Amarcord

In our town, the puffballs and spring arrive hand in hand. These are the sort of puffballs that drift around, soaring over the cemetery, where all rest in peace, soaring over the beachfront and over the Germans, newly arrived, who don't feel the cold. Drifting, drifting... swirling... swirling... swirling... Drifting, drifting, drifting!

Amarcord, CC BY-SA 4.0

You think my fanny's a good-luck charm?

Amarcord, CC BY-SA 4.0

Are you Polish? Only Polish women have that fire in their eyes.

Amarcord, CC BY-SA 4.0

I always find German women to be pushovers. She's really fallen for me. And to prove it, she even offered me posterior intimacy.

Amarcord, CC BY-SA 4.0

Father Balosa: Do you commit impure acts? Do you touch yourself? Do you know Saint Louis weeps when you touch yourself? Titta: [to himself] Let him cry. I'm not gonna tell you, because you'll only tell Dad. Don't tell me you don't touch yourself. How can you not, when you see the woman in the tobacco shop, as stacked as she is and she says... Export brand? And the math teacher who looks just like a lion? Mother of God! How can you avoid touching yourself when she looks at you that way?

Amarcord, CC BY-SA 4.0

Titta: I didn't know people kissed like that. Did you? With their tongues going in and out? Father Balosa: I'll ask the questions here.

Amarcord, CC BY-SA 4.0