Brendan GleesonQuotes

Henry Brown: [flips what he thinks is the microphone switch] Would you excuse us a moment? What are you doing?

Mary Brown: Talking to the nice men.

Henry Brown: Nice men? Mary, we can't trust these people. I mean look at them! Talk about a rogues gallery. Hideous! And as for that bearded baboon in the middle, he's hardly got two brain cells to rub together.

Knuckles McGinty: We can still hear you, Mr. Brown. That was the light you turned off. The microphone is on the other side. It's got microphone written on it.

Henry Brown: [awkwardly] ...gentlemen.

Paddington: I’m sorry, I’m finding this a very stressful working environment. Aunt Lucy said––

Knuckles McGinty: Oh, "Aunt Lucy". I’ve had it up to here with Aunt Lucy! She sounds like a proper old bag to me.

Paddington: [stop in his tracks, gasps, and then becomes offended] I beg your pardon?

Knuckles McGinty: [puts the newspaper down; Paddington begins glaring;'' ''uncomfortably] I said, your Aunt Lucy sounds like the most naïve, gullible, mushy-brained... What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s awful hot in here. Are you hot? I’m hot. Did I leave the oven on?

Paddington: [relaxes his face] It's called a hard stare. Aunt Lucy taught me to do them when people had forgotten their manners.

Knuckles McGinty: You don't have to tell me about hard stares. I invented them. Pretty good for a bear, though, I'll give you that.

Paddington: Thank you, Mr. McGinty.

Knuckles McGinty: Don't thank me yet. I don't do nothing for no one for nothing.

Paddington: I beg your pardon?

Knuckles McGinty: You get my protection so long as you make that marmalade. Deal?

Paddington: Deal.

Knuckles McGinty: get him out of my side!! We’ll see how tough this can be when he watches me KILL THESE ANIMALS!!!

Knuckles McGinty: If anyone can recognize a criminal, it's us.

Knuckles McGinty: If you're going to find the Brown family, you're going to Get through me.

Knuckles McGinty: [nervously] You don't have to tell me about hard stares, I practically invented them. Pretty good for a bear, though, I'll give you that.

Knuckles McGinty: I want those petits fours NOW!

Knuckles McGinty: I don't do nothin for no one for nothin'.

Miller: I thought we were all on the same side?

Martin Brown: Don't be naïve...

Martin Brown: [to Poundstone] You cannot just hand this country over to an exile no one's ever heard of, and a bunch of interns from Washington.

Colm Doherty: Pádraic. Thanks for lookin after me dog for me, anyways.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Anytime.

Colm Doherty: So, let's just call it quits and agree to go our separate ways, for good this time.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Your fat fingers killed me little donkey today. So, no, we won't call it quits. We'll call it the start.

Colm Doherty: You're jokin me.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Yeah, no. I'm not jokin ya. So tomorrow, Sunday, God's day, around 2:00, I'm going to call up to your house and I'm gonna set fire to it, and hopefully you'll still be inside it. But I won't be checkin either way. Just be sure and leave your dog outside. I've nothing against that gom. Or you can do whatever's in your power to stop me. To our graves we're taking this. To one of our graves, anyways.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: He won't be bothering you no more.

Colm Doherty: That's a shame. That's the most interesting he's ever been. I think I like him again now.

Priest: Wouldn't you say punching a policeman is a sin?

Colm Doherty: Ah here. If punching a policeman is a sin, we may as well just pack up and go home.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Do you know what you used to be?

Colm Doherty: No, what did I used to be?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Nice! You used to be nice! And now, do you know what you are? Not nice.

Colm Doherty: Ah, well, I suppose niceness doesn't last then, does it? But will I tell ya something that does last?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: What? And don't say somethin stupid like music.

Colm Doherty: Music lasts.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Knew it!

Colm Doherty: And paintings last. And poetry lasts.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: So does niceness.

Colm Doherty: Do you know who we remember for how nice they was in the 17th century?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Who?

Colm Doherty: [[Mozart] Absolutely no one. Yet we all remember the music of the time. Everyone, to a man, knows ]'s name.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Well, I don't, so there goes that theory. And anyway, we're talkin about niceness. Not what's his name. My mammy, she was nice. I remember her. And my daddy, he was nice. I remember him. And my sister, she's nice. I'll remember her. Forever I'll remember her.

Colm Doherty: And who else will?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Who else will what?

Colm Doherty: Remember Siobhan and your niceness? No one will. In 50 years time, no one will remember any of us. Yet the music of a man who lived two centuries ago...

Priest: Do you think God gives a damn about miniature donkeys, Colm?

Colm Doherty: I fear he doesn't. And I fear that's where it's all gone wrong.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: What do you need from him, Colm? To end all this?

Colm Doherty: Silence, Siobhan. Just silence.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: One more silent man on Inisherin, good-oh! Silence it is, so.

Colm Doherty: This isn't about Inisherin. It's about one boring man leaving another man alone, that's all.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: One boring man! You're all fucking boring! With your piddling grievances over nothin'! You're all fucking boring! I'll see he doesn't talk to you no more.

Colm Doherty: Do. Else it'll be all four of them the next time, not just the one.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: You're not serious. Well, that won't help your fecking music.

Colm Doherty: Aye. We're gettin somewhere now.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: I think you might be ill, Colm.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: [bursting into Colm's house; sits] How are ya, fatty? Dancing with your dog, is it? Well who else is gonna dance with ya? Your poor dog has no say in the matter. And if you're too rude to be offering me a seat, I'll be taking one of me own accord! How's that for an old hello?

Colm Doherty: Have you gone fecking mental?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Have I gone fecking mental? No I haven't gone fecking mental. Not only have I not gone fecking mental, but I have got ten fingers to prove I'm not fecking mental. How many fingers have you got to prove you're not fecking mental?

Colm Doherty: Nine fingers.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Nine fingers is the epitome of mental.

Colm Doherty: I was too harsh yesterday.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Yesterday, he says! I know well you was too harsh yesterday.

Colm Doherty: I just... I just have this tremendous sense of time slipping away on me, Padraic. And I think I need to spend the time I have left thinking and composing. Just trying not to listen to any more of the dull things you have to say for yourself. But I am sorry about it. I am, like.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Are you dying?

Colm Doherty: No, I'm not dying.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: But then you have loads of time.

Colm Doherty: For chatting?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Aye.

Colm Doherty: For aimless chatting?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Not for aimless chatting. For good, normal chatting.

Colm Doherty: So we'll keep aimlessly chatting and my life will keep on dwindling. And in 12 years, I'll die with nothin to show for it, bar the chats I've had with a limited man, is that it?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: I said, "not aimless chatting" I said "Good, normal chatting.

Colm Doherty: The other night, two hours, you spent talking to me about the things you found in your little donkey's shite that day. Two hours, Padraic. I timed it.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Well it wasn't me little donkey's shite, was it? It was me pony's shite. Which shows how much you were listenin'.

Colm Doherty: None of it helps me. Do you understand? None of it helps me.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: We'll just talk about something else, then!

Colm Doherty: If you don't stop talkin to me, and if you don't stop botherin me, or sendin your sister or your priest to bother me...

Pádraic Súilleabháin: I didn't send me sister to bother you, did I? She has her own mind. Although, I did send the priest though, you have me there.

Colm Doherty: What I've decided to do is this. I have a set of shears at home. And each time you bother me from this day on, I'll take those shears and I'll take one of me fingers off with them. And I'll give that finger to ya. A finger from me left hand. Me fiddle hand. And each day you bother me more, another I'll take off and I'll give ya until you see sense enough to stop. Or until I have no fingers left. Does this make things clearer to ya?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Not really, no.

Colm Doherty: Because I don't want to hurt your feelings, Padraic. I don't, like. But it feels like the drastic is the only option left open to me.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: You've loads of options left open to ya. How's fingers the first port of call?

Colm Doherty: Please, don't talk to me no more, Padraic. Please. I'm begging you.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: But...

Jonjo Devine: Shush, like, Padraic. Just, you know, shush, like.

Gerry: Yeah, I'd shush, like.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: I will shush. Except me and me sister were thinking, you might just be a bit depressed, Colm. And I tell you this much, fingers just confirms it. Don't you think, Colm?

Colm Doherty: Starting from now.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: You can't just all of a sudden stop being friends with a fella!

Colm Doherty: Why can't I?

Siobhan Súilleabháin: Why can't ya? Because it isn't nice. Has he said somethin to ya when he was drunk?

Colm Doherty: No, I prefer him when he's drunk. It's all the rest of the time I have the problem with.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: What's the fecking matter, then?

Colm Doherty: He's dull, Siobhan.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: He's what?

Colm Doherty: He's dull.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: But he's always been dull. What's changed?

Colm Doherty: I've changed. I just don't have a place for dullness in me life anymore.

Siobhan Súilleabháin: But you live on an island off the coast of Ireland, Colm. What the hell are you hoping for, like?

Colm Doherty: For a bit of peace, Siobhan. That's all. For a bit of peace in me heart, like. You can understand that. Can't ya? Can't ya?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Now... if I've done somethin to ya, just tell me what I've done to ya. And if I've said somethin to ya or maybe if I've said somethin when I was drunk and forgotten it. But I don't think I've said somethin when I was drunk and I've forgotten it. But if I did, then tell me what it was. And I'll say sorry for that too Colm. With all me heart, I'll say sorry. Just stop running away from me like some fool of a moody school child.

Colm Doherty: But you didn't say anything to me. And you didn't do anything to me.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: Well that's what I was thinking, like.

Colm Doherty: I just don't like ya no more.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: [hurt and disbelieving] You do like me.

Colm Doherty: I don't.

Pádraic Súilleabháin: But you liked me yesterday.

Colm Doherty: Oh, did I, yeah?

Pádraic Súilleabháin: I thought you did...

Colm Doherty: I do worry sometimes I might just be entertaining myself while staving off the inevitable.

Narrator: Those were the years when the icecaps melted due to the greenhouse gases and the oceans had risen and drowned so many cities along all the shorelines of the world. Amsterdam, Venice, New York forever lost. Millions of people were displaced. Climate became chaotic. Hundreds of millions of people starved in poorer countries. Elsewhere a high degree of prosperity survived when most governments in the developed world introduced legal sanctions to license pregnancies. Which was why robots, who were never hungry and did not consume resources beyond those of their first manufacture were so essential an economic link in the chain mail society.

Teddy: I am not a toy!

Teddy: We run now.

Lord Johnson-Johnson: [Showing David off to the Flesh Fair crowd; crowd stares silently; as David pleads to be spared; crowd pelts him with rocks and garbage] Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls and children of all ages! What will they think of next? See here! A bitty-bot, a tinker-toy, a living doll. Of course, we all know why they made them. To steal your hearts, to replace your children. This is the latest iteration in a series of insults to human dignity, and in their grand scheme to phase out all of God's little children. Meet the next generation of child, designed to do just that. Do not be fooled by the artistry of this creation. No doubt there was talent in the crafting of this simulator. Yet with the very first strike, you will see the big lie come apart before your very eyes! Built like a boy to disarm us! See how they try to imitate our emotions now! Whatever performance this sim puts on, remember: we are only demolishing artificiality! Let he who is without sim cast the firs stone.

Junky Mecha: Would you be so kind and shut down my pain receivers?

Narrator: That was the everlasting moment he had been waiting for. And the moment had passed, for Monica was sound asleep. More than merely asleep. Should he shake her, she would never rouse. So David went to sleep, too. And for the first time in his life, he went to that place, where dreams are born.

Kelly Scott: [about Hector] He thinks they're godly.

Sheriff Hank Keough: What was that?

Kelly Scott: In his defense, every primitive culture known to man deified them: ancient China, Egypt, Australia, Asia... Going back in history, crocodiles have been more worshiped than Jesus.

Sheriff Hank Keough: Is this supposed to make us take him more seriously?

Kelly Scott: No, it's supposed to make you understand him.

Mrs. Bickerman: Murders and rapes in the city, people bomb planes, can the police stop em? No! But feed one little cow to a crocodile...

Sheriff Hank Keough: You're gonna stay right here until the police show. You're under full house arrest.

Mrs. Bickerman: Thank you, officer fuck-meat!

Sheriff Hank Keough: [after seeing her lead a blindfolded cow to the crocodile] Ma'am, your husband Bernie, you didn't by any chance lead him to the lake blindfolded?

Mrs. Bickerman: If I had a dick, this is where I'd tell you to suck it!

Mrs. Bickerman: Oh, my husband passed away. It's been almost two years now.

Sheriff Hank Keough: My department doesn't have any record of that, Mrs. Bickerman.

Mrs. Bickerman: Well, I'm sorry. Incomplete records haunt me so.

Jack Wells: What was the cause of your husband's death, ma'am? Do you know?

Kelly Scott: We don't mean to invade your privacy, but was he ill, was he sick?

Sheriff Hank Keough: Was he swallowed?

Sheriff Hank Keough: I... I... I never heard of a crocodile crossing an ocean.

Hector Cyr: Well, they conceal information like that in books.

Kelly Scott: His scales were oval. He's an Asian Crocodile.

Sheriff Hank Keough: Why... why would he come here? I mean, it's impossible. Asia. How would he get here?

Hector Cyr: Obviously some asshole in Hong Kong flushed him down the toilet.

Sheriff Hank Keough: Tents were sent ahead. Should already be set up by the time we get there.

Kelly Scott: Tents? We're staying in TENTS?

Sheriff Hank Keough: I told you, two days we'd have to camp.

Kelly Scott: Yes! Camp! But I thought that meant Ramada Inn. I never heard tents! Will there be toilets?

Jack Wells: Maybe we should just take you back.

Kelly Scott: Why? Because I prefer toilets? Maybe I should just wipe myself with some leafy little piece of poison oak. And then I can spend the whole day scratchin my ass, blendin in with the natives.

Kelly Scott: What kind of backup do we have?

Sheriff Hank Keough: We?

Kelly Scott: What?

Sheriff Hank Keough: Well, I'm a little unclear as to why the museum would send somebody here.

Kelly Scott: You got a thing against museums?

Sheriff Hank Keough: Naw, I got nothin against museums.

Kelly Scott: Ever been in one?

Kelly Scott: The lake is so black and still.

Sheriff Hank Keough: Yeah, we wanted to call it Lake Placid, but someone said that name was taken.

Jack Wells: It's not a science trip.

Kelly Scott: Could you be a little more condescending? Cause I'm not real great with subtlety.

Jack Wells: Something in that lake killed somebody, all right? I appreciate your trying to help. I'm really glad that you... brought the RAID.

Kelly Scott: There, that's better.

Jack Wells: Ma'am...

Kelly Scott: Look, if you call me "ma'am" one more time I'll sue you, and with today's laws, it's possible.

Sheriff Hank Keough: She's good.

August Nicholson: I often wondered if you and my son bonded because neither of you was fond of speaking. You're very kind. You must pardon my manners; I haven't slept in many nights.

August Nicholson: Who'll pinch me to wake me up? Who will laugh at me when I fall? Whose breath will I listen for so that I may sleep? Whose hand will I hold so that I may walk?

Harry: Well?

Ken: The boy's suicidal Harry. He's a walking dead man. Keeps going on about Hell and Purgatory -

Harry: When I phoned you yesterday, did I ask you Ken, would you do me a favor and become Ray's psychiatrist please? No. What I think what I asked you was "would you go blow his fucking head off for me?" "He's suicidal"? I'm suicidal, you're suicidal, everybody's fucking suicidal. We don't all keep going on about it. Has he killed himself yet? So he's not fucking suicidal, is he?

Ken: He put a loaded gun to his head this morning, I stopped him.

Harry: He... What? This gets fucking worse!

Ken: We were down the park...

Harry: Lemme get this right..."You were down the park"? What's that got to do with fucking anything? Let me get this right. Not only have you refused to kill the boy, you even stopped the boy from killing himself, which would've solved my problem, which would've solved your problem, which sounds like would've solved the boy's problem.

Ken: It wouldn't have solved his problem.

Harry: Ken, if I had killed a little kid, accidentally or otherwise, I wouldn't have thought twice. I'd killed myself on the fucking spot. On the fucking spot. I would've stuck the gun in me mouth on the fucking spot!

Ken: That's you, Harry. The boy has the capacity to change. The boy has the capacity to do something decent with his life.

Harry: Excuse me, Ken, I have the capacity to change.

Ken: Yeah, you do. You've the capacity to get fucking worse!

Harry: Ah yeah, now we're getting down to it!

Ken: Harry, let's face it. And I'm not being funny, I mean no disrespect, but you're a cunt. You're a cunt now, you've always been a cunt. And, the only thing that's gonna change is you're gonna become an even bigger cunt. Maybe have some more cunt kids.

Harry: Leave my kids fucking out of it! What have they done? You fucking retract that bit about my cunt fucking kids!

Ken: I retract that bit about your cunt fucking kids.

Harry: Insulting my fucking kids?! That's going overboard, mate!

Ken: [quietly] I retracted it, didn't I! Still leaves you being a cunt...

Harry: Yeah, I fucking got that.

Ken: [''Makes call''; ''Ken hangs up''] Harry? It's Ken. Listen to this noise. Do you know what that is? Yeah, I know you know it's a train. Do you know what train? Well, it's a train that Ray just got on, and he's alive and he's well, and he doesn't know where he's going and neither do I. So if you need to do your worst, do your worst. You've got the address of the hotel. I'll be here waiting. Because I've got to quite like Bruges now. It's like a fucking fairytale or something.

Natalie: [''Appears in doorway''] Harry. Harry!

Harry: [''Stops''] What!

Natalie: It's an inanimate fucking object!

Harry: You're an inanimate fucking!

Ray: [[w:LSD|acid; [w:MDMA|ecstasy] The rest of the ] and the ]. Can I have me gun back, please? What am I gonna do, Ken? What am I gonna do?

Ken: Just keep moving. Keep on moving. Try not to think about it. Learn a new language, maybe?

Ray: Sure, I can hardly do English. That's one thing I like about Europe, though. You don't have to learn any of their languages.

Ken: Just forget about home for a while. See how the land lies in six years, seven years. Seven years is not that long.

Ray: It's longer than that boy got. My first fucking job. Great hitman I turned out to be.

Ken: Some people just aren't cut out for it, Ray.

Ray: Are you? When are you going back to England?

Ken: I'll head back in a couple of hours or something.

Ray: Harry's not gonna be mad at you, is he? For letting me go?

Ken: I'll sort out Harry.

Ray: Just tell him I'll have probably killed myself in a fortnight, anyway.

Ken: You won't, will you, Ray?

Ray: What a wanker!

Ken: He said this whole trip... this whole being in Bruges thing, was just to give you one last, joyful memory before you died.

Ray: [''Laughs''] In Bruges? The Bahamas, maybe? Why fucking Bruges?

Ken: I suppose it's cheaper.

Ray: Mine's a bloody girl's gun.

Ken: I'm keeping it.

Ray: Pardon me? Gimme me gun back.

Ken: You're not getting it back. You're a suicide case.

Ray: And you were trying to shoot me in the fucking head.

Ken: You're not getting that gun back.

Ray: Oh, great day this has turned out to be. I'm suicidal, me mate tries to kill me, me gun gets nicked and we're still in fucking Bruges.

Ken: Listen, I'm gonna give you some money and put you on a train somewhere.

Ray: Back to England?

Ken: You can't go back to England, Ray. You'd be a dead man!

Ray: [''Sobs''] Ken, I wanna be a dead man. Have you been missing somethin'?

Ken: You don't wanna a dead man, Ray.

Ray: [''Sobs''] I killed a little boy!

Ken: Then save the next little boy. Just go away somewhere, get out of this business and try to do something good. You're not gonna help anybody dead. You're not gonna bring that boy back, but you might save the next one.

Ray: What am I gonna be, a doctor? You need exams.

Ray: Do anything, Ray. Do anything!

Ken: [''Walks up behind Ray sitting on a park bench who holds up gun to head''] Ray, don't!

Ray: Fuckin hell! Where the fuck did you come from?

Ken: I've behind a thing. What the fuck you doing, Ray?

Ray: What the fuck are you doing?

Ken: Nothin'.

Ray: Oh, my God... you were gonna kill me.

Ken: No, I wa - You were gonna kill yourself!

Ray: Well... I'm allowed.

Ken: No, you're not!

Ray: What? I'm not allowed, and you are? How's that fair?

Yuri: There are a lot of alcoves in the Koningin Astridpark. You use this word, alcoves?

Ken: Alcoves? Yes. Sometimes.

Yuri: There are not many people around in these alcoves in Christmas time. If I were to murder a man, I would murder him here. (beat) Are you sure this is the right word, alcoves?

Ken: Alcoves, yes! It's kind of like, nooks and crannies.

Yuri: Nooks and crannies, yes! Perhaps this would be more accurate. Nooks and crannies rather than alcoves. Yeah! You are going to do it, aren't you? Mr. Waters would be very disappointed.

Ken: Of course I'm going to fucking do it. It's what I do.

Ken: Your girlfriend's very pretty.

Jimmy: She ain't my girlfriend. She's a prostitute I just picked up.

Ken: I wasn't aware there were any prostitutes in Bruges.

Jimmy: You just have to look in the right places... brothels are good.

Ken: Well, you've picked up a very pretty prostitute.

Jimmy: Thank you.

Ken: You from the States?

Jimmy: Yeah. But don't hold it against me.

Ken: I'll try not to... just try not to say anything too loud or crass.

Ken: How did your date go?

Ray: [[w:cocaine|cocaine; [w:skinhead|skinhead] My date involved two instances of extreme violence, one instance of her hand on my cock and my finger up her thing, which lasted all too briefly - isn't that always the way? - one instance of me stealing 5 grams of a very high quality ] and one instance of me blinding a poofy little ], so, all in all, my evening pretty well balanced out. Fine.

Ken: You've got five grams of coke?

Ray: [''Shakes head''] I got four grams on me and one gram in me which is why me heart is going like the fucking clappers as if I'm about to have a heart attack, so if I collapse any minute now please remember to tell the doctors it might have something to do with the coke.

Ken: Well, technically, your bare hands can kill somebody too, they can be deadly weapons too. I mean, what if he knew karate, say?

Ray: [[w:Crossing guard|lollipop man] You said he was a ]!

Ken: He was a lollipop man.

Ray: What's a lollipop man doing knowing fucking karate?

Ken: I'm just saying.

Ray: How old was he?

Ken: About fifty.

Ray: What's a fifty-year old lollipop man doing knowing fucking karate! What was he, a Chinese lollipop man? Jesus, Ken. I'm trying to talk about...

Ken: I know what you're trying to talk about.

Ray: I killed a little boy. You keep bringing up a fucking lollipop man.

Ken: You didn't mean to kill a little boy.

Ray: [''Pause''] I know I didn't mean to... but because of the choices I made, and the course that I put into action, that little boy isn't here anymore, and he'll never be here again. I mean here in the world, not here in Belgium. Well he'll never be here in Belgium either, will he? I mean, he might've wanted to come here when he got older. Don't know why. And that's all because of me. He's dead because of me. And I'm trying to... trying to get me head around it, but I can't. I will have always have killed that little boy. That ain't ever going away. Ever. Unless... maybe I go away.

Ken: Don't even think like that.

Ken: [''Looking at a surreal [[w:Hieronymus Bosch|Bosch; [w:The Last Judgment (Bosch, Bruges)|It's Judgment Day] ] painting] ], you know?

Ray: Oh, yeah. What's that then?

Ken: Well, it's, you know, the final day on Earth, when mankind will be judged for all the crimes they've committed and that.

Ray: Oh. And see who gets into Heaven and who gets into Hell and all that.

Ken: Yeah.

Ray: What's the other place?

Ken: Purgatory.

Ray: [[w:Tottenham Hotspur F.C.|Tottenham; ''Pause''] Purgatory... Purgatory's kind of like the in-betweeny one. You weren't really shit, but you weren't all that great either. Like ]. Do you believe in all that stuff, Ken?

Ken: In Tottenham?

Ken: We are doing what I want to do, got it?

Ray: Of course, which I presume will involve culture.

Ken: Oh, we shall strike a balance between culture and fun.

Ray: Somehow I believe, Ken, that the balance shall tip in the favour of culture, like a big fat fucking retarded fucking black girl on a see-saw opposite... a dwarf.

Ken: [''Preparing to climb the the belfry''] Coming up?

Ray: What's up there?

Ken: The view.

Ray: The view of what? The view of down here? I can see that from down here.

Ken: Ray, you are about the worst tourist in the whole world.

Ray: [[w:Dublin|Dublin] Ken, I grew up in ]. I love Dublin. If I'd've grown up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me, but I didn't, so it doesn't.