Movie Quotes Monty Python And The Holy Grail Novels & Stories

The quote was attributed to Winnie the Pooh, and the center of the box frame held one of Michelle’s baby pictures. The TV was the Deadmonds’ reliable old Curtis Mathis, surely so out-dated that it couldn’t possibly even work anymore. He stared at it, a hint of a smile touching his lips (“I object to all this sex on the television,” Michelle used to joke in her best British, Monty Python voice. “I mean, I keep falling off!”), and he felt that rough diamond trying to rise again.

“What kind of garbage are you making me watch?” “Something better than the garbage you probably picked up.” “Doubtful. Jurassic Park is a classic,” he said, shocking me. He reached over and plucked my movie from my grip. “Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, now I get the hitchhiker therapy reference,” he said, not handing back the movie. “Don’t judge me, it’s funny.”

I asked airily, exhausted. “Yes,” he answered, “we will make comments while we watch…” he examined the column of DVDs available on the rack next to the TV. “Oh, yes! I knew she was a keeper!” He turned around and held up my old copy of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and he was holding it like it was, in fact, the holy grail. “Please tell me that’s yours,” Nick asked as he turned to me in excitement. I nodded and chuckled. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

added Maurice. “Our three chief weapons are surprise, being underestimated—” “And a fanatical devotion to the Pope.” “Our four chief weapons—” “What the fook are you two going on about?” said Flossie. “Not a Monty Python fan?” I said. Flossie shrugged. “Ni,” and then she walked off. “Wait,” I looked at Maurice, “was that a Python reference?” Maurice looked as unsure as me. “It couldn’t have been... could it?”

Turning on the screen, I open HBO to hit play on the movie already cued up. “Perfect Day,” plays through the speakers as I settle into the couch, munching on my midnight snack. Wiggling to get comfortable, I let my favorite movie wash away the complications piling up in my life. They’re so many it’s impossible to count them using both hands, and I do not know how to handle any of them, so I’ll just ignore them for now. A third of the way into the movie, a husky voice has me finding Matt standing in the doorway. His blue irises shining mischievously as he quotes his favorite line of the movie. “Whoever said orange is the new pink is seriously deranged.”

Which left the disturbing thought that he had only backed out of sight and was still out there watching from the vegetation. As the chill whispered along my arms—neither decisiveness nor detachment deadens one—the Pink Floyd line from the song of the same title came with its eerie, vacuum-like emphasis on the last two words: Is there anybody . . . out there? With my actions and sensations still happening on some separate plane, the idea of voicing the question seemed both ridiculous and strangely pointless. I hovered there, an elephantine ghost myself, and then I heard, from deeper in the garden and fading with each adjective issued, the ditty from the Monty Python movie. Only this time ther

“But before you, it was moss green—like the hills back home.” “Mine’s blue too,” I admitted. “Fitting, right?” We toasted our matching favorites with playful head nods. “Favorite movies?” he countered. “Almost Famous,” I said, smiling at the thought of van life soundtracks. “The Big Lebowski,” he answered without skipping a beat—“That white Russian scene gets me every time.”

“Tits. That’s my first memory.” I sighed and hung my head as she continued on her reverie, holding her hands out in front of her like the ‘huge… tracts of land’ guy in Monty Python’s The Holy Grail. “Big ol’ fuckin’ tits – firm ones, big as my head, with – ” “RILEY.” “What?” “I SAID A REAL INTERVIEW.” “That’s what I’m givin’ ya, Blondie.” “No you’re not. You’re just talking about your favorite subject, is all.”

“Galahad? Well, if an actor from Monty Python can behold the Divine Mysteries, I think I'm pretty good.” The lion sighed. “Well. Considering master has abandoned me with the torturous likes of you, I don't see why not.” His maw opened wide, the lock clicked, and the cellar creaked open. It was dank, musty, and smelled like fetid water.

"How about a decent movie this time?" "Harry Potter?" I ask. His whole face lights up. "I can kiss you right now." He chooses Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which happens to be both our favorites, and we lean back and watch. I'm really absorbed in the beginning—how could someone ever get bored during a Harry Potter movie?—but then my eyes start to droop. I guess the past day and a half have been a little too exciting for me. Before I know it. I'm out cold.