Herman Blume: What's the secret, Max?

Max Fischer: The secret?
Herman Blume: Yeah, you seem to have it pretty figured out.
Max Fischer: The secret, I don't know... I guess you've just gotta find something you love to do and then... do it for the rest of your life. For me, it's going to Rushmore.


I know a man.
He's happy.
Everything he does fails miserably.
He's happy.
He looks like a badly sculpted gargoyle that's been sand-blasted by ash.
He's happy.
His family have been torn to shred by generations of lies and deceit.
He's happy.
Women are afraid of him.
He's happy.
He's got a diseased foot.
He's happy.
He's friends with me.
He's happy.

In short, he's a guy with nothing going for him. But still he retains happiness somewhere in that bulk-ridden figure, no matter what you say or do to him you cannot penetrate this aura of happiness he has built up around himself.

For this I love him.
I hope he never changes.