Staff Sergeant William James, to his infant son: You love playing with that. You love playing with all your stuffed animals. You love your Mommy, your Daddy. You love your pajamas. You love everything, don't ya? Yea. But you know what, buddy? As you get older... some of the things you love might not seem so special anymore. Like your Jack-in-a-Box. Maybe you'll realize it's just a piece of tin and a stuffed animal. And the older you get, the fewer things you really love. And by the time you get to my age, maybe it's only one or two things. With me, I think it's one.
Screenwriters have to type all sorts of terrible things. "The zombie tears off the crying naked woman's head." That sort of awfulness. I get all that. But as a writer, I can not imagine anything quite as devastating as sitting down to write the closing monologue of The Hurt Locker. "OK, in this scene, the movie's hero will tell his infant son that he doesn't love him."
Not much leaves me speechless.