Richard Sherman: Face it, no pretty girl wants me, she wants Gregory Peck.
The Girl: Is that so? How do you know what a pretty girl wants?
Richard Sherman: I don’t know, but I imagine–
The Girl: Your imagination! You think every girl’s a dope. You think a girl goes to a party and there’s some guy, a great big lunk, in a fancy striped vest strutting around like a tiger, giving you that I’m-so-handsome-you-can’t-resist-me look. And from this she’s supposed to fall flat on her face. Well, she doesn’t fall on her face. But there’s another guy in the room, over in the corner. Maybe he’s nervous and shy and perspiring a little. First, you look past him. But then you sense that he’s gentle and kind and worried. That he’ll be tender with you, nice and sweet. That’s what’s really exciting.
Paul Varjak: You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You’re chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say, “Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.” You call yourself a free spirit, a “wild thing,” and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself. [takes out the ring and throws it in Holly's lap] Here. I’ve been carrying this thing around for months. I don’t want it anymore.