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GAGE : You sent my clients 16 e-mails. In the first 15, you didn¡Çt raise any concerns.
MARK : Is that a question?
GAGE : In the 16th e-mail you raised concerns about the site¡Çs functionality. Were you leading them on for six weeks?
MARK : No.
GAGE : Why hadn¡Çt you raised any of these concerns before?
MARK : It¡Çs raining.
GAGE : I¡Çm sorry?
MARK : It just started raining.
GAGE : Mr. Zuckerberg, do I have your full attention?
MARK : No.
GAGE : Do you think I deserve it?
MARK : What.
GAGE : Do you think I deserve your full attention?
MARK : I had to swear an oath before we began this deposition and I don¡Çt want to perjure myself so I have a legal obligation to say no.
GAGE : Okay. ¡ÈNo¡É you don¡Çt think I deserve your attention.
MARK : I think if your clients want to sit on my shoulders and call themselves tall they have a right to give it a try. But there¡Çs no requirement that I enjoy sitting here listening to people lie. You have part of my attention--you have the minimum amount. The rest of my attention is back at the offices of Facebook where my colleagues and I are doing things that no one in this room, including and especially your clients, are intellectually or creatively capable of doing. Did I adequately answer your condescending question?


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http://youtu.be/G4qblq0uahw


Oh, Agent Starling, do you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?


You're so-o ambitious, aren't you? You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well-scrubbed, hustling rube, with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you, Agent Starling? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed - pure West Virginia. What does your father do? Is he a coal miner? Does he stink of the lamp? You know how quickly the boys found you. All those tedious, sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars, while you could only dream of getting out. Getting anywhere, getting all the way to the F...B...I.




You see a lot, Doctor. But are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? What about it? - why don't you, why don't you look at yourself and write down what you see? Or maybe you're afraid to...



A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chi-an-ti.

You fly back to school now, little Starling. Fly, fly, fly. Fly, fly, fly.