The Bride of Frankenstein
1935 American science-fiction horror film by James Whale
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Dr. Pretorius: (speaking of his Devil creation) He bears a strong resemblance to me, don't you think? Or do I flatter myself?
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Karl: Whataya say, pal, let's give ourselves up and let 'em hang us. This is no life for murderers.
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Karl: The kites! The kites! Get 'em ready! He wants the kites!
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The Monster: Alone: bad. Friend: good!
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Villager: He isn't human. Frankenstein made him out of dead bodies.
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The Monster: We belong dead!
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Dr. Pretorius: Do you know who Henry Frankenstein is, and who you are?
The Monster: Yes, I know. Made me from dead. I love dead... hate living.
Dr. Pretorius: You are wise in your generation. We must have a long talk, and then I have an important call to make.
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The Monster: (about the Bride) She hates me.
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The Monster: (Speaking to Frankenstein and Elizabeth) Go you live
(turning to Dr.Pretorius)
The Monster: You stay we belong dead.
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Dr. Pretorius: The Bride of Frankenstein.
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Dr. Pretorius: (looking at the female skeleton he has exhumed to create the Bride) I hope her bones are firm.
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The Monster: You, make man... like me?
Dr. Pretorius: No. Woman... friend for you
The Monster: Woman... Friend... Wife...
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Dr. Frankenstein: I've been cursed for delving into the mysteries of life!
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Minnie: Fine I wash me hands of it let you all be murdered in your beds.
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Dr. Pretorius: Sometimes I have wondered whether life wouldn't be much more amusing if we were all devils, no nonsense about angels and being good.
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Dr. Pretorius: (to the monster inside the mausoleum) Here, have a cigar... they're my only weakness!
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Mary Shelley: It's a perfect night for mystery and horror. The air itself is filled with monsters.
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(last lines)
Dr. Frankenstein: (clutching Elizabeth reassuringly) Darling, darling.
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(first lines)
Lord Byron: Prologue
(looking out the window at a thunderstorm)
Lord Byron: How beautifully dramatic! The cruelest savage exhibition of nature at her worst without.
(turns to face Mary and Percy Shelley, both seated)
Lord Byron: And we three. We elegant three within. I should like to think that an irate Jehovah was pointing those arrows of lightning directly at my head. The unbowed head of George Gordon, Lord Byron. England's greatest sinner. But I cannot flatter myself to that extent. Possibly those thunders are for our dear Shelley. Heavens applause for England's greatest poet.
Percy Shelley: What of my Mary?
Lord Byron: She's an angel.
Mary Shelley: You think so?
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Dr. Pretorius: We shall drink to our partnership. Do you like gin? It is my only weakness.
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Dr. Pretorius: Do you know who Frankenstein is, and who you are?
The Monster: Yes, I know... made me from dead... I *love* dead... hate living.
Dr. Pretorius: You are wise in your generation.
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The Monster: I want friend like me.
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(repeated line)
The Monster: Friend, friend.
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The Monster: (realizes Dr. Pretorius isn't working) WOOORK!