"So what's this, a Taster's Choice moment between guys? This is really nice. You got a thing for swans, is this like a fetish, maybe something we need to devote some time to?"
"Thought about what you said to me the other day, about my painting."
"Ah."
"Stayed up half the night thinking about it. Something occurred to me, I fell into a deep peaceful sleep and haven't thought about you sense. You know what occurred to me?"
"No."
"Your just a kid, you don't have the faintest idea what your talking about."
"Why thank you."
"Its all right. You've never been out of Boston?"
"Nope."
"So if I asked you about art you'd probably give me the skinny of every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him, life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? I bet you can't tell me what it looks like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling, seen that. If I asked you about women you'd probably give me [a list] of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. Your a tough kid. I ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right? 'Once more into the breach dear friends.' But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friends head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. If I ask you about love you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable, known someone who could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you who would rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what its like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the terms visiting hours don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss cause that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you, I don't see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared-shitless kid. But your 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 fucking life apart. Your an orphan right? Do you think I'd 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 don't give a shit about all that because, you know, I can't learn anything about you I can't read in some fucking book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are, then I'm fascinated, I'm in. But you don't want to do that do you sport? Your terrified of what you might say. Your move chief."
From Good Will Hunting.
