Michelle: Christ, I feel a bit bokey. [Michelle opens the curtains]
Clare: Sweet sufferin' Jesus, it's the morning already! What are we going to do?
Michelle: Well, maybe we could start with calming the fuck down.
Clare: Calm down? We're still on William of Orange, Michelle! We haven't so much looked at the famine!
Michelle: We've got the gist. They ran out of spuds. Everyone was ragin'.
James: Well, I can't tell my rebellions from my risings.
Michelle: And whose fault's that? If your lot had stopped invading us for five fucking minutes there'd be a lot less to wade through, you English prick!

Clare: Seriously, folks, I'm not feeling entirely comfortable with this!
Father Peter: One... [Philip chuckles] two... [Clare screams] three.
Clare: [screams] Stop! Stop it! Get me out of here! He's trying to kill me! He wants to kill us all! All of the Catholics! Look at his eyes, he's a madman! A Fenian-hating madman. Don't let the Jaffa bastard hurt me! Please!
Erin: Jesus, Clare!
Michelle: Fuck-a-doodle do!

James: Why doesn't someone just call the police?
Erin: Cos that's not how things work around here, James.
James: Well, how do things work here? How do they work? Will one of you please explain it to me, because sometimes I feel like I've gone through the fucking looking glass!
Clare: Calm down, James.
Michelle: Aye, don't be such a dick, James.

Gerry: Thought I was going to drop dead there at one point.
Joe: Aye, if only.

Ms. De Brún: Here's a poem about a dog. Here's another one about a dog. This one has no name on it. An English Rose Among Thorns? [James raises his hand] Yeah, I can see why you might want to remain anonymous, all right. Dog poem. Poem about a tree. This one's called Boys. "I think boys are really class. Especially the ones who have a nice ass."
Michelle: It's called a haiku.
Ms. De Brún: That's not what I would call it.

Colm: There was a knock at the door. This must have been, ah, we're talking eight, half eight, for I was halfway through my dinner. And up I got to open it, and there they both were, large as life. And the taller fella, though, to be fair, there was no more than an inch in it...
Mary: Jesus wept.
Colm: The slightly taller fella, he says to me, says he, "Do you know who we are?"
Joe: How is a body supposed to enjoy his dinner?
Colm: And I says to him, says I, "Well, I can't be sure now. But maybe if you took off the balaclavas..." And then he says to me, the slightly taller fella does, he says, "Step aside, we are armed."
Orla: Class.
Colm: And that is when the smaller fella, although, as I say, we are talking an inch...
Erin: Mammy, make it stop.
Colm: ...an inch and a half at most.
Sarah: I need a drink.
Colm: He has the bright idea of tying me to the radiator, you see. And I remember saying to myself, says I, "Colm, it's a good job you have the Economy 7 on the aul timer, or you'd be roasted here."