Judith: Dick, stop throwing bread in the pot. You're wasting it.
Dick: Like bread in the fondue pot, so are the days of our lives.
Strudwick: Come on, Dick, it's New Year's eve. You're bringing us down.
Mary: Dick, cheer up or you'll be whistling through your cheek.
Dick: But, Mary-
Mary: No "but, Marys." This is a party, not a wake, so act like it.
Dick: Oh, all right. Everybody, a toast!
Mary: A toast!
Dick: As the old year draws to a close, one can't help but reflect on what hasn't been done and what can never be reclaimed. Say what you will about this year, it is lost, it is gone, and as I look around me, I can honestly say that there is no group that I would rather be with to face the grim specter of death racing at blinding speed so inexorably towards us. Cheers.