Where are all the good men dead?

I recently heard this question, followed by " in the head or in the heart?" Is this from a literary work? Or am I not even close?

Any suggestions/help would be appreciated. Thanks!

I know you're not asking for the answer, but I would say in the head. Just because it's a choice between the two.

Tell me where is fancy bred. In the heart or in the head?

Tell me where is fancy bread. At Rourke's the baker's, it is said.

The last one is from Ulysses.

Yes all the men I'd marry are either dead or never even existed (I mean, they're characters from books). Yeah, I fancy (sorry is this too British?) nevrotic poets and mad writers... (Fyodor where are you? ;)) :D

All the Good men are dead in the heads of bad women.

Jonus

Quote:

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Originally posted by santiagoarroz
I recently heard this question, followed by " in the head or in the heart?" Is this from a literary work? Or am I not even close?

Any suggestions/help would be appreciated. Thanks!

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It is from the movie Grosse Pointe Blank- though I suppose you probably knew that already. :) I'm not sure if it's originally from a literary work though.

Quote:

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Originally posted by DumbLikeAPoet
All the Good men are dead in the heads of bad women.

Jonus

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LOL (thanks!)

All the good children go to hell, too.
And only the good die young.

A admirable man would be dead in neither his head nor his heart. If an intelligent man has no passion or compassion then he is worthless as an individual. If a man has passion but no intelligence, then he is worthless as an individual. Only teamed up can such men do good.

so they all suck?!!

uh, yes. Including me.

thank you all for the comments- some very entertaining. I think I agree that a good man is not dead in either. Also, I would suggest that they are out there. (Yes, ladies sorry to break the mold ;) Thanks again!

'tell me where is fancy bred' - Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle, where it lies.
Let us all ring fancy’s knell;
I’ll begin it – Ding, dong, bell.

Ding, dong, bell


The Merchant of Venice