Erin: I was going to tell yous all later, but then Peter showed up and there was just this instant connection, like a spark.
Michelle: There was no spark, Erin.
Erin: He said I was special.
Michelle: He also said your dead pet had been fucking resurrected, so, you know, pinch of salt.
Erin: Yes. And now he's talking about digging him up, and when he does, he'll realise that Toto has not in fact been resurrected. He'll realise that Toto is just dead. Very, very dead, and we've all been talking shite.

Erin: So, this piece would concentrate on different shoes from around the world, sitting alongside pictures of, you know, different shoes from around the world.
James: OK.
Erin: So, like, how in Russia they wear boots because...
Michelle: Cos it's Baltic.
Erin: And in India they wear sandals because...?
Michelle: It's boiling.
James: So that's it, is it?
Erin: Thoughts?
James: I'm not totally convinced by either of them, if I'm honest.
Erin: Oh, my God. They're shit. They're absolutely shit. How can we print this utter shit?
James: OK, don't panic. [pats Erin's shoulder]
Erin: Don't panic? Don't panic, James? Shoes of the world. What does that even mean?

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.

Erin: It's class, isn't it?
Katya: Hmm. It's much how I imagine.
Erin: Oh, because of my letters? Well, descriptive narrative has always been a strong point.
Katya: No, not your letters. I see on news.
Erin: What do you mean, you've seen on news? You don't have news in the Ukraine. You don't have televisions.
Katya: Yes, we do.
Erin: No, you don't.
Katya: We do.
Erin: Really?
Katya: Of course.

Sarah: Sure, didn't I predict this?
Erin: No, you didn't.
Sarah: I said this trip would place us in grave danger, Erin. Those were my very words.
Erin: This isn't grave danger.
Orla: Oh, look, that cop's pointing his gun at us.
Erin: I mean, it's not ideal, but this is more of a pickle. It's a pickle, isn't it, Grandad? It's just a pickle.
Joe: Arseholes!

Michelle: So he's just gonna pack in the priesthood now, is he? Like, completely?
Erin: Well, you can't exactly go part-time.
Orla: All because of us.
Erin: Not all because of us, Orla. I mean, a bit because of us. But mostly because it turns out he had a connection with one of the colourists in Hair and Flair, who does our Sarah's forwards, by the way. And apparently she's a dirty tramp. So, you know, good luck with that, Peter.
Michelle: At least your ma was all right with dog piss gate. I thought she was gonna go fucking nuts.
Erin: Let me put it this way. I have locked my mother in a cage designed by her own art. Oh, she has been well and truly hoist by her own petard.
Michelle: Could you put it another way? I didn't understand a word of that.
Erin: I'm sort of blackmailing her.
Michelle: Oh, happy days.

Ms. De Brún: This person has written about how much they love their English class, in an embarrassing attempt to suck up to the teacher. [Clare grimaces] Dog poem. Dog poem. Cat poem. [Erin raises her hand] Yes?
Erin: I think a lot of people in this class, and I know no-one will mind me saying this, well, they have a very basic grasp of the creative process. Whereas I've been writing for years, so I'm really not afraid to put myself out there, to be bold, to take risks.
Ms. De Brún: And you are?
Orla: That's my cousin.
Erin: Erin Quinn.
Ms. De Brún: Erin Quinn. Here we go. "The bullets fired on the streets as I lie in my bed Are nothing to the bullets being fired... In my head."
Erin: It's about the troubles in a political sense, but also about my own troubles, in a personal sense.
Ms. De Brún: No, I understand the weak analogy. This isn't bold, Erin. It's someone failing to be bold.
Erin: Well, I'm sorry if the subtleties of my work were lost on you, Ms. De Brún.

Jonjo: Why did you think we were chasing you? Ah, right, I see, we're travellers which means we're psychopaths?
Orla: You were right, Erin.
Michelle: Shut up, Orla.
Jonjo: We run after people and beat them up for no fecking reason?
Erin: No, look, that isn't.
Jonjo: We're travellers, so we're obviously violent.
Erin: No, not at all. Listen, we have huge respect for you and your people. You've such a strong sense of community and such wonderful, traditional values.
Rita: [musical horn honks] These lads bothering you, girls?
Erin: Yes, yes, they are.
Michelle: They're fucking madmen.
Erin: They're going to kill us. Help us, please!
Rita: [spits out] Jump in.
Jonjo: Arseholes.

Erin: Let's just run through some of our favourite ideas. So, firstly, animals.
James: Animals. Can someone elaborate?
Erin: Yeah. So, this concept would focus on animals, alongside pictures of famous people who look a bit like animals.
Orla: Michelle Pfeiffer looks like a cat.
Erin: Exactly.
James: OK. Right. Animals. Er, what's the next one? Shoes of the...
Erin: Shoes of the world.

Erin: I'm not sure any of us will get to meet Bill or Hillary.
Gerry: Some sense at last.
Erin: They'll be far too busy. That's why we've decided to take Chelsea off their hands.
Gerry: What?
Orla: We're gonna bring her to Lisnagelvin swimming pool.
Erin: The wave machine's been fixed.
Mary: Lovely.
Orla: I hope she remembers her swimming cap, Erin. They've got dead strict about swimming caps.
Sarah: And that wain has some head of hair on her.
Gerry: Dear Jesus.