Harold Quotes in Death Race 2000 (1975)

Harold: As the cars roar into Pennsylvania, the cradle of liberty, it seems apparent that our citizens are staying off the streets, which may make scoring particularly difficult, even with this year's rule changes. To recap those revisions: women are still worth 10 points more than men in all age brackets, but teenagers now rack up 40 points, and toddlers under 12 now rate a big 70 points. The big score: anyone, any sex, over 75 years old has been upped to 100 points.

Junior: Frankenstein scores! Frankenstein scores at last! But what kind of a score, boys and girls? Just 80 points out a possible big 700. What do you think, Gracie?

Grace Pander: Well, those doctors - dear friends of mine - have been pretty smug all these years setting up the old folks. Frankenstein must have decided it was their turn.

Harold: Which only goes to show that even the fearsome Frankenstein has a one-hundred-percent, red-blooded American sense of humor, heh heh.

Harold: Is it true that with your new mechanical arm you can shift gears in less than a twentieth of a second? Would you care to comment on that?

Frankenstein: No.

Harold: How do you feel about going into the race with a navigator you've never met?

Grace Pander: You'll love Annie. She's a red-hot sexpot.

Frankenstein: She'd better be a red-hot navigator.

[after Frankenstein runs over a doctor during "Euthanasia Day"]

Harold: Which only goes to show that even the fearsome Frankenstein has a one hundred percent red-blooded American sense of humor.

Harold: [Just before dropping Mr. Bravo in to a swimming pool from a balcony] You know what you're problem is Bravo? You're so short, your brain is just too close to your asshole.

Tyrone: [shouting in megaphone] You better come out now, you scumbags!

Harold: Cops don't talk like that.

Tyrone: They do to me.

Harold: Now haven't you ever heard of an act of faith?

Myrna: Harold, you have faith in God. You have faith in your country. You do not have faith in The Eight Stooges!

Jimmy Cuervo: She believed in you. She believed in all of you.

Harold: She believed in fairy tales. Who are you to tell me what she believed in?

Jimmy Cuervo: I'm the fairy fucking godfather that's gonna save your fairy fucking tails.

Jimmy Cuervo: I saw a creature, he sat and he held his own heart in his hands, and he ate of it. I asked him, "Is it good friend?" He said, "It is bitter. Bitter. But I like it because it is bitter."

Harold: May God's fury rain down on you.

Jimmy Cuervo: And because it is *my* heart.

Harold: How could God pick such a man?

Jimmy Cuervo: Why not? She did.

Taylor Brooks: If you ask me, it costs too much.

Harold: What?

Taylor Brooks: Love. It's way overpriced.

Harold: It's beautiful

Taylor Brooks: Course it's beautiful, did you think I'd take you to an ugly mountain?

Harold: What about, uh, Dallas? What's his name? What's his problem?

Taylor Brooks: Dallas Woolf. We went to Law School together. He was good in the classroom... I was better in the courtroom. There's no contest in the bedroom!

Harold: [Harold and Taylor are in a tent] Hey Taylor, you awake?

Taylor Brooks: No.

Taylor Brooks: You climatizing, Harold?

Harold: Good news or bad news when you bleed from your ears?

Taylor Brooks: Good news.

Taylor Brooks: I didn't make the world the way it is, Harold. I'm just trying to get through it, as fast and as clean as possible.

Harold: [after staring straight at him for 5 seconds] We ALL make the world the way it is.

Taylor Brooks: Yeah, well, we know who made this.

[Taylor tosses his unfinished bowl of oatmeal into the pot and exits the tent]

Harold: Touch that gun, I'll shove it up your ass and pull the trigger!

Harold: So what are you in here for?

Tarik: For being black.

Harold: Seriously.

Tarik: I am serious. You wanna know what happened? I was walking out of a Barnes & Noble, and a cop stops me. Now evidently, a black guy robbed a store in Newark. I told him, "I haven't even been to Newark in months." So he starts beating me with his gun, telling me to stop resisting arrest.

Harold: Holy shit! What'd you do?

Tarik: I kept saying, "I understand I'm under arrest. Now please stop beating me."

Harold: I'm sorry, I don't understand how you can be so calm about all this.

Tarik: Look at me. I'm fat, black, can't dance, and I have two gay fathers. People have been messing with me my whole life. I learned a long time ago there's no sense getting all riled up every time a bunch of idiots give you a hard time. In the end, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Plus I have a really large penis. That keeps me happy.

Kumar: [from inside a heating duct at the police station, where Harold is in jail] Rold? Is that you?

Harold: Kumar?

Kumar: Hey, are the cops still here?

[cops left moments earlier to check out a shooting in Millbrook Park]

Harold: What the hell are you doing?

Kumar: I just called and made up some story about a shooting in Millbrook Park.

Harold: Jesus Christ! What'd you do that for?

Kumar: I'm fucking starving! I figured I'd bust you out and we'd go get some burgers.

Harold: Did Doogie Howser just steal my fucking car?

Harold: [yelling] How is that not the worse news?

Kumar: [calmly] The laptop situation really only affects you, whereas the White Castle situation affects us both equally.

Harold: Neil, you wouldn't happen to know how to get on the highway from here, would you?

Neil Patrick Harris: Dude, I don't even know where the fuck I am right now. I was at this party earlier tonight and some guy hooked me up with this incredible "X" - next thing I know I'm being thrown out of a moving car. I've been trippin' balls ever since.

Kumar: That's crazy, dude. We've been having a pretty crazy, night, too. We've just been driving around looking for White Castle but we keep getting sidetracked.

Neil Patrick Harris: Yeah, dude, you fascinate me. Forget White Castle, let's go get some pussy!

Harold: Huh?

Neil Patrick Harris: It's a fucking sausage fest in here, bros. Let's get some poontang, THEN we'll go to White Castle.

Kumar: No, Neil, you don't understand. We've been craving these burgers all night.

Neil Patrick Harris: Yeah, I've been craving burgers, too. Furburgers. Come on, dudes, let's pick up some trim at a strip club. The Doogie line always works on strippers.

[sings]

Neil Patrick Harris: Lapdance...

Kumar: [pause] There's a gas station. I'm gonaa see if I can get some directions.

Neil Patrick Harris: You don't need dir- gah! Hurry up, dudes, hurry up! I'm losing wood.

[they park, pause]

Neil Patrick Harris: Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry...

Kumar: Look, chill.

Harold: We'll be right back, Neil.

[they exit the car]

Harold: Dude, what is the deal with Neil Patrick Harris? Why is he so horny?

Harold: Dude, where's my car?

Kumar: Where's his car, dude?

Freakshow: What the hell are you doing with my wife?

Harold: Y-you said outside that we could have sex with her!

Kumar: Shit! Shit!

Freakshow: I most certainly did not!

Harold: Yes you did!

Freakshow: Did not!

Kumar: Yes you did!

Freakshow: Oh, no, I didn't.

Kumar: You did, you did.

Freakshow: You sure...?

Harold: You said it!

Freakshow: [laughing] My mistake! Well, since we're all here... How 'bout a four-some?

Burger Shack Employee: Ding-dong! May I interject for a second? As a Burger Shack employee for the past three years, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that if you're craving White Castle, the burgers here just don't cut it. In fact, just thinking about those tender little White Castle burgers with those little, itty-bitty grilled onions that just explode in your mouth like flavor crystals every time you bite into one... just makes me want to burn this motherfucker down. Come on, Pookie, let's burn this motherfucker down! Come on, Pookie! Let's burn it, Pookie! Let's burn this motherfucker down! Let's burn it down! Let's burn it! So you guys maybe should just suck it up and go to White Castle.

Kumar: You can always get your work done in the car.

Harold: Let's do it.

Kumar: All right. Awesome. Then listen, listen - no matter what, we are not ending this night without White Castle in our stomachs. Agreed?

Harold: Agreed.

[shakes Kumar's hand then gives him pound]

Burger Shack Employee: Wise choice. You guys might have wanted to stay away from our special sauce tonight. Me and Pookie, we added a secret ingredient. I'll give you a hint. It's semen.

[Harold and Kumar show disgusted look, employee then bursts out laughing]

Harold: [Smirks] Semen.

Burger Shack Employee: Animal semen.

[Harold and Kumar scream and drive off as fast as possible]

Kumar: [sniffs] Hey, what's that smell?

Harold: What smell? Kumar...

Kumar: [starts sniffing like a crazed bloodhound, and then sees a huge bag of marijuana, his eyes widen]

Harold: Hey Kumar! Kumar! Where are you...

[Kumar rushes to the bag of marijuana]

Harold: Kumar! Still in jail, asshole! Come here!

Kumar: Do you know what the hell we had to go through after you took the car?

Neil Patrick Harris: Yeah, it was a dick move on my part. That's why I'm paying for your meal. Prick.

Neil Patrick Harris: [looks down to count money] Here's 50 for the meal, and 200 for the car.

Harold: What happened to my car?

Neil Patrick Harris: I made some love stains in the back. You'll see...

Harold: Dude, we're so high right now!

Kumar: We're not low!

Harold: [riding a cheetah] Dude, am I really high, or is this actually working?

Kumar: Both.

Kumar: I forgot my cell phone.

Harold: You wanna run back and get it?

[both turn and look at their front door 20 feet from them]

Kumar: No, we've gone too far.

Harold: [awakening from dream after being hit on head] What the hell are you doing? Gawd!

Kumar: You been out cold for the past half an hour. I figured maybe if I did some gay shit, you'd wake up.

Harold: If you did some gay shit? What kinda - where are we? Didn't we come here on a cheetah? Where's the cheetah?

Kumar: It ran away. Listen, forget about the cheetah, okay?

Harold: Are those my scissors? Dude, I trim my nose hair with those!

Kumar: Dude, I've been cutting my ass hair with them for the past six months.

Harold: ...The universe tends to unfold as it should.

Kumar: What is that? Some fortune cookie?

Harold: I want that.

Kumar: What? A Hot Dog Heaven super chili cheese dog?

Harold: No. I want that feeling. The feeling that comes over a man when he gets exactly what he desires. I need that feeling!

Kumar: Are you saying what I think you're saying?

Harold: We gotta go to White Castle.

Kumar: YES! YES! I knew you had it in you dude!

Kumar: I can't believe you were gonna ditch for the Joy Luck Club, dude. You know what their parties are like.

Harold: C'mon, what did you want me to say? I was under pressure.

Kumar: Just say no. That's all it takes.

Kumar: Here.

[hands Harold the joint]

Kumar: Take a hit of that.

Kumar: Now we're in Newark, of all places. You know we're gonna get shot.

Harold: Maybe it's not as bad as they say. Maybe it's just a bunch of hype.

Kumar: Check it out. Those guys look like a lame version of us.

[2 guys get jumped and beaten with a 2x4 and other weapons]

Harold, Kumar: Holy shit!

[assailants stop beating up 2 guys, look up and pause, then continue with the assaults while the 2 men lay on the ground moaning]

Harold: Let's get the fuck outta here. Go! Go! Drive! Drive!

Kumar: Yeah, that was your fault.

Harold: Fuck you.

Kumar: Fuck you.

Harold: Oh, nice. 16 Candles is on, man.

Kumar: And the award for the least heterosexual statement ever made in this apartment goes to... Harold Lee! Come on down, man! Take a bow!

Harold: Shut up, man. It's a classic.

Harold: [about to ride cheetah] This is either a really smart move or by far the stupidest thing that we have ever tried.

Goldstein: Sorry, kids. We ain't goin' nowhere. We're watching The Gift. Supposedly Katie Holmes shows her titties in this movie.

Harold: Is that all you Jews ever think about? Tits?

Rosenberg: Katie Holmes is a nice, respectable, wholesome girl... and I'm gonna see her boobs.

Goldstein: Oh man, the things I would eat out of her ass... you have no idea!

Rosenberg: Ugh! That is a completely disgusting and vulgar statement.

Goldstein: So is, "I wanna bang Britney Spears on the bathroom floor," but it's true.

Rosenberg: [shrugs; beat] Touché.

Harold: I am so hungry. I'm gonna eat, like, 20 of those burgers, man.

Kumar: Dude, fuckin' I will see your 20 burgers and raise you 5 orders of fries.

Harold: Back off cockboy, what I said him goes double for you.

J.D.: Cockboy, you just call me cockboy?

Harold: Yeah, you know I did. You're just stalling cuz you're not quick enough to think of a comeback.

J.D.: You think I'm not quick enough. Guy thinks I'm not quick enough. Well I got news for you. I am quick enough!... Cockboy!

Kumar: [whispering to Harold] Check out those boils on his neck! You gotta look! One of them is actually pulsating!

Harold: [whispering] Will you shut up? He's right next to me! He can hear you!

Kumar: [whispering] Ugh! Now there's some sort of Puss! Just look!

Harold: [Harold looks at Freakshow's neck]

Kumar: [whispering] See? Isn't that the most disgusting thing you've ever seen?

Harold: [whispering] You think that just because you're whispering he can't hear what you are saying? He's two feet away from us! He can hear this entire conversation! He can hear me talking... right now!

Kumar: [whispering] Don't worry about it, he can't hear anything. Not with all that crust in his ear.

[brief pause]

Freakshow: I heard everything you said.

Harold: Is there... is there a problem, Officer... Palumbo?

Officer Palumbo: Is there a problem? Have you heard of jaywalking?

Harold: Yes, I have. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again.

Officer Palumbo: That's great. I'm writing you up a ticket.

Kumar: A ticket? Are you serious?

Officer Palumbo: Who the fuck are you, shitwad?

Harold: Harold: Thanks, for helping us out.

Freakshow: [Long Pause]

Freakshow: ...Oh no problem at all, I seen you two stranded out there. Alone. In the darkness.

Freakshow: [Under his breath. While staring at Harold] I said to myself.

Freakshow: [Short Pause]

Freakshow: What would Jesus do?

Freakshow: [Takes hands off the steering wheel and starts clapping and singing]

Freakshow: Goin' down to Georgia, gonna get myself baptised, gonna get myself baptised In the puddle of the looooooorrd.

Kumar: [notices the ticket fee] $220? Are you crazy? Excuse me, Officer sir! Let me just take a few guesses here!

Harold: [stands in front of Kumar, pleading to the officer] I'm really sorry for this...

Officer Palumbo: No sudden movements! Back it up!

Kumar: You were probably the big asshole in high school, right?

Officer Palumbo: Absolutely right.

Kumar: And you used to pick on guys like us everyday for fun?

Officer Palumbo: With pleasure.

Kumar: But then graduation day came! We went to college, while you went nowhere. And then you began to think to yourself, "Gee. How can I still give them grief? Oh, I know, I'll just become a cop." Yeah? Well, congratulations! Your dream has come true! Now, why don't you just take this quiet little Asian guy with the American name that treats you so well and give him some more tickets or better just take him to jail.

Officer Palumbo: Even better.

[to Harold]

Officer Palumbo: You're going downtown thanks to your friend here.

Kumar: [to Harold, mockingly] Oh, great American name, Harold!

Harold: [lunges his fist toward Kumar, but misses and strikes Officer Palumbo in the face] Yaaah!

Officer Palumbo: Huh.

[spits his gum out, angrily]

Harold: [placed in jail with a blank expression on his face] Oh, shoot.

Harold: I want 30 sliders, 5 french fries, and 4 large cherry cokes.

Kumar: I want the same except make mine diet cokes.

Kumar: Hey Roldy?

Harold: What?

Kumar: There's something I forgot to tell you.

Harold: What?

Kumar: I never hang-glided before.

Harold: WHAT?

Kumar: [licking Harold's face]

Harold: Ah! AH! What the hell are you doing?

Kumar: You've been out cold for the past half hour, I figured if I did some gay shit you'd wake up.

Harold: [after Kumar's rude intervention] I apologize for my friend here, we had a really tough night. I'm really glad you're here. You ever heard of the show, Doogie Houser, MD?

Officer Palumbo: Yeah, I know the show. God, I love that show! Doogie. Ha.

Harold: Neil Patrick Harris stole my car tonight.

Officer Palumbo: [Points his pen at Harold] Hey! NPH wouldn't do that, all right? Now let me see some I.D.

Harold: So what are you in for?

Tarik: For being Black.

Harold: Seriously.

Tarik: I am being serious. You wanna know what happened? I was walking out of a Barnes & Nobles, and a cop stops me. Evidently, a Black guy robbed a store in Newark. I told him, "I haven't even been to Newark in months." So, he starts beating with his gun, telling me to stop resisting arrest.

Harold: Holy shit! What did you do?

Tarik: I said, " I understand that I am under arrest. Now please stop beating me."

Harold: I don't understand how you can be so calm about this.

Tarik: Look at me. I'm fat, Black, can't dance and have tow gay fathers. People have been messing with me my whole life. I learned a long time ago there's no sense in getting all riled up every time a bunch of idiots give you a hard time. In the end, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Plus, I have a really large penis. That keeps me happy.

Harold: [to Maria in elevator, after seeing luggage at her feet] Sure got a lotta baggage.

Harold: You still haven't explained the gay thing.

Kumar: You're not gay, motherfucker!

Harold: At all.

Neil Patrick Harris: Yeah that's something us magicians like to call misdirection. Just a little something I picked up from my man, Clay Aiken.

Kumar: What? Clay Aiken's not gay?

Neil Patrick Harris: Are you kidding me? Clay's the biggest coos hound I know. That guy gets mad gash.

Harold: Koreans have killed his mother and now his tree. Christmas is ruined.

Kenneth Park: This is a Sharp 52" Aquos Quattron TV with state-of-the-art 3D technology that makes Avatar look Avatar-ded.

Harold: I don't know. Hasn't the whole 3D thing jumped shark by now?

Kenneth Park: Mr. Lee, you don't understand. This is the best 3D you've ever seen. It's gonna be amazing!

[Kenneth gives two thumbs up to the audience]

Harold: Who are you looking at?

Todd: Oh, great. Now we're getting tinkled on.

Harold: It's just urine. It'll wash out.

Todd: Oh, Harry. Tinkled on the windshield. That is officially the grossest thing that has ever happened to me.

Harold: I shot Santa in the face! He's real! And I shot him in the face!

Splatter: [to Dodge, about Thomas] Hey! Hey! Just watch what happens to that blue puffball...

Dodge: When Harold the flopper chopper flies past here.

Splatter: Right!

Harold: [Flies by] Routine, fly-by chaps. Hello!

Splatter: The Boss dumped sneezing powder everywhere.

Dodge: Let's start laughing now!

Splatter: [laughing] Yeah!

Harold: [Flies past the shed, causing dust to fly everywhere] Sorry, fellows. Bit of a dust up, love to stay and clean up. Got to go, bye now!

[Flies away. Splatter and Dodge cough through the dust]

Splatter: Uh, did you mean to look like that?

Dodge: Uh, no.

Splatter: Uh, neither did I.

Thomas: This must be Diesel's doing. Ah-choo-choo.

[puffs away]

Arnold: What's wrong with old things? Some old things are great.

Harold: Yeah, like Mrs. Vitello.

Mrs. Vitello: [Hitting Harold] Whippersnapper!

Kate: Anne-Marie do you like your waffles?

Anne-Marie: Oh, yes! Very much, thank you.

Harold: No, thank you!

Kate: Anne-Marie where do you live?

Anne-Marie: I live with Charlie! He's my dog.

Harold: But where do you stay?

Anne-Marie: With Charlie in the junk yard.

Harold: That man's asking me to do things that ain't right. He's asking me to take her apron off and look at her... It ain't right. And it ain't policemanly.

Harold: I always thought masturbation was the ultimate act of self-absorption.

Sam Weber: Do you jerk off?

Harold: Does a bear have fleas?

Sam Weber: No, no, "Does a bear shit in the woods?"

Harold: Does a bear jerk off?

Nick: You know, I shit in the woods, but I can't jerk off.

Harold: Nick, help me with all these bleeding hearts!

Nick: I know what Alex would say.

Harold: What?

Nick: What's for dessert?

Harold: [Harold, Sam, and Nick are trying to chase a bat out of the attic] I'll open the window, maybe it'll split.

[He opens the window; two more bats fly in]

Nick: Good, now we've got a fair fight.

Karen: [smoking a joint, passes it to Harold] No... I know that Richard will always be faithful to me.

Harold: [takes the joint, about to smoke it] That's nice. You trust.

Karen: [shaking her head] Fear of herpes.

[Harold stops short of putting the joint in his mouth]

Nick: Since when did you get so friendly with cops? Harold?

Harold: You know you're fuckin' stupid? Stupid, yeah. First off, that cop has twice kept this house from being ripped off. Happens to be a hell of a guy. And you...

[turns away]

Nick: Come on, Harold. What is it?

Harold: What is it with you? Is jail another "experience" you want to "try?" See what that's "like?" You know, I live here. This place means something to me. I'm dug in. I don't need this shit.

Michael: Harold, don't you have any other music , you know, from this century?

Harold: There is no other music, not in my house.

Michael: There's been a lot of terrific music in the last ten years.

Harold: Like what?

Harold: [preparing to order shoes for everyone] Feet grow as you get older.

Michael: I wish everything did.

Karen: How about you Michael? So tell us about the world of big time journalism.

Sam Weber: Yeah.

Michael: Well iwhere I work we only have one editorial rule. You can't write anything longer than it takes your average person to take an average crap.

[everyone laughs]

Michael: I'm getting tired of everything I write being read in the can.

Harold: You can read Dostoyevsky in the can.

Michael: Yes, but they can't finish it.

The Count: This was the deal: I asked all of you to demand of me to do a very foolish thing, and you sent in ideas in their millions. But one idea has defeated them all, so I'm proud to announce I will soon be the first person to say the "F" word on rock 'n' roll radio in the United Kingdom of Great Britain. But my aim is not to offend, it is to entertain. But also, perhaps, to educate a little. Cuz if you shoot a bullet, someone dies. When you drop a bomb, many die. You hit a woman, love dies. But... if you say the f-word, nothing actually happens. So here it comes. Especially for you, the "F" word.

[Sees Quentin]

The Count: First, though, this very fine piece of music.

[Puts on a record]

Quentin: You can't do this.

The Count: Why not? It's just a word!

Quentin: Charming thought, but here's the simple situation. The authorities already dislike us. If you do this they will hate us, and by hook or by crook, they'll find a way to close us down.

The Count: They can't close us down. We're pirates. That's why we're sitting out here in the middle of the freaking ocean.

Quentin: Believe me, they will find a way. Governments loathe people being free.

The Count: Okay, I'm thinking about it.

[to the listeners]

The Count: My dear comrades, I have some sad news. The powers that be have decreed that the "F" word is a word too far. But at least for now, even though our dreams of freedom have died a tragic death, the Hollies are still alive. Thank you.

[Back to Quentin]

The Count: I don't know why you did that. I was just gonna say "fuck" once. You know, one tiny little "fuck."

Quentin: There's no such thing as a tiny little "fuck."

The Count: Yeah there is. You should ask Angus' girlfriend.

Quentin: Be that as it may, there's no "fuck" so small it won't fuck us up. One day, in a world of dreams, you'll be able to say "wank" or "bollocks" or even "cock" on the radio. But "fuck," never.

Harold: [In the control room] Excuse me, my Lordship?

The Count: Yes, Harold?

Harold: You've left your mike up in the studio.

The Count: [Looks] So I have.

[His conversation with the count has been broadcasting the whole time]

The Count: [laughs] I do apologise to everyone out there for the four... Or was it five "F" words, Quentin? The Hollies will continue undisturbed. I'm so sorry about that, Quentin, but you know, I thought you sounded good. You have a lovely voice for radio.

Quentin: Fuck off.

The Count: That makes it six, Quentin.

Angus: The way I look at it, the world couldn't survive without my comedy, and who's going to have the moral backbone to play the Seekers when the mood is right?

Dave: They've split up.

Angus: I intend to celebrate the back catalogue.

Dave: I intend to stop you doing so.

Mark: [silently stands up and lights a cigarette]

Simon: As some of you know, my wife left me after 17 hours of marriage, but I survived that because I live for music. And now, with nothing else to live for, I'm willing to die for it as well.

'On-The-Hour' John: I've always lived for news and weather. Happy to die for them, too. Especially the weather.

Bob Silver 'the Dawn Treader': I've got nowhere else to go.

Harold: I have somewhere else to go, but it's Peckham. So I think I'll stick around.

Felicity: Can't let everyone starve. And I'm slightly worried where my increasingly powerful sexuality will take me when I return to normal life.

Thick Kevin: I've got a very strong suspicion that Felicity fancies me. Not about to go anywhere, just when I'm in with a chance.

'Young' Carl: Obviously, I'm in. You're the only people in the world who like me.

Harold: [the crew has decided to stay on the ship and keep broadcasting having nowhere else to go, Harold is the last one left] I *do* have somewhere else to go

[pause as crew looks at him. Quentin gives an "alright" shrug]

Harold: But it's Peckham so I'm staying

[all start backslapping and saluting]

Harold: Hey, it's great to have a new neighbor. Woman lived here before you was nuts. Biggest bitch under the sun. Just a senile old hag really. Wouldn't be surprised if someone just got fed up and offed her. Know what I mean?

Roger: She was my aunt.

Harold: Heart of gold though. Just uh, a saint really. And uh such a beautiful woman, for her age.

Harold: [to his dog] Writing looks like fun, huh?

Maude: I should like to change into a sunflower most of all. They're so tall and simple. What flower would you like to be?

Harold: I don't know. One of these, maybe.

Maude: Why do you say that?

Harold: Because they're all alike.

Maude: Oooh, but they're *not*. Look. See, some are smaller, some are fatter, some grow to the left, some to the right, some even have lost some petals. All *kinds* of observable differences. You see, Harold, I feel that much of the world's sorrow comes from people who are *this*,

[she points to a daisy]

Maude: yet allow themselves be treated as *that*.

[she gestures to a field of daisies]

Maude: [cut to a shot of a field of gravestones in a military cemetery]

Maude: The earth is my body; my head is in the stars.

[pauses]

Maude: Who said that, Harold?

Harold: I don't know.

Maude: Well, I suppose I did, then.

Harold: You sure have a way with people.

Maude: Well, they're my species!

Harold: Maude.

Maude: Hmm?

Harold: Do you pray?

Maude: Pray? No. I communicate.

Harold: With God?

Maude: With *life*.

Harold: I haven't lived. I've died a few times.

Psychiatrist: Tell me, Harold, how many of these, eh, *suicides* have you performed?

Harold: An accurate number would be difficult to gauge.

Psychiatrist: Well, just give me a rough estimate.

Harold: A rough estimate? I'd say

[savoring the thought]

Harold: fifteen.

Psychiatrist: Fifteen?

Harold: That's a rough estimate.

Psychiatrist: Were they all done for your mother's benefit?

Harold: No. No, I would not say "benefit."

Harold: Maude?

Maude: Yeah?

Harold: [pulls the stamped coin from the arcade out of his pocket] Here.

Maude: A gift!

[reads the engraving]

Maude: "Harold loves Maude."... and Maude loves Harold. This is the nicest gift I've received in years.

[she throws the stamped coin into the water]

Harold: [gasps, bemused]

Maude: So I'll always know where it is.

Psychiatrist: That's very interesting, Harold, and I think, very illuminating. There seems to be a definite pattern emerging. And, of course, this pattern, once isolated, can be coped with. Recognize the problem, and you are halfway on the road to its, uh, its solution. Uh, tell me, Harold, what do you do for fun? What activity gives you a different sense of enjoyment from the others? Uh, what do you find fulfilling? What gives you that... special satisfaction?

Harold: ...I go to funerals.

Maude: [gesturing to a sick tree growing through a sidewalk] Harold, we have *got* to do something about this life.

Harold: What?

Maude: We'll transplant it. To the forest.

Harold: You can't do that.

Maude: Why not?

Harold: This is public property.

Maude: Well, *exactly*.

Harold: So... you don't use the umbrella anymore?

[Maude does not hear him]

Harold: No more revolts?

Maude: [Maude is crying, and finally looks at Harold] Oh, yes! Every day. But I don't need a *defense* anymore. I embrace! Still fighting for the Big Issues, but now in my small, individual way.

Maude: That was fun! Let's play something together.

Harold: I don't play anything.

Maude: Nothing? Dear me, everybody should be able to make some music. That's the cosmic dance.

Harold: You hop in any car you want and just drive off?

Maude: Well, not any car - I like to keep a variety. I'm always looking for the new experience.

Harold: [smiling] Maybe.

Harold: [more seriously] Nevertheless, I think you're upsetting people. I don't know if that's right.

Maude: Well, if some people get upset because they feel they have a hold on some things, I'm merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow, so don't get attached to things *now.* With *that* in mind, I'm not against collecting stuff.

Maude: [at her 80th birthday party] I couldn't imagine a lovelier farewell!

Harold: Farewell?

Maude: Oh, yes, dear... My 80th birthday.

Harold: But you're not going anywhere... are you?

Maude: [long pause] I took the tablets an hour ago. I'll be gone by midnight.

Harold: [after a long pause] WHAT?

[immediately cut to an ambulance]

Harold: I like you, Maude.

Maude: I like you, Harold.

Maude: [Maude is driving Harold's hearse through a cemetery] Hey, this old thing handles well! Ever drive a hearse Harold?

Harold: Yeah.

Maude: Well! It's a new experience for me!

[the hearse is seen squealing through a curve]

Maude: Good on curves! Shall I take you home Harold?

Harold: Uh, this is my car.

Maude: [looks at Harold] YOUR hearse?

Harold: Y'hearse!

Maude: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!

[the hearse is seen screeching to a stop]

Maude: Then YOU shall take ME home!

Harold: What were you fighting for?

Maude: Oh, big issues. Liberty. Rights. Justice. Kings died, kingdoms fell. I don't regret the kingdoms - what sense in borders and nations and patriotism? But I miss the kings.

Harold: Do you... *enjoy*... knives?

Harold: [Becomes louder] She took my head... She took my head! I'LL KILL HER!

Maude: Tell me, do you dance?

Harold: Pardon me?

Maude: Do you sing and dance?

Harold: Uh, no.

Maude: Uh, no. I thought not.

[laughs]

Harold: [referring to police officer] He's following us.

Maude: Is he? Police always want to play games!

Harold: [non-sequitur to hawkish uncle] During war time, the national suicide rate goes down.

Madea: Hey, Harold.

Harold: Hey, Ms. Madea. What's wrong with your car now?

Madea: Nothing.

Harold: For real?

Madea: Nothing's wrong with it at all, except the other day I went out there and put my foot on the gas, and the trunk opened! What the hell is that, Harold? You are triflin' as hell! I'm so tired of bringing my car up in here for you to fix, I am not bringin' it to you no more, do you understand? Not ever again. Every time I go out there in the morning, I try to start my car, do you know what happens? Do you know what happens, Harold? It don't start; I have to pray. You know God don't like me. You know He don't like me, all the hell I done did in my lifetime, you know He don't like me at all, Harold.

Harold: Alright, let me look at...

Madea: No, sit down. Do what you do best, sit down. Just stay right where you at. Just plant your ass right there in that chair. Every time I come here, you sittin' in that chair. People waitin' on their cars, you sittin' in that chair. You supposed to be changin' the oil, you sittin' in that chair. Supposed to be changin' the windshield wiper blades, you sittin' in that chair. Supposed to wash the car, you sittin' in that chair. Let me tell you something: when you die, tell them people to bury you on your stomach to give your ass a break!

Jason: What are you people doing here? We can't continue the story 'til Tom gets back.

Harold: Oh, we don't mind observing you all.

Harold's Wife: Yes. My husband is a student of the human personality.

Rita: Oh yeah, well we're not human.

Harold's Wife: It doesn't matter to Harold. He has trouble with humans.

Harold: [as he and "Mother" drive off with Mike's tie caught in their trunk, pulling Mike along] He must all hopped up on Crack Cocaine.

Lucille: Harold, how long are you gonna keep driving around without knowing where we're going?

Harold: Barf, have you finished unscrambling those letters yet?

Barf: [finishes unscrambling letters] Fagabeefe? Haha. Fagabeefe. Hey, Melio - fagabeefe.

Harold: [shouts] *Shut up*!

Melio: Ha! It's easy!

Harold: Well, what is it?

Melio: It's like a lookout off a cliff or something.

Melio: It means Cherry Point.

Harold: How'd you get that?

Melio: Well, there's one of a chair... that's a chair. One of an 'E'... that's an 'E'. One of a pin... that's a point. Chair-E-Point: Cherry Point.

Harold: What about the ball?

[Melio knocks the ball off the table]

Harold: [shouts] You idiot!

Lucille: What does it mean, Harold?

Harold: How should I know? That's why my dad got me a computer!

[first lines]

[a two-seater plane is flying over snow-capped mountains]

Harold: For heaven's sake, Wendy - look for an airport. Will you look for the airport?

Diana Barrie: Oh don't make such a fuss. Just put it down on a mountain.

Harold: What do you mean 'just put it down'? I'm lucky I can keep it up. I told you I never flew before.

Diana Barrie: Don't shout at me - I'm a first-class passenger.

Harold: You're a first class lunatic. It's all over Wendy - our relationship has a quarter of a tank to go.

Diana Barrie: Yes, but - you do love me, don't you Harold? I know this is an awkward time to bring it up, but I must know, for our future.

[plane suddenly plummets]

Harold: Whoa-a-a-a!

Harold: You ought to try that tough guy shit with me sometime.

Harold: I just want to know if you're happy. Are you happy? 'Cause I get paid either way.

Nick Charles: Harold? We want to go someplace and get the taste of respectibility out of our mouths.

Harold: OK, Nick.

Nick Charles: What have you got to offer Harold?

Harold: There's Tim McCrumb's place and there's the Lichee and there's the Tenderfin.

Nora Charles: Is the Lichee a Chinese restaurant?

Harold: Yessim.

Nick Charles: Me no lookie for Robert.

Nora Charles: The Lichee.

Henry Graham: Oh, no. I forgot to check her before she went to school this morning. She'll be walking around all day with price tags dangling from her sleeves.

Harold: I took the liberty, sir.

Henry Graham: Thank you, Harold. Was she free of crumbs?

Harold: Only a slight sprinkling, sir.

Harold: How many men these days require the services of a gentleman's gentleman? How many men have your devotion to form, sir? You have managed, in your own lifetime Mr. Graham, to keep alive traditions that were dead before you were born.

Henry Graham: What will I do?

Harold: What any gentleman of similar breeding and temperament would do in your position, sir.

Henry Graham: Suicide?

Harold: No, sir, I was not going to suggest suicide, I was going to suggest marriage.

Henry Graham: Marriage? You mean to a woman?

Harold: Yes sir, that is what I had in mind. It's the only way to acquire property without labor. There is inheritance, but I think your uncle has already stated his intention to leave everything he owns to Radio Free Europe.

Henry Graham: Oh, I can't, Harold. I couldn't. I mean she'd be there, asking where I'd been, talking to me, talking. I wouldn't be able to bear it.

Harold: Well, it was only a suggestion, sir, but the alternatives are very limited and unspeakably depressing, sir. If you do not commit suicide you would be poor.

Henry Graham: Poor?

Harold: Poor in the only real sense of the word sir, in that you will not be rich. You will have a little after you've sold everything, but in a country where every man is what he has, he who has very little is nobody very much. There is no such thing as genteel poverty here, sir.

Harold: Oh, I'm so glad you found a nice suitable young lady.

Henry Graham: She is NOT suitable. She's primitive, she has no spirit, no wit, no conversation, and she has to be vacuumed every time she eats.

Harold: Oh, she must be very wealthy sir...

Harold: ...in a country where every man is what he has, he who has very little is nobody very much.

Harold: Should I serve you breakfast in bed, or would you like me to follow you about with the tray?

Harold: I've got pot, I've got acid, I've got LSD cubes, I've got... I've got this thing here... I'm probably the hippest guy around here. I'm so hip, it hurts!

Harry Payne Bosterly: You're drunk!

Harold: And you're crazy. But I'll be sober tomorrow and you'll be crazy for the rest of your life.

[Harold ripped a pillow playing with the dog]

Amelia: Those were my mother's feathers!

Harold: Never knew your mother had feathers.

Insurance Salesman: How old are you?

Harold: None of your business.

Insurance Salesman: I'd say you were a man about 50.

Harold: You would say that.

Mother: Just use your own judgment.

Daughter: You tell me where to go.

Harold: [muttering] I'd like to tell you both where to go.

[at breakfast, Norman takes the plate of bacon before Harold can get it]

Harold: Hey, put it down!

Norman: What's the matter, Pop? Don'tcha love me anymore?

Harold: [he raises his hand to hit Norman] Certainly I love you.

Amelia: Don't you strike that child!

Harold: Well, he's not gonna tell me I don't love him.

Insurance Salesman: Do you know a man by the name of LaFong? Carl LaFong? Capital L, small a, Capital F, small o, small n, small g. LaFong. Carl LaFong.

Harold: No, I don't know Carl LaFong - capital L, small a, capital F, small o, small n, small g. And if I did know Carl LaFong, I wouldn't admit it!

[Harold has slipped on a skate]

Norman: Ha ha. Do it again, Pop.

Harold: Shut up!

Amelia: Hurt yourself, Dear?

Harold: Shut... Umm no, Dear.

Amelia: Oh, look what you've done!

Harold: She ran right in front of the car!

Amelia: Why, it's a statue, you idiot. It's a Venus de Milo.

Amelia: Seems pretty strange someone would call you from a maternity hospital in the middle of the night.

Harold: They didn't call me from a maternity hospital. They called thinking this was the maternity hospital.

Norman: Hey Pop, who ya think is dying?

Harold: Dying what?

Norman: Uncle Bean is dying!

Harold: Well you don't have to spit in my eye do ya?

Harold: [seeing Everett has stood by, allowing the toddler Elwood to open the spigot on the molasses barrel] What did you let him turn the molasses on for?

Everett: I told him I wouldn't do it if I was him.

Harold: You told him you wouldn't do it if you was him. Get him outta here!

Amelia: Why were you sitting there like a stone image when those men were insulting me?

Harold: I was just waiting for one of 'em to say something to me.

Harold: Ah, crackers. Good old crackers. That was a smart thing of me to bring those crackers along, wasn't it?

Insurance Salesman: If you should live to be 100...

[Harold chases him off the deck]

Harold: And suppose I live to be 200, I'll get a velocipede!

Harold: This sun dial is ten minutes slow.

Amelia: Yes, the sun is wrong but your watch is right, of course.

Mrs. Dunk: What do you have in the way of steaks?

Harold: Nothing in the way of steaks, I can get right to them.

Fitchmueller: How about my kumquats!

Harold: Coming. Coming. Coming. Coming. Coming.

Harold: [after being struck on the nose by a cluster of grapes dropped by Baby Dunk] Shades of Bacchus!

Harold: Vegetable man? Vegetable gentleman?

Harold: Sufferin' sciatica!

Amelia: Harold!

Harold: Don't argue with them, dear, they're beneath our dignity.

Mildred Bissonette: I never knew such an ungrateful father!

Harold: Listen, you've all got to realize one thing, that I am the Master of this house.

Amelia: [Calling from another part of the house] Harold!

Harold: Yes dear!

Amelia: I don't know why it is that every time I want to talk to you, you're off in some other part of the house! I have to shout! Shout! Shout! No wonder the neighbors know all about our private affairs. I give them enough opportunity as it is to find out what's going on, without you running away as if I had the small pox or something. Every time I open my mouth...

[Harold slips out of the house]

Mrs. Dunk: I'll take two pounds of round steak.

Harold: Off the rump?

Mrs. Dunk: Yes.

Harold: Two round off the rump.

Amelia: The only real money you'll ever have and you throw it away before you get your hands on a penny of it! What are you lying there for?

Harold: I'm tired.

Amelia: Why don't you go to bed?

Harold: I thought I'd lie down and take a little nap first.

Amelia: As I was saying - are you listening to me?

Harold: Eh, yes dear, yes dear, yes dear.

Amelia: For twenty years, I've struggled to make a home for you and the children.

Harold: That's right dear.

Amelia: Slaving day-in, day-out, to make both ends meet. Sometimes I don't know which way to turn.

Harold: Eh, turn over on your right side, dear. Sleeping on your left side's bad for the heart.

Amelia: And no more drinking!

Harold: Oh, no, no, no. Good night, dear.

Mildred Bissonette: Dad, quick! Mother's fainted!

Harold: Huh? Oh, here, here. Give her some of this reviver.

[Mildred gives her Mother some of Harold's hooch]

Harold: Doesn't it taste good?

Amelia: [Amelia's revived] Oh, you're an old idiot. But, I can't help loving you.

Harold: Give her another drink.

Uncle Billy: There ain't no more ice cream, Miss Virgie.

Virginia 'Virgie' Cary: I'll only ask them once. I won't coax. More ice cream for you, Master Phillip?

Phillip: Nothing for me, thank you.

Virginia 'Virgie' Cary: Would you care for more ice cream, Master Harold?

Harold: Yes!

Virginia 'Virgie' Cary: Uh, perhaps you'd rather have another great big piece of cake?

Harold: No, just ice cream.

Harold: I hope you'll excuse me, Miss Virgie, if I don't bow too low, but these britches are awful tight.

Virginia 'Virgie' Cary: That's perfectly all right, Master Harold, just bow as far as you can.

Champ: [to Harold the bar owner] Hey, Roland says you had some gooks in here last week.

Harold: So? What's it to you?

Luke: Well, what were they doing here?

Brett: Yeah, this is our place, mate.

Harold: No, this is my fuckin' place, mate.

Cackles: Oh, yeah, but you had gooks here, eh?

Harold: Doesn't bother me. You got a problem with that, that's your fuckin' problem.

Harold: The Mafia? I've shit 'em.

Pool Attendant: They kept it all incognito. They're gonna collect the body in an ice cream van.

Harold: There's a lot of dignity in that, isn't there? Going out like a raspberry ripple.

Harold: You don't crucify people! Not on Good Friday!

Casino Manager: It was a good night. Nothing unusual.

Harold: "Nothing unusual," he says! Eric's been blown to smithereens, Colin's been carved up, and I've got a bomb in me casino, and you say nothing unusual?

Harold: What the hell was Colin doing with a Lime'ouse minicab driver in Belfast?

Jeff: Colin can't drive.

Harold: Oh, that makes sense. Second question: Belfast? What was he doing there? I know Colin fancies soldiers, but that's taking his buggery a bit far, isn't it?

Harold: What I'm looking for is someone who can contribute to what England has given to the world: culture, sophistication, genius. A little bit more than an 'ot dog, know what I mean?

Erroll: Well, he don't like Colin. I mean, queers get right up his hooter, you know?

Harold: After what happened this morning, you'd have to find his hooter to get up it.

Erroll: Is something up with him, then?

Harold: Well, let's put it this way. Apart from his arsehole being about fifty yards away from his brains, and the choirboys playing "'unt the thimble" with the rest of him, he ain't too happy.

Harold: No one's heard nothing? That just ain't natural. It's like one of them silent, deadly farts. No clue, and then pow, you go cross-eyed.

Harold: Remember, scare the shit out of them, but don't damage them. I want 'em conscious and talkative. And lads, try and be discreet, eh?

Harold: Tell 'em what your name is.

Razors: Razors

Harold: Or as the youth of today call him, the human spirograph.

Harold: [glancing around at Brixton slum, where he came from] These people deserve more than dogshit on the doorstep.

Harold: I want verbals with you...

Harold: The days when Yanks could come over here and buy up Nelson's Column, a Harley Street surgeon and a couple of windmill girls are definitely over!

Harold: Don't you ever worry about your liver?

Jeff: Nah, we're just good friends.

Harold: I'll have his carcass dripping blood by midnight.

Harold: It's Good Friday. Have a Bloody Mary.

Harold: The Yanks love snobbery. They really feel they've arrived in England if the upper class treats 'em like shit.

Harold: Alan found him dying. He'd been nailed to the floor.

Jeff: When was this, then?

Harold: Well, it must've been just after you saw him and just before Alan saw him. Otherwise, you'd have noticed, wouldn't you? I mean, a geezer nailed to the floor. A man of your education would definitely have spotted that, wouldn't he?

Harold: I'm glad I found out in time just what a partnership with a pair of wankers like you would've been. A sleeping partner's one thing, but you're in a fucking coma! No wonder you got an energy crisis your side of the water!

Harold: Who's having a go at me? Can you think of anyone who might have an old score to settle or something?

Razors: Who's big enough to take you on?

Harold: Well, there were a few.

Razors: Like who?

Harold: Yeah, they're all dead.

Harold: Move to the car, Billy, or I'll blow your spine off.

Billy: That's not a shooter, is it, Harold?

Harold: Oh don't be silly, Billy. Would I come hunting for you with me fingers?

Harold: Don't you ever tell me what I can or can't do! Bent law can be tolerated for as long as they're lubricating, but you have become definitely parched. If I was you, I'd run for cover and close the hatch, 'cause you're gonna wind up on one of those meat hooks, my son.

Harold: I'm setting up the biggest deal in Europe with the hardest organization since Hitler stuck as swastika on his jockstrap.

Harold: It's my manor!

Parky: Not anymore Harold, they're taking it away from you.

Harold: I want the name of your top grass.

Parky: He trusts me Harold, I've known him a long time.

Harold: Then you should remember his name.

[Harold's lads have rounded up all the local villains who are now hanging upside down from meat hooks in the abattoir]

Harold: For more than ten years there's been peace - everyone to his own patch. We've all had it sweet. I've done every single one of you favours in the past - I've put money in all your pockets. I've treated you well, even when you was out of order, right? Well now there's been an eruption. It's like fuckin' Belfast on a bad night. One of my closest friends is lyin' out there in the freezer. And believe me, all of you, nobody goes home until I find out who done it, and why.

[last lines]

Harold: 'Ere, 'old up, where's Victoria?

Harold: [to Erroll, the informant, after cutting him] The only decent grass is the grass that grasses to me.

Harold: [tosses used syringe to prostitute in Errol's bed] Here, give yourself another prick.

Harold: Right... it's up to you. Frostbite or verbals...

Harold: I'm going to annihilate them!

Jeff: You can't wipe them out.

Harold: You just watch me!

Jeff: Kill 10, 20. Bring out the tanks and the flamethrowers! They pour back, like an army of ants! Work with them.

Jeff: Jesus Christ, British army's been dying up there with shit flying at them from all angles for the last 10 years, and you're not impressed? They can take over here any time they want!

Harold: Shut up, just shut up!

Jeff: You won't stop them. To them you're nothing, nothing! The shit on their shoes.

Harold: Everything's alright. All the troubles are over!

Charlie: [to Tony, his lawyer] What did he say?

Harold: So he took a dip?

Jeff: Yeah, he stupidly helped himself.

Harold: How much?

Jeff: Five grand.

Harold: Do what? You mean all this anarchy is for five poxy grand?

Harold: Blown up! He's dead! Eric is dead - car bomb. Mother's all right, suffering from shock in a hospital.

Jeff: I don't understand.

Harold: You need a million-dollar computer to understand this!

Harold: Get a good sleep, Charlie, we got a tight schedule. I want you to meet my property lawyers - the best! And then there's an accountant who specializes in gambling tax.

Charlie: This isn't a horse race. Don't rush me, Harold.

Harold: And then there is someone you have got to meet!

Charlie: I said don't rush me. I hate tight schedules. I'll get everything covered that I have to cover, but in my own time.

[Harold is on a boat showing the docklands to investors]

Harold: Our country's not an island any more. This is the decade in which London *will* become Europe's capital, having cleared away the out-dated. We've got mile after mile or acre after acre of land for our future prosperity. No other city in the world has got, right at its centre, such an opportunity for profitable progress.

Harold: What is that?

Chip: It's a tattoo, you moron.

Harold: I mean, of what?

Chip: The fuckin' fuck you finger, dumbshit.

Harold: That looks bad. You drew it yourself?

Laura: I don't know when I can come back. Maybe never.

Harold: Laura! Laura!

[Solly is telling the men's group about he and his wife swapping partners]

Solly: I said let's switch partners. It was my idea, right? Ok. We did it. It wasn't the first time. Only this time, she was moaning with love.

Harold: Did it ruin your weekend?

Solly: It was terrible, man. I lost my erection.

[The group breaks out laughing]

Solly: I left and my wife comes running after, 'Solly! Solly Berliner!' She said, it's not her fault. It was my idea. I hit her, I said, that's my idea too!

[The group cracks up]

Michael: You're stoned and you're late. You were supposed to arrive at this location at eight thirty dash nine o'clock.

Harold: What I am Michael is a 32 year-old, ugly, pock marked Jew fairy, and if it takes me a little while to pull myself together, and if I smoke a little grass before I get up the nerve to show my face to the world, it's nobody's god damned business but my own. And how are you this evening?

Harold: Who is she? Who was she? Who does she hope to be?

Michael: Oh Harold, he's beautiful.

Harold: Yeah, beautiful. He has unnatural, natural beauty. Not that that means anything.

Michael: It doesn't mean everything.

Harold: Keep telling yourself that, as your hair drops out in handfuls.

Michael: Faggots are worse than women about their age. They think their lives are over at thirty. Physical beauty is not all that goddamn important.

Harold: Course not. How could it be? It's only in the eye of the beholder.

Michael: And it's only skin deep.

Harold: Only skin deep. It's transitory, too. It's terribly transitory. Oh yes. It's too bad about this poor boy's face. It's tragic. He's absolutely cursed. How could his beauty ever compare with my soul? And although I've never seen my soul, I understand from my mother's Rabbi that it's a knock-out. I, however, cannot seem to locate it for a gander. And if I could, I'd sell it in a flash, for some skin-deep, transitory, meaningless beauty.

Michael: What's so fucking funny?

Harold: Life. Life's a goddamn laugh riot.

Harold: Your lips are turning blue. You look like you've been rimming a snowman.

Michael: [singing] Oh, you really gotta figger, it's tough to be a nigger, but it's tougher to be a Jew.

Donald: My God, Michael! You're a charming host!

Harold: Michael doesn't have charm, Donald. He has counter-charm.

Michael: [adopting a southern slave's accent] I hear dat if ya puts a knife unda ya pillow, it cuts da pain.

Harold: I hear that if you put a knife under your chin, it cuts your throat.

Michael: [about the cowboy] How much was he Emory?

Emory: A STEAL!

Harold: A ham sandwich. Fifty cents, any time of the day or night.

Harold: [about Michael] KING... of the pig people!

Cowboy: I'm not a steal. I cost twenty dollars.

Michael: [about Emory's falling down] A falling down drunk nellie queen.

Harold: Well, THAT'S the pot calling the kettle "beige".

Michael: [loud, drunken] I AM NOT DRUNK!

Cowboy: [about long distance calls] I'm glad I don't have to pay the bill!

Michael: Quiet!

Harold: Oh! Don't worry, Michael won't pay it either.

Michael: Forgive him father, for he know not what he do.

Harold: Michael, you don't know what side of the fence you're on. Say something pro-religion, you're against it. Deny god, you're against that. One might say you have some problem in that area. You can't live with it, and you can't live without it. You hang on to that great insurance policy called the Church.

Michael: That's right, I believe in God. And if it turns out there isn't one, okay, nothing's lost. But if it turns out there really is, I'm covered. Right, I'm one of those truly rotten Catholics who gets drunk, sins all night, and then goes to mass the next morning.

Harold: I'm having seconds, and thirds, and maybe even fifths. I'm absolutely desperate to keep the weight up.

Michael: You're absolutely paranoid, about absolutely everything.

Harold: Oh yeah? Well why don't you not tell me about it.

Michael: You starve yourself, all day. Living on coffee and cottage cheese. So that you can gorge yourself at one meal. And then you feel guilty and moan and piss about how fat you are, and how ugly you are, when the truth is you are not fatter and no thinner than you ever are. And this pathological lateness, it's downright crazy. Standing in front of a bathroom mirrors for hours and hours before you can walk out into the street, and then looking no different. After Christ knows how many applications of Christ knows how many ointments and salves and creams and masks.

Harold: I've got bad skin, what can I tell you.

Michael: Who wouldn't, after they deliberately take a pair of tweezers and deliberately mutilate their pores. No wonder you've got holes in your face after the hack-job you've done on yourself, year in and year out.

Harold: You hateful sow.

Michael: Yes, you've got scars on your face, but they're not that bad. And if you'd leave yourself alone, you wouldn't have more than you've already awarded yourself.

Harold: You'd really like me to compliment you now, for being so honest, wouldn't you? For being my best friend, who will tell me what even my best friends won't tell me. Slut.

Michael: And the pills. Harold has been gathering and storing and saving up barbiturates for the past year, like a goddamn squirrel. Hundreds of Nembutals, hundreds of Seconals, all in preparation for and in anticipation of the long winter of his death. Well I'll tell you something, Hally. When the time comes, you won't have the guts. It's not always like it happens in plays, not all faggots bump themselves off at the end of the story.

Harold: What you say may be true. Time will undoubtedly tell. In the meantime, you left out one detail. The cosmetics and astringents are paid for. The bathroom is paid for. The tweezers are paid for. And the pills are paid for.

Harold: And they're minding their own business.

Michael: And you mind yours Harold! I'm warning you!

Harold: Are you now? You warning me? Me? I'm Harold. I'm the one person you don't warn, Michael, because you and I are a match. And we tread very softly with each other, because we both play each other's game too well. I know this game, you're playing. I know it very well, and I play it very well. You play it very well too, but you know what? I'm the only one who's better at it than you are. I can beat you at it, so don't push me. I'm warning you.

Harold: Not for all the tea in Mexico.

Harold: I keep my grass in the medicine cabinet in the Band Aid box. Somebody told me it's the safest place. If the cops arrive, you can always lock yourself in the bathroom and flush it down the john.

Hank: Very cagey.

Harold: Makes more sense to where I was keeping it: in the oregano jar in the spice rack. I kept forgetting it and accidentally turning my hateful mother on with a salad. But I think she liked it. No matter what meal she comes over for, even if it was breakfast, she says

[in his mother's voice]

Harold: "Let's have a salad!"

Harold: How's the bathroom smell?

Michael: Before it smelled like someone puked. Now it smells like someone puked in a gardenia patch.

Harold: You're a sad and pathetic man. You're a homosexual and you don't want to be, but there's nothing you can do to change it. Not all the prayers to your god, not all the analysis you can buy in all the years you've go left to live. You may one day be able to know a heterosexual life if you want it desperately enough. If you pursue it with the fervor with which you annihilate. But you'll always be homosexual as well. Always Michael. Always. Until the day you die.

Michael: Let's do this again real soon.

Harold: Yeah, how about a year from Shavuos?

Harold: Give me librium or give me meth!

Harold: Give me librium or give me meth!

Teenager: Where's mom?

Harold: Mommy's dead, baby. You know that... you killed her. You did.

Harold: I think you clouded up her crystal ball.

Madame Estrella: Clouds affect only the cloudy.

Jerry: Her mother doesn't like anything, especially me.

Harold: Well, if you get a job or something, she might change her mind, you know?

Jerry: A job! Be a little discreet about that, will you, Harold? Somebody's liable to hear you.

Harold: Well, you gotta do something, you know?

Jerry: Why? The world's here to be enjoyed, not to make you depressed. That's what work does, Harold, it makes you feel depressed.

Harold: So instead of being in that state of depression, why don't we head out, okay?

Jerry: Swing it!

Madame Estrella: You wish your fortunes told?

Harold: What do you think we came here for, to eat?

Harold: What did they make you imagine to control you?

B.G. Bruno: And when I heard that this young woman had actually visited you here, during office hours, in the Easter room, well, quite frankly, Harold, I-I was flabbergasted. I don't want this to happen again.

Harold: No, eh, Yes, Mr. Bruno.

B.G. Bruno: We have a staff outing once a year for that sort of thing.

[Everyone's downstairs listening to Gene Krupa.]

Harold: [to himself] And I still say this music will NEVER be popular.