A River Runs Through It 1992 quotes

And I knew just as surely, just as clearly, that life is not a work of art, and that the moment could not last.
Older Norman - [narrating]:

As a Presbyterian, my father believed that man by nature was a damn mess. And that only by picking up God's rhythms, were we able to regain power and beauty. To him, all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation come by Grace. And Grace comes by art. And art does not come easy.
Older Norman - [narrating]:

As time passes, my father struggled for more to hold on to, asking me again and again: had I told him everything. And I finally said to him, "maybe all I know about Paul is that he was a fine fisherman." "You know more than that," my father said; "he was beautiful." And that was the last time we spoke of my brother's death.

Dear Jessie,
As the moon lingers a moment over the Bitterroot's, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming, softly, not to the music, but to something else, some place else. A place remembered. A field of grass where no one seemed to have been, except the deer, and the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you, dancing in my awkward arms.
Norman
The Bitterroot's are in reference to the Bitterroot Mountains of Western Montana.

In my family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing.
We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in Missoula, Montana.
Where Indians still appeared out of the wilderness to walk the honky tonks and brothels of Front Street.

It is those we live and love should know who elude us.

Like many fly fishermen in Western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being of my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.

Long ago, when I was a young man, my father said to me... "Norman, you like to write stories?" And I said, "Yes, I do." Then he said, "Someday, when you're ready... you might tell our family story. Only then will you understand what happened and why."
We shift to a montage of old photographs, first of young Paul and Norman, then the entire family, and finally of Missoula, Montana:
Older Norman - [narrating]:

The Burns family ran a general store in a one store town and still managed to badly.
They were Methodist, a denomination my father always referred to as Baptist who could read.

They're both marvelous.
He nodes and snickers, then continues:
I'd say Lord has blessed us all today...
He rises and walks away and with his back to them continues:
It's just that he has been particularly good to me.
He laughs.

If he came back next summer, would you try and help him?

Norman

If you wanted me to.

Well he's not coming back.

Norman

Well, at least he's got friends out there.

Who Ronald Coleman? Why is it the people who need the most help... won't take it?

Norman

I don't know Jess.

Norman

So, what do you think?

What do I think? I think it's the berries!

Norman

You do?

Yeah, to get away, Chicago, God it's haven.

Norman

Have you ever been?

No, not anywhere. Helena. Congratulations Norman!

Norman

Truth is, I'm not sure I want to leave.

Montana? Why? It'll always be here.

Norman

Not Montana.

Then what? WHAT?

Norman

I'm not sure I want to leave you.

As I live and breathe.

Rawhide

Buster here wants to fish.

Norman

You're late, Neal.

Neal Burns

Yeah, yeah, I didn't get in until late.

Well, I didn't get in at all but I was here.

Norman

Neal, Paul. Paul, Neal.

Neal, in Montana there's three things we're never late for: church, work and fishing.

Neal

Anywho, this is... [introducing Rawhide]

We've met.

Couldn't you find him?

Norman

The hell with him.

Well, I thought we were supposed to help him.

Norman

How the hell do you help that son of a bitch?

By taking him fishing.

Norman

He doesn't like fishing. He doesn't like Montana and he sure as hell doesn't like me.

Well, maybe what he likes is somebody trying to help him.

Hello, Jess.

Hey, Paul.

How's your brother?

You both left him alone.

Well, I'm sorry about that. That was my fault.

Well, you're not forgiven.

Was Norman forgiven?

Norman's not funny.