It's called "life," John. Activities available; just add meaning.

Alicia

Nash: You once said that God must be a painter because he gave us so many colors.
Alicia: I didn't think you were listening...
Nash: I was listening.

Nash: Well, Martin Hansen. It is Martin, isn't it?
Hansen: Why yes, John, it is.
Nash: I assume you've gotten quite used to miscalculation. I read your pre-prints. Both of 'em. One on Nazi scientists and the other one on, uh... non-linear equations, and I'm extremely confident that there's not one seminal or innovative idea in either one of them... Enjoy your punch.

I arrived last night. Right in time for English Department cocktails. The cock was mine. The tail belonged to a lovely young thing with a passion for D.H. Lawrence.

Charles

Is my roommate a dick?

Charles

The prodigal roommate arrives.

Charles

[to Thomas King] I still see things that are not here. I just choose not to acknowledge them. Like a diet of the mind, I just choose not to indulge certain appetites; like my appetite for patterns; perhaps my appetite to imagine and to dream.

Nash

I've gotten used to ignoring them and I think, as a result, they've kind of given up on me. I think that's what it's like with all our dreams and our nightmares, Martin, we've got to keep feeding them for them to stay alive.

Nash

Nash: It looks like you won after all.
Hansen: No. They were wrong, John. No one wins.

[offering Nash a flask of whiskey] Listen. If we can't break the ice, how 'bout we drown it?

Charles

Nash. Who's winning ... you, or you?

Hansen

God must be a painter. Why else would we have so many colors?

Alicia

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