He came in a primitive, rickety buggy, drawn by an old, moccasin-colored horse, which, it is to be hoped, had seen better days.

I'll tell you. We got two categories of pilots around here. We got your prime pilots that get all the hot planes. And we got you pudknockers who dream about getting the hot planes.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow’r Dost hold time’s fickle glass his sickle hour

“Project Greenlight,” however, bore down on the soft underbelly of the movie business, focusing on the delusions and colossal blunders of first-time directors, seemingly selected as much for their unlovability as their talent.