Micheal Clayton

Arthur Edens: I just need to make my thoughts a little bit more precise. That's, that's my goal.

Michael Clayton: As good as this feels, you know where it goes.

Arthur Edens: No. No, no, you're wrong. What makes this feel good is that I don't know where it goes.

Arthur Edens: I look up and Marty's standing in my office with a bottle of champagne - he tells me we just hit thirty thousand billable hours on U-North and he wants to celebrate. An hour later, I'm in a whorehouse in Chelsea and two Lithuanian redheads are taking turns sucking on my cock. I'm laying there, I'm trying not to come, I'm trying to make it last, right? So I start doing the math - thirty thousand hours, what is that? Twenty-four times thirty - seven hundred twenty hours in a month, eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours per year...

Michael Clayton: Arthur...

Arthur Edens: Wait! Because it's YEARS! It's lives! And the numbers are making me dizzy, and now I'm not just trying not to come, I'm trying not to THINK! But I can't stop. Is that me? Am I just some freak organism that's been put here to eat and sleep and spend my days defending this one horrific chain of carcinogenic molecules? Is this my place?

Michael Clayton: You promised me, Arthur.

Arthur Edens: Is that it, Michael? Is that my grail? Two Lithuanian mouths on my cock? Is that the correct choice to the multiple choice of me?