"Madras research project"

I never had a soft infested summer. I never had one of those. I dreamed of one, I imagined hundreds, and I could, if you would allow, paint a Vistavision frame for you of what I would've done, in gorgeous Technicolor I'd let you know the dream. But it wasn't in the cards. And from what I understand about the world, the part of life where such a summer could take place is gone now. It's lost. I'm trying to remember where time went, where I thought good places to put my time would be, and good portion of the ones I do remember don't seem like very good places to put time at all now. The rest, I don't know where they went. I don't know where the time went. So, you know, that was a mistake, one of those grave sins of idleness. I'm with Mr. Finn. We can all be something bigger. We can all be something bigger. There is no sin in smallness. The sin is in the people who remain small when they don't have to. That's wickedness. And the scene now is the scene near the end of Schindler's List where Schindler, outside the getaway car, breaks down in front of all the men and women he saved from the concentration camps saying over. He starts to take inventory of all his earthly possessions and looks at them in terms of Jews he could've saved with the money it took to buy them. I have no idea, no idea what my equivalent is in the drawn out analogy, and that's exactly the problem. It strikes me now how much that scene is truly Aaron Sorkin.