5 to 7

[first lines]

Brian:
Some of the best writing in New York won't be found in books, or movies, or plays, but on the benches of Central Park. Read the benches, and you understand.

Brian:
In New York, you're never more than 20 feet away from someone you know, or someone you're meant to know.

Sam:
A married French woman, 33 years of age, with two children. You could stop that sentence anywhere along the way, and have reason enough not to be in the relationship.

Brian:
Dad...

Sam:
These are the same French who didn't let us fly over their country on the way to Gaddafi.

Brian:
Okay, but it's not her Frenchness that's really bothering you.

Sam:
No, but I can't discuss her marital or parental status, because if I do my pancreas will explode. So instead, I'm dwelling on the relatively benign, but still objectionable issue of her Frenchness.

Brian:
Okay...

Sam:
In the war, the French couldn't wait to give up their Jews.

Brian:
Nobody could wait to give up...

Sam:
Also, they surrendered three times in the same war. Have you any idea how hard that is to do?

Brian:
I will promise you this. Your favorite story, whatever it might be was written for one reader.

Jane:
Look, if you wanna be a good writer then you can't have a mediocre life. I'll give you a baseball metaphor, because Jewish writers love them. Swing from the heels.

Arlene:
She's lovely. It's not an ideal situation but she adores my son. Now how can you be a sensible parent and not feel warmly towards someone who adores your child? That is practically anti-social.

Jane:
Get your head right. Get your head right right now because you're about to have the most important conversation of your life. And it's not just your future here. It's mine too. So can you do it? Can you put the French lady out of your mind for nine seconds? Please. Just stick out your hand. Say, 'How do you do, sir?' like a normal human being. So you can have the career that you have always dreamed of... or are you just gonna blow it and incinerate and dissolve like a Kleenex in a fat man's sneeze?

Arielle:
[in wine shop] Okay, we'll start very simply. Taste, please, this glass. Is it white or red?

Brian:
[blindfolded] Red.

Arielle:
My God.

Brian:
[removing his blindfold] Ah, really? You gotta be shitting me!

Arielle:
You have the palate of a water buffalo. That is about to change. Replace the blindfold, please. Take a small piece of baguette to cleanse the palate.

Brian:
[scene shifts to a bar] Okay. Please drink from this glass. Is it the Miller High Life, or the Guinness stout?

Arielle:
The Miller High Life.

Brian:
Oh boy.

Arielle:
What? [in French] F***!

Brian:
We have a lot of work to do.

Arielle:
I was sure it was Miller High Life.

Brian:
Now please take a buffalo chicken wing to obliterate the palate.

Arielle:
Maybe there are some people you marry and people you love.

Brian:
So your married?

Arielle:
Of course. What did you think?

Brian:
I thought you were *not* married.

Arielle:
Why would you think that?

Brian:
Why would I *not* think that? For one thing you don't wear a wedding ring.

Arielle:
So American. You need a sign post for everything or you'll completely lose your way.

Arielle:
Just so you know, you're a natural lover. Your body expresses beautifully what's in your heart.

Brian:
I'm just going to write that down...

Valery:
Brain. Come in, come in. Glad you're here.

Brian:
Your children are amazing.

Valery:
[chuckles] Thank you.

Brian:
Are they real, or are they from a catalogue?

Valery:
Uh, they're from a catalogue.

Sam:
[arriving at restaurant] Your mother's standing...

Brian:
I know.

Arlene:
They have no folding chairs here.

Sam:
It's the Carlyle, Arlene. [to Arielle] You know when we first met, she only sent back entr?es. Now it's chairs.

Arlene:
I think that there are two forces on Earth you never want to be fighting. One is Mother Nature.The other is love.

Brian:
It's one of two things. Or possibly both.

Arielle:
What is?

Brian:
Either no one is immune to your charms, or the world really can surprise you with its grace.

Sam:
All I'm saying is that civilization is organized by couples, for better or worse. Frequently worse, I grant you. But there's a reason for it, which is that it's not confusing.

Jane:
Can you put the French lady out of your mind for nine seconds? Please. Just stick out your hand. Say, "How do you do, sir." Like a normal human being, so you can have the career you have always dreamed of. Or are you just gonna blow it and incinerate and dissolve like a Kleenex in a fat man's sneeze? Is your head right? Is your head right? Is - your head - right?

Brian:
You're much crazier than I am.

Jane:
Is your head right?

Sam:
[with Brian sitting in the back seat] Do you remember what said to me after the very first time we had intercourse?

Arlene:
"Are you hungry."

Sam:
Yes. I remember.

Arlene:
Before that. [they kiss]

Brian:
As little as you want to write when you're happy, that's now much you have to write when you're miserable. Your passions need to go somewhere, and this is the only place left. Your suffering has to be good for something. [keys clacking] It's not for me to say if the words were worth the price.

Brian:
[in his book] Thousands of years ago, somebody came up with the idea of impermanence of the beauty and inevitability of change. I'm pretty sure they had just been dumped.

Brian:
I had a long time to consider the value of memory, and the idea that just because something doesn't last forever doesn't mean its worth is diminished. Maybe it was just a rationalization - easier on the soul than mourning what might have been - the life unlived. I honestly don't know, but I chose to believe in memory. I chose to believe in her. I chose to believe that the bond was never broken and that we carried each other in our hearts. As a secret singularity. She made me a writer. She made me a man.

Brian:
There would be other loves. Even great loves. But she was right, only one remained perfect.

[last lines]

Brian:
I don't know if I'll ever see her again. I don't know if that's a good thing, or a bad one. But I will promise you this. Your favorite story, whatever it might be, was written for one reader.

Arielle:
Put aside your notions about how people are, Brian. The world will surprise you with its grace if you let it.

"Your favorite story, whatever it might be, was written for one reader,"