Time After Time Quotes

[H.G. Wells eats at a McDonald's]

H.G. Wells: Pomme frites! Fries are pomme frites!

[Explaining his fascination with a plastic table]

H.G. Wells: I've never seen wood like this before.

[Jack the Ripper uses the Time Machine to travel to 1979]

H.G. Wells: What... have... I... done? I've turned that bloody maniac loose upon Utopia!

H.G. Wells: Amy, wait, listen to me!

Amy Robbins: I *have* listened, and a bigger crock of shit I've never heard!

H.G. Wells: The first man to raise a fist is the man who's run out of ideas.

Amy Robbins: I love you.

H.G. Wells: Do you still insist that this is all poppycock?

Amy Robbins: That's not exactly the word I had in mind.

[H.G. Wells tracks down Jack the Ripper in the future]

Jack the Ripper: You are, quite literally, the last person on Earth that I expected to see.

[John demonstrates to H.G. that 1979 isn't a social utopia]

Jack the Ripper: The future isn't what you thought. It's what I am!

[as Wells and Amy are kissing on Amy's couch, she begins to remove pieces of his clothing - first taking off his glasses, then unfastening his collar]

H.G. Wells: Amy, I don't want to compromise you. Are you quite certain I'm not forcing you to...

Amy Robbins: Forcing me? My God, Herbert, I'm practically raping you.

H.G. Wells: [smiles] Yeah, that's true.

Amy Robbins: I like that suit. Is that what they're wearing in London?

H.G. Wells: It was when I left.

H.G. Wells: This is delicious, far superior to that Scottish place I breakfasted.

Amy Robbins: Scottish?

H.G. Wells: McDougall's

H.G. Wells: We could easily avoid this whole thing.

Amy Robbins: You mean, give him the key?

H.G. Wells: No. I mean... come back with me.

Amy Robbins: Back?

H.G. Wells, Amy Robbins: Yes. Back to 1893.

Amy Robbins: I'm a twentieth century woman. I have a career and a mind of my own. Be reasonable. How am I gonna make it in 1893?

H.G. Wells: Is your career so important? It's your life we're talking about!

Amy Robbins: My work is my life. As much as yours or any other man's. Please don't start sounding like my husband. Wait a minute... What about forward?

H.G. Wells: Forward? You mean the future. Yes, of course!

[thinks a moment]

H.G. Wells: No... no. We're forgetting something... him. I can't just leave him here to do as he likes.

Amy Robbins: So much for "your place or mine."

Jeweler: [H.G. Wells goes to jeweler's shop to sell jewerly he brought from 1893] Amazing! I haven't seen stones in settings like these since before the war.

H.G. Wells: The war?

Jeweler: Since the second world war, you know.

H.G. Wells: Did you say *world* war?

Jeweler: Since World War 2, I said.

[Wells has confronted Jack in his hotel room in 1979]

Jack the Ripper: You finding me is rather fortuitous. For me, that is. Otherwise, I'd be obliged to search for you.

[beat]

Jack the Ripper: Well, are you going to give it to me?

H.G. Wells: [feigning confusion] I have no idea what you mean.

Jack the Ripper: Of course you do. I'm talking about the key. I can't have you following me for eternity, like the Flying Dutchman. Give me the key and we'll be quits.

H.G. Wells: Key? I don't have it with me.

Jack the Ripper: Oh, Herbert.

[sighs]

Jack the Ripper: Herbert, I've played countless games of chess with you... and the one thing you cannot do is bluff.

[Jack removes Wells' glasses from his face; from Wells' POV, everything is blurry]

Jack the Ripper: [menacingly] I want that key!

[punches Wells]

[Robbins and Wells are sitting together on her couch]

Amy Robbins: [matter-of-factly] Herbert, if you don't take me into your arms this minute, I'm going to scream.

[Wells has gone to the San Francisco police department in an attempt to catch Stevenson]

H.G. Wells: His name is John Leslie Stevenson. English, he's a surgeon. Approximately, 37 years of age, flaxon-hair, clean-shaven, and stands well above 6 feet in height.

Lt. Mitchell: What makes you say that this Dr. Stevenson is responsible for the death of the girls?

H.G. Wells: I just know for a fact he is.

Lt. Mitchell: I see. Do you have spiritual powers?

H.G. Wells: Do I what?

Lt. Mitchell: Are you a medium or a mystic?

H.G. Wells: I make no claims to supernatural gifts of any sort. If I were to reveal the source of my information, I...

[beat]

H.G. Wells: As a matter of fact, I'm also a detective. I was sent from London on the trail of Stevenson, traveling incognito. My name...

[outside Mitchell's office, a fellow officer is checking a ticker-type machine that reads out no known information on John Leslie Stevenson; Wells thinks of an alias from his time he thinks the police won't recognize]

H.G. Wells: My name is Sherlock Holmes.

Lt. Mitchell: Sherlock Holmes, I see. Go on, go on.

H.G. Wells: I can't. I gave you a complete description, I told you his name. I've told you everything I know.

Lt. Mitchell: It was good of you to share your insights, Mr. Holmes. How can we reach you if we need to speak with you?

H.G. Wells: Is that necessary? I'm staying with a friend. Must we involve her?

Lt. Mitchell: Not unless it's unavoidable we contact you. We're known for our discretion.

H.G. Wells: Very well. Her name is Miss Amy Robbins. She lives at 2340 Francisco.

Lt. Mitchell: Thank you for your time, Mr. Holmes.

H.G. Wells: [beat] You don't believe me, do you?

Lt. Mitchell: Mr. Holmes, I'd like to. My job would be much simpler if I could. But this computer printout says U.S. Customs has no records of a John Leslie Stevenson entering the country. British Customs has no record of anyone by that name leaving Great Britain. And there's also no mention of a Sherlock Holmes coming into the country either. Now, of course, he could be using another name. But since we don't even know where he is at the moment, we can't very well pick him up for questioning. Can we?

H.G. Wells: [defeated] No. Well, thank you for your time. Good day.

[with no other place to stay, Wells enters an empty church and sits in a pew]

H.G. Wells: [speaking to God] I don't believe you exist. But if you do, I need your help. Just let me stay the night and I'll be on my way in the morning. I won't trouble you again.

[as he starts to rest, a Clergyman approaches him]

Clergyman: I'm sorry, we're closing now.

[cut to Wells sitting on a park bench desperately trying to keep warm]

H.G. Wells: [dismissively] Utopia.

[at the Chartered Bank of London, Wells approaches the desk of Amy Robbins, who runs foreign currency]

Amy Robbins: May I help you?

H.G. Wells: I'd like to see the foreign currency officer.

Amy Robbins: You're looking at him.

H.G. Wells: You? Surely there must be a gentleman.

Amy Robbins: Don't be a chauvinist. It's taken me three years to get here. Don't you believe in women's liberation?

H.G. Wells: [to himself] Women's liberation.

[to Amy]

H.G. Wells: I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect. In fact, I was all for it, so I shouldn't complain.

Amy Robbins: You *were* all for it? What changed your mind?

H.G. Wells: [beat] Nothing. I don't know whether you can help me.

Amy Robbins: May I help you?

H.G. Wells: I'm certainly willing for you to try. I'm looking for an Englishman who may have tried to exchange money.

Amy Robbins: I'll say!

H.G. Wells: Then he was here?

Amy Robbins: Yesterday, big as life. With a money belt that was even bigger. Must've weighed a ton. A friend?

H.G. Wells: We were traveling together and now I've lost him. His name was John Leslie Stevenson.

Amy Robbins: That's him. I wanted him to open an account but he only cashed a few hundred dollars.

H.G. Wells: You wouldn't happen to know what's become of him?

Amy Robbins: He asked me to recommend a hotel.

H.G. Wells: A hotel?

Amy Robbins: I sent him to the Hyatt Regency.

H.G. Wells: Hyatt Regency?

Amy Robbins: Yeah.

[she writes him the address on the back of her business card, then hands it to him]

H.G. Wells: Oh, thank you.

Amy Robbins: You here on a visit? Tourist type thing? If you don't know anyone, let me show you around. We San Franciscans are pretty proud of this old town.

H.G. Wells: Well... yes, perhaps that might be nice.

Amy Robbins: It's your option. You've got the card. Give me a ring. My name's Amy.

H.G. Wells: A ring?

Amy Robbins: You know.

[mimes dialing a telephone number]

H.G. Wells: Oh, yeah, yeah.

[smiles, miming the same action despite not having a clue what it means]

Amy Robbins: My number's on the card.

[Wells starts to leave]

Amy Robbins: What's your name?

H.G. Wells: Herbert... Wells.

[Wells hails a cab and gets inside]

Cab Driver: What's up, Doc?

H.G. Wells: I beg your pardon?

Cab Driver: Where to?

H.G. Wells: Could you take me, as quickly as possible, to the Hyatt--?

[the taxi peels out and drives down San Francisco's infamously steep streets]