Hobson: You spoiled little bastard! You’re a man who has everything, haven’t you? But that’s not enough. You feel unloved. Arthur, welcome to the world. Everyone is unloved. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself. And incidentally, I love you. Marry Susan, Arthur. Poor drunks do not find love, Arthur. Poor drunks have very few teeth, they urinate outdoors, they freeze to death in summer. I can’t bear to think of you that way.
Arthur: I need Linda, Hobson.
Hobson: I see. Well, perhaps fate will lend a hand. One never knows.