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.

Sister Michael: Obviously, Sister Declan's death was extremely shocking and unexpected. We're still struggling to understand exactly what happened. [Erin raises her hand] Yeah?
Erin: Can I just ask, what age was Sister Declan?
Sister Michael: She'd have been 98 on Friday.
Erin: Right. Might that shed some light on the situation?
Sister Michael: How so?
Erin: Does anybody else have any thoughts on the whole "her being almost 98 years of age" thing?
Joe: Struck down in her prime.

Orla: [v.o.] "My name is Erin Quinn. I'm 16 years old, and I come from a place called Derry, or Londonderry, depending on your persuasion, a troubled little corner in the Northwest of Ireland. It's fair to say I have a somewhat complicated relationship with my home town. You see, the thing about living in Derry is, there's nowhere to hide. Everybody knows everybody, knows everything about everybody, and sometimes all I really want... is to be simply left alone."
Erin: Is that my diary?

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.