“Just remember it takes eight minutes for light to travel from the sun to Earth, which means you'll know we've succeeded about eight minutes after we deliver the payload. All you have to do is look out for a little extra brightness in the sky. So if you wake up one morning and it's a particularly beautiful day, you'll know we made it.”
“And we shouldn’t be here at all, if we’d known more about it before it we started. But I suppose it’s often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of sport, as…
“I'm sorry, too, Dmitri... I'm very sorry... All right, you're sorrier than I am, but I am sorry as well... I am as sorry as you are, Dmitri! Don't say that you're more sorry than I am, because I'm capable of being just as sorry as you are... So we're both sorry, all right?... All right.”
That moment when the credits roll and the screen says “based on the book by P. D. James” and you shout “Yeah, lOoSeLy!!!” and leave and know you’re going to be irritated the rest of the day because HOW could anyone begin with the beauty and profundity of that book and end with a movie up to its ears in emotional mehness and containing about as much impact as two fruit flies having a boxing match *inhales* not to mention being stripped of as much of the religious themes as humanly possible.
I hate that moment.