Christy Brown, born with cerebral palsy, learns to paint and write with his only controllable limb - his left foot.

Christy Brown: Fuck all love that is not 100 percent commitment!
[writing a suicide note]
Christy Brown: All is nothing, therefore nothing must end.
Dr. Eileen Cole: If you work with me, I'll help you say "fuck off" more clearly.
[Christy's father builds him a house next to his parents]
Mrs. Brown: Well, Christy, that's the nearest he'll ever come to saying I love you.
[sarcastically offering congratulations to Eileen, his beloved therapist ]
Christy Brown: Con-gra-tu-la-tions to you and Peter. I'm glad you taught me to speak so I could say that.
[Christy's nurse won't light his cigarette because it's bad for his health]
Christy Brown: I didn't ask for a fucking psychological lecture. I only asked for a fucking light.
Mr. Brown: [entering a bar holding nine-year-old Christy] This is Christy Brown, my son. Genius.
Mrs. Brown: Go ahead, Christy. Make your mark.

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