āSo if I asked you about art youād probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Lifeās work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you canāt tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. Youāve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that. If I asked you about women youād probably give me a syllabus of your personal favourites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you canāt tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. Youāre a tough kid. I ask you about war, and youād probably, uh, throw Shakespeare at me, right? āOnce more into the breach, dear friends.ā But youāve never been near one. Youāve never held your best friendās head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love you probably quote me a sonnet. But youāve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like God put an angel on earth just for youā¦who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldnāt know what itās like to be her angel and to have that love for her to be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldnāt know about sleeping sittingā up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours donāt apply to you. You donāt know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt youāve ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you; I donāt see an intelligent, confident man; I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But youāre a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine and you ripped my fuckinā life apart. Youāre an orphan right? Do you think Iād know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I donāt give a shit about all that, because you know what? I canāt learn anything from you I canāt read in some fuckinā book. Unless you wanna talk about you, who you are. And Iām fascinated. Iām in. But you donāt wanna do that, do you, sport? Youāre terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.ā
ā
The monologue that ripped everyone apart.
Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting (1997)

















