Erin: We also gave you a name.
Chief Inspector Byers: Nobody in Londonderry is called Hans, girls.
Colm: Well, you say that, now, but there's a young lad up in Pennyburn called Diego.
Chief Inspector Byers: Is this relevant?
Colm: The mother, she's a Derry woman, but the father, he was Spanish. Though not on the scene, by all accounts.
Chief Inspector Byers: Thank you, if we could just... [knock on door] Alex, don't leave me.
Police Officer: It's every man for himself, sir.
Colm: According to the mother, he - Diego's father, this is - well, he came over with the Spanish Armada, then cleared off, leaving her to raise the wean on her own. But that story didn't totally add up, was the thing.
Chief Inspector Byers: I need you to stop talking now.
Colm: The problem being that the Spanish Armada landed here in 1588, and that the son, Diego, as she called him, well, he was born more than four centuries later.
Chief Inspector Byers: I will caution you.

Colm: And, now, I don't mind a bit of a breeze, if anything I prefer it, but thon was aggressive. So, I says to myself, says I, "Colm, this is no day for a do..."
Sister Michael: What's happening?
Colm: ...for, when the bride arrived and, as I say, by this stage the wind was fierce...
Sister Michael: Am I dead?
Colm: ...I've never heard wind like it.
Sister Michael: Is this my wake?
Colm: Howling like a banshee, it was.
Sister Michael: Am I in hell?
Colm: So, the poor girl, the bride now, this is, she arrives anyway and isn't she no sooner out of the car than she's lifted up in the air like a paper doll and blown into a flowerbed.
Sister Michael: That's actually quite funny.

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."

Colm: So, I says to myself, says I, Colm, who'd be ringing you at this hour? And sure, if I hadn't been in the middle of a Maeve Binchy, I'd have probably slept through the thing altogether.
Chief Inspector Byers: What was it we asked him?
Police Officer: I can't remember, sir.
Chief Inspector Byers: Jesus.
Colm: ...I'm like a dead one.

Colm: You can vote yes, or, you can vote no.
Gerry: Well, they are the only two options, Colm.
Colm: That's not strictly true, now, Gerry, for you can spoil your vote.
Gerry: Right.
Colm: I knew a fella once, Tommy Duddy, he spoiled his vote. Now this would have been back in, ach... we're talking '88, '89. Or was it '90?
Gerry: I don't care, Colm.
Colm: '90, at a push. Now, when I say he spoiled his vote, what he actually did was eat the ballot paper.
Gerry: What?
Colm: Swallowed the thing whole, so he did. People thought he was trying to make some sort of political statement, but that wasn't the case at all. Tommy was just an awful man for the paper. Couldn't get enough of the stuff. I'll tell you, if you didn't keep your eye on him, he'd have got the very Yellow Pages down him.
Joe: Tommy Duddy, is it?
Colm: Aye.
Joe: Took a bite out of my crossword once.

Colm: As far as sausage rolls go, well, I could take them or leave them, but that's not to say I don't appreciate the work that goes into them.
Maureen Malarkey: Look, Colm, no offence, but I listened to the prawn cocktail monologue. I'm not getting into sausage rolls.
Colm: For there was a fella that lived on my street, and, well, he was a pastry chef. He's dead now. This was when he was alive.
Maureen Malarkey: I only came over for a bloody napkin.
Gerry: I'm sorry, I can't actually believe that I'm about to say this, but can I speak to him on my own for a moment?
Maureen Malarkey: Thank you, son. Thank you.

Colm: John over there was just saying... You know John? Lovely fella. Married to, er, Patricia, I think it is, and her mother worked in the credit union, you might remember. Absolutely crippled with the old gallstones, so she was.
Mary: Christ Almighty.
Colm: And the gallstones... Well, now, they're no joke. A neighbour of mine, Dickie Dunnagan, by God, he was tortured with the gallstones. The size of golf balls they were.
Mary: And what did John say, Colm? For the love of God, what did he say?
Colm: He was telling me there, John was, that every being in the place is talking about Sarah's frock.
Sarah: Och, really?
Mary: Jesus, but this is an ordeal.
Colm: Well, at least they got a good day for it, Mary. I'll tell you, I was at one there, up in the Cathedral last week. By God, the wind could have cut you in two. Fierce it was, and now I don't mind a bit of a breeze. If anything, I prefer it. But thon was aggressive. And I says to myself, says I, "Colm, this is no day for a do." And as it turns out...
Mary: Can I just stop you there, Colm?
Colm: Surely, Mary. Go ahead.
Mary: Oh, no, I've got nothing to say. I just really, really need you to stop talking.
Colm: Fair enough.

Mary: But Colm's not here, is he, Da? Da?
Colm: [to the girl at the counter] ... And that's not to say, now, that in my younger years, I didn't enjoy a boiled sweet. But then I heard tell of a fella from Ballynahinch... What was it his name was, now? I had it there a minute ago. Ach, it'll come to me. Anyway, this Ballynahinch lad, and, as I say, his name escapes me, but he was mad keen on the boiled sweets. Sure, he couldn't get enough of them. But in the end, well, didn't he choke to death on one? A pear drop, I think it was. Or a clove rock, maybe. But either way, it's not how I'd want to go.
Mary: [to the girl] I know, love. I know.

Colm: This Clinton boyo is actually America's 42nd president, which is interesting now, because JFK, well, he was the 35th.
Joe: Why is that interesting?
Colm: Well, I suppose it's not really. Sometimes I'll just say something to get me from one sentence to the other, Joe, you know how it is.
Jim: It should be just up here on the left.
Colm: I'm not sure what number Nixon was, now. Or your man, what do you call him, the beardy fella in the hat. The one who knocked the aul slavery on the head?
Gerry: Lincoln.
Colm: The very boy. But then there was the 27th... [time lapse] America's 30th. And then there was the lad they named all the vacuum cleaners after.
Gerry: Jesus wept.

Erin: It's Uncle Colm!
Gerry: Dear God, no.
Mary: Everything all right, Colm?
Colm: Oh, God, aye. Well, the aul knee's giving me a bit of jip, but sure I'll not bore you with the details.
Gerry: I doubt that.
Colm: I felt a twinge there this morning and I says to myself, says I, "Colm, you'll have to get that seen to. You can't let that go." For, and you'll maybe not remember this girls, but Maggie Murphy felt a twinge on a Monday, and on Thursday of the very same week, sure didn't she drop dead at the bingo. And her sitting on a full house, too. But sure, you can't take it with you, as they say. God rest her soul.