"Shut up, you wretch! I rescued you from the city streets. Without me you'd still be fucking bouncing into buildings out there in the laser neon rain with the tabloids poltergeisting through the air, wondering where the fuck you are, you clueless dolt! I took you in for the waif you were, rescued you from every doorway which was a waiting set of jaws—every half-closed window, a pirate's eye—I took you in and rescued you from your own stupidity! If you had a shred of moral decency, you'd chain yourself to the radiator and devote the rest of your life to acts of sexual abasement!" But you don't say that. You say "Yes, I see what you mean, I see where you're coming from."

“You laugh at the North, you think they’re all funny little short people who live in a big pie. Trying to sort out their relationship with the definite article. Throwing darts at their dinner.”

“EGGS! They're not a food, they belong in no group! They're just farts clothed in substance!”

“They tell you, you can get everything you need from pulses and lentils and things like that. Yeah. Everything you need, except company, which is not to be had, because you are dying, bent double in a miasma of your own toxic farts.”

“There are two types of wine essentially, and everybody knows this. There’s the one where you drink it and go, "Mmmm, well that’s ok, can we get 8 of those please, give us 8 of those." There’s the other one, you know, where you go "Ga…bt…jesus, WHAT is that?" Very, very occasionally I concede you will hit a subtle one. You know, where you go "Ga…ba…ah, actually that’s not that bad, that is. It’s quite nice.”

“I Know. I Know! Let's Go Potholing! In Croatia!" "Fine. I know a guy who can give us a lift... Me!”

“You cannot over estimate how infantile men are about sex! Men are people that have sex BECAUSE they have a headache... or are on fire, or have been shot in the head, or whatever it is!”