Movie Info
Starring: Adam Driver, Golshifteh Farahani, Barry Shabaka Henley, Chasten Harmon, William Jackson Harper, Masatoshi Nagase
Story: Drama written and directed by Jim Jarmusch. Paterson (2016) centers on bus driver, Paterson (Adam Driver), who is an observant bus driver that loves penning poems in his notebook. Waiting for him at home is Laura (Golshifteh Farahani), his beloved wife who champions his gift for writing.
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Top Paterson Quotes
Laura: I had a beautiful dream. We had two little children. Twins. If we have children, would you like it if they were twins?
Paterson: Yeah. Twins. Sure, why not? One for each of us.
Laura: You know, darling, I really think you should do something about those beautiful poems. They should belong to the world, you know?
Paterson: The world? Well, now you’re trying to scare me.
Doc: [looking at the chessboard] I’m getting my a** kicked today.
Paterson: Who you playing?
Doc: Myself.
Laura: I was dreaming that we were in ancient Persia. And you were riding on an elephant. A big, silver elephant.
Paterson: A silver elephant?
Laura: Yeah. You looked so beautiful.
Paterson: Did they have elephants in ancient Persia?
Laura: I don’t think so. Not silver ones, anyway.
Paterson: Everything okay?
Donny: Well, now that you ask, no, not really. My kid needs braces on her teeth. My car needs a transmission job. My wife wants me to take her to Florida. But I’m behind on the mortgage payments. My uncle called from India and he needs money for my niece’s wedding, and I got this strange rash on my back. You name it, brother. How about you?
Paterson: I’m okay.
Laura: [to Paterson] You know that I know that your poetry is really, really good. And that some day, you might just decide to let the world get to read it.
Laura: [to Paterson] You are a great poet. All your poems are still in that one notebook. Your secret notebook.
Marie: Your name really Paterson, or they just nickname you that?
Paterson: No, my real name is Paterson.
Marie: Well, that’s kind of crazy, right?
Paterson: Yeah. Right.
Everett: Man, what would you do? You love somebody, more than anything in the whole damn world. You worship her. You don’t want to be alive without her, and she says she doesn’t want you. You’re just dirt.
Doc: Damn, brother. You should be an actor.
Everett: I am an actor.
Paterson: Another one. When you’re a child, you learn there are three dimensions, height, width, and depth. Like a shoebox. Then, later, you hear there’s a fourth dimension, time. Then some say there can be five, six, seven. I knock off work, have a beer at the bar. I look down at the glass and feel glad.
Paterson: Poem. I’m in the house. It’s nice out. Warm. Sun on cold snow. First day of spring, or last of winter. My legs run up the stairs and out the door, my top half here writing.
Paterson: I’m working on a poem for you.
Laura: A love poem?
Paterson: Yeah, I guess if it’s for you, it’s a love poem. It’s kind of inspired by our Ohio Blue Tip Matches.
Male Student: [as Paterson overhears them talking on the bus] Do you think there are any other anarchists in Paterson?
Female Student: You mean besides us? Not likely.
Paterson: Glow. When I wake up earlier than you, and you are turned to face me, face on the pillow and hair spread around, I take a chance and stare at you, amazed in love and afraid that you might open your eyes and have the daylights scared out of you. But maybe with the daylights gone, you’d see how much my chest and head implode for you, their voices trapped inside like unborn children fearing they will never see the light of day. The opening in the wall now dimly glows, it’s rainy, blue and grey. I tie my shoes and go downstairs to put the coffee on.
Paterson: You okay?
Donny: Well, since you asked, no, not really. My mother-in-law is moving in. The cat got diagnosed with cat diabetes. And the medicine, you know, it’s all so expensive. And now, my daughter started taking violin lessons and I’m losing my mind with the sound of that. What can I say, Paterson?
Paterson: Oh, sorry.
Donny: Oh, just my burden, I guess.
Young Poet: I write poetry. I keep it all in this notebook. Secret notebook.
Paterson: Oh, you’re a poet.
Young Poet: Water Falls. Water falls from the bright air. It falls like hair, falling across a young girl’s shoulders. Water falls, making pools in the asphalt, dirty mirrors with clouds and buildings inside. It falls on the roof of my house. It falls on my mother, and on my hair. Most people call it rain.
Doc: I always say, don’t try to change things, or you’ll make them even worse.
Laura: Some days, something inside just doesn’t want to get up. Ever feel like that?
Paterson: Today.
Paterson: I go through trillions of molecules that move aside to make way for me, while on both sides, trillions more stay where they are. The windshield wiper blade starts to squeak. The rain has stopped. I stop. On the corner, a boy in a yellow raincoat holding his mother’s hand.
Everett: Without love, what reason is there for anything?
Paterson: This is just to say, I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox, and which you were probably saving for breakfast. Forgive me. They were delicious, so sweet and so cold.
Paterson: I like to think about other girls sometimes, but the truth is if you ever left me, I’d tear my heart out and never put it back. There’ll never be anyone like you.
Paterson: [after Marvin destroys his poetry notebook] I don’t like you, Marvin.
Laura: [referring to Paterson’s destroyed notebook] I wish you would have read me some of your most recent poems. Maybe I could’ve remembered them.
Paterson: It’s okay. They were just words. Written on water.
Everett: Well, it’s like they always say. “The sun still rises every morning and sets every evening.” Always another day, right?
Paterson: Yeah. So far.
Japanese Poet: May I ask if you too are a poet of Paterson, New Jersey?
Paterson: No. No.
Japanese Poet: I see.
Paterson: I’m a bus driver, myself. Just a bus driver. A bus driver in Paterson.
Japanese Poet: Ah. This very poetic.
Paterson: I guess you really like poetry then?
Japanese Poet: I breathe poetry.
Japanese Poet: My poetry only in Japanese. No translation. Poetry in translation is like taking a shower with a raincoat on.
Japanese Poet: [as he gives Paterson a notebook] Sometime empty page present most possibilities.
Paterson: The Line There’s an old song my grandfather used to sing that has the question, “Or would you rather be a fish?” In the same song is the same question but with a mule and a pig, but the one I hear sometimes in my head is the fish one. Just that one line. Would you rather be a fish? As if the rest of the song didn’t have to be there.