Harry: Why don't you tell me the story of your life.
Sally: The story of my life?
Harry: We've got eighteen hours to kill before we hit New York.
Sally: The story of my life isn't even going to get us out of Chicago. I mean nothing's happened to me yet. That's why I'm going to New York.
Harry: So something can happen to you?
Sally: Yes.
Harry: Like what?
Sally: Like I'm going to journalism school to become a reporter.
Harry: So you can write about things that happen to other people.
Sally: That's one way to look at it.
Harry: Suppose nothing happens to you. Suppose you lived out your whole life and nothing happens. You never meet anybody, you never become anything, and finally you die in one of those New York deaths which nobody notices for two weeks until the smell drifts into the hallway.
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