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."

James: I don't really want anything.
Erin: You don't want anything?
Michelle: How could you not want anything? It's lovely.
James: I just don't really fancy it, that's all.
Orla: I don't understand.
Clare: Are you not feeling well, James?
James: I don't like it! OK? It's too greasy, it's much, much too greasy! Even the smell of it makes me feel physically sick!
Michelle: I'm sorry you had to hear that, Fionnula. [to James] You are a fucking embarrassment.
Fionnula: Get him out of here!
Michelle: You heard the woman.

Sarah: Did you go for the Economy 7 in the end, Colm? I thought you said the hot water settings were a minefield?
Gerry: For the love of God, Sarah, no diversions.
Mary: Aye, come on, let's pick it up. They tied you to the heater.
Colm: They did indeed. And there I am, shackled to the thermostatic valve with my new shoelaces, when one of them, the smaller fella, or, hang on, maybe it was the...
Gerry: It doesn't matter, Colm.
Colm: Well, it was one of the two. He is looking for the keys to the van. All ranting and raving and getting himself all worked up, threatening to set fire to my good chaise-longue and all sorts. By Jesus, they were absolutely desperate to borrow thon van.
Mary: Colm, they didn't borrow your van. They stole your van. Used it to move arms across the border. And then they blew it up.
Colm: Aye. Nightmare altogether.

Joe: I'll have a chicken fillet burger. No lettuce, no tomato, no cheese...
Gerry: I'll just write plain, will I?
Joe: No onions, no cucumber.
Gerry: One plain...
Joe: No relish, no pickles, no mayonnaise.
Gerry: No chicken.
Joe: What do you mean, no chicken?! [phone rings]
Mary: Get that!
Joe: It's a chicken burger! Of course I want chicken! What are you? A simpleton? "No chicken."

Michelle: Boo!
Clare: Where did you get all this?
Michelle: Fionnula's cupboard. I think she might have a bit of a problem.
Erin: You think Fionnula might have a bit of a problem? Put it away and get back downstairs now.
Michelle: Sit yourselves down and have a wee drink.
Clare: No, Michelle, it's wrong.
Michelle: So are those ski pants, Clare, but that didn't stop you pulling them over your hole this morning. Wait for it. [lights shots]
Clare: Michelle!
Michelle: Don't be such a shower of bore bags. Slainte, motherfuckers!

Sister Michael: Before I dismiss you for the weekend, a few announcements. On Monday morning, several of our Year 13s will face their GCSE maths resit. Now, I know how daunting resit examinations can be, so if anyone is feeling anxious or worried, or even if you just want to chat, please, please, do not come crying to me. Let me see, what else?
Michelle: [to herself] Come on, come on, come on to fuck!
Sister Michael: Notice from Mr. McCauley. This year's destination for the Euro Trotters trip will be dramatic pause... Did you actually want me to do the dramatic pause? [Mr. McCauley nods] Interesting. Paris, it's going to be Paris. If you need any further information, there is a stall in the foyer. Sadly, I am unable to come on this one as I despise the French. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Michelle: Fuck, we are not like Jenny Joyce. Nobody is just going to hand us things. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't have things. Come on, Clare. I know how much you have dreamed of seeing the Arc de... Whatever the fuck it's called. James, I know how much you want to practise the shit out of the past participle. Orla, you really really buzz off those Renault Clio ads. And you, Erin, well, you are just riding Charlene Kavanagh.
Erin: I'm not riding her. I just think it might be time I moved on friendship wise.
Clare: You are aware you are talking to your current friends.
Michelle: We can't give up on Paris. Let's do this, girls. Let's make it happen.
Erin: God, I have never seen you so fired up.
Michelle: I will buck a French lad, Erin. I will buck a French lad, so help me God!

Erin: Are you throwing alcohol on it? Are you actually throwing alcohol on it? And what under God are you doing? Seasoning it?!

Clare: There's so much I want to do, the Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, The Louvre...
Michelle: A French fella. That's what I want to do. Nation of rides. My fanny is going funny just thinking about it.
Erin: Could you not use that word, Michelle?
Michelle: What, fanny?
Clare: Why do you always have to be so coarse?
Michelle: What is the big deal? We all have one.
James: I don't.
Michelle: You are one.

Mary: [on the phone] How is it going, Colm?
Sarah: [to Gerry] Would you ever think of going cordless?
Mary: Aye, it was freezing cold earlier, that's true.
Sarah: Gemma Sharkey went cordless and she's like a new woman now, Gerry.
Mary: No, it's not as cold now.
Sarah: She can make a call from her living room, from her kitchen, from her bedroom...
Mary: Right, look, Colm, I don't have long. We're sending to the chippy here.
Sarah: And the other night, right, and this is no word of a lie, she rang me from the bath. These cordless phones are the future.