:27:01
Listen to this. Captain of the soccer
team, editor of the school annual,
Cambridge bound...
:27:06
thigh man,
and the Dead Poets Society.
:27:09
"Man most likely to do anything."
:27:11
Thigh man!
Mr K was a hell-raiser.
:27:16
- What's the Dead Poets Society?
- I don't know.
:27:18
- Is there a picture in the annual?
- No.
- Nothing. No other mention of it.
:27:20
That boy there, see me after lunch.
:27:26
Mr Keating?
:27:29
Mr Keating!
:27:33
- Sir?
- Say something.
:27:35
O Captain, my Captain?
:27:37
Gentlemen.
:27:39
We were just looking
in your old annual.
:27:43
Oh, my God.
:27:45
No, that's not me.
:27:49
Stanley "The Tool" Wilson.
:27:55
- God.
- What was the Dead Poets Society?
:28:01
I doubt the present administration
would look too favourably upon that.
:28:04
Why? What was it?
:28:10
Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?
:28:12
Sure, yeah.
:28:16
The Dead Poets were dedicated
to "sucking the marrow out of life."
:28:21
That's a phrase from Thoreau
we would invoke
at the beginning of every meeting.
:28:25
You see, we would gather
at the old Indian cave...
:28:27
and take turns reading from Thoreau,
Whitman, Shelley.
:28:31
The biggies!
Even some of our own verse.
:28:33
And in the enchantment of the moment,
we'd let poetry work its magic.
:28:37
You mean, it was a bunch of guys
sitting around reading poetry?
:28:40
No, Mr Overstreet,
it wasn't just guys.
:28:43
We weren't a Greek organization.
We were Romantics.
:28:46
We didn't just read poetry, we let it
drip from our tongues like honey.
:28:51
Spirits soared,
women swooned...
:28:54
and gods were created, gentlemen.
:28:56
Not a bad way to spend an evening, eh?
:28:59
Thank you, Mr Perry,
for this stroll down Amnesia Lane.