comment requesting a continuation — many creators are surprised and happy to know readers want more, and they might share drafts or posting plans. Happy hunting — and if you want, tell me the fandom and I’ll dig into specific communities for you.