Jordan Black: Will we always be together?
Frank Black: Of course.
Jordan Black: Forever?
Frank Black: Well, nobody gets forever.
Jose Chung: I humbly add my own prophecy of what the dawn of the new millennium shall bring forth: one thousand years of the same old crap.
Jose Chung: Unlike profiling serial killers, writing is a lonely and depressing profession.
Maddie: I was at church Easter Sunday, and the minister was talking about the mystery of faith, and how easy it is to doubt what you can’t prove, and how none of us saw the miracle at the Lord’s tomb that day, all we had to do was to believe in it hard enough, and it would be true. And that’s what faith was. He said that we can’t be weak, that we can’t dismiss the miracle, that we have to be strong enough to make mysteries real.
Polaroid Stalker: I smell bacon, I smell pork. Run little piggy, I got a fork.
Peter Watts: St. Augustine said that miracles are not contrary to nature, only what we know about nature.
Alex Ventoux: God doesn’t move us by telling us the facts. He moves us by pains and contradictions. He’s given me a lack of understanding: not answers, but questions. An invitation to marvel.
Teresa Roe: There’s a system in place. One that constantly evaluates our youths and our lives with no application of relativity. A 4.0 will succeed, a 2.5 will not. Below 750 on the SATs, and certain doors close. Now quality of person, sense of humor, heart; these are not on any applications. It’s all about your numbers…Numbers which tell a young person at 18 they’re through, and unless there is some miracle of timing or events, and greatness is stressed upon you, your life is over.
Bob Bletcher: If it was 500 years ago, you’d have been burned as a witch.
Frank Black: Nothing I do is magic, Bob.
Bob Bletcher: Yeah, a lot of people shouted just that from the middle of a bonfire.
Tom Black: I feel nothing. There’s nothing inside. None of this is real.
Bob Bletcher: What do you see?
Frank Black: I see what the killer sees.
Bob Bletcher: What, like a psychic?
Frank Black: No. I put myself in his head. I become the thing we fear the most.
Bob Bletcher: How?
Frank Black: I become capability. I become the horror. What we know we can become only in our heart of darkness. It’s my gift. It’s my curse.
William Gary: Do you know what it’s like to scream in silence three hundred and sixty five days of the year?
Catherine Black: Your gift gave you a nervous breakdown. This gift makes you see horrible images. It’s turning you away from your family, from your daughter. It’s caused you to turn to the Millennium Group. Frank, you never even consider that this gift that you have could be lying to you. What is it going to do to Jordan? I want her to have a chance. I want a childhood free from this. I want her to know she has somewhere to turn other than within herself.
Peter Watts: You know, that for almost the entire history of Western civilization this month has been a holy time. The Druids, winter solstice, Hannakah, the Romans converted Saternali into Christmas. Imagine that, Christ wasn’t even born on this day. Maybe not even ninteen hundred ninety-seven years ago. So no one knows for sure when the millennium really begins. And how much time is left.
Detective: Someone pulled a John Wayne Bobbit, post mortem.
Emma Hollis: It’s not an uncommon mutilation.
Detective: Well, that’s comforting.
The Old Man: We must respect evil, and we must make evil respect us.
Detective Giebelhouse: He’s a damn saint.
Frank Black: Or worse.
Frank Black: I’m having these nightmares, visions, that are the manifestation of pure evil.
Frank Black: I’m not depressed. Just quiet.
Frank Black: We live in a world where too many people won’t go far enough… won’t do what they know is right… what they believe. I don’t know how or why it got this way but the world has become so complicated, to involve yourself in someone else’s problems is to invite them needlessly on yourself.
Frank Black: All I ask is that I go before my daughter.
Frank Black: It is prophesied that when the end comes, it will come in darkness: a catastrophe all foresaw but few believed. Most of us will battle too late against the chaos, but not the few, the radical few, who obey no discipline. Unencumbered by conscience, they prepare ruthlessly pursuing their own preservation. If they survive, the rest of us perish.