Dr. Ann Lorrison: What’s the matter, Mr. Kenet? Something seems to be disturbing you. What is it?
Steven Kenet: I don’t know.
Dr. Ann Lorrison: Something bothering you?
Steven Kenet: Could it happen in a single second?
Dr. Ann Lorrison: What, Mr. Kenet?
Steven Kenet: Could you strangle someone in just one second?
Policeman: Nothin’s done right unless Tough Willy does it himself.
Lt. William Calhoun: How long you been working here?
Policeman: Four weeks tomorrow, Lieutenant.
Lt. William Calhoun: You need twenty-five years before you’re eligible for a pension. . .and you won’t make it. Not if you ever call me Willy.
Harriet Sinton: It was real sweet of you to buy that bottle, hun. You got real nice manners, Joe. I like nice manners. I like you, hun. I like you a lot. “My love is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June. My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.” You like poetry, hun? That’s Robert Burns. “A Red, Red Rose.” George hated poetry. He hit me once when I recited Robert Burns. He hit me right in the eye. George was no good.
Joe Norson: George?
Harriet Sinton: My fiancé. My ex-fiancé. George had no manners at all.