Clare: Any word from Chelsea?
Erin: Not yet. And we sent that letter over a week ago.
Clare: Are you sure you got the address right?
Orla: Chelsea Clinton, the White House, America.
Clare: It just doesn't make any sense.
Michelle: Did you send it first class?
Erin: We're not made of money, Michelle.

Jonjo: Hey! Hold on!
Clare: What does he want?
Erin: I dunno.
Jonjo: I'm talking to you!
Erin: Just walk on.
Jonjo: Hey! Are you deaf or what?
Erin: Keep your heads down and keep walking.
Jonjo: Get back here!
Erin: Faster, walk faster.
Jonjo: Am I going to have to come after ya, am I?
James: Jesus Christ, he's following us.
Michelle: Holy fuck!
Erin: Run!
James: What?
Erin: He's obviously a psychopath! Run!

Michelle: So, would you do me a reading, Sarah?
Sarah: I would surely, love.
Erin: Grow up, Michelle. A deck of cards can't actually predict your future. It's ridiculous. It's medieval.
Joe: Shower of shites!

Erin: OK, sir, I would just like to state for the tape...
Chief Inspector Byers: There is no tape.
Erin: ...that we are completely and totally innocent. And this is a... horrific miscarriage of justice.
Chief Inspector Byers: Grand.
Erin: Excuse me?!

Erin: If your organisation isn't prejudiced, Inspector, then you won't mind telling us how many Catholic officers are serving in it at this time.
Chief Inspector Byers: I think we're losing sight of who's questioning who here, girls.
Erin: How many?
Chief Inspector Byers: [stammers] Well, if you count the Jewish fella from, uh, Ballymena, three.
Erin: In the entire police force, you have three Catholic officers, and one of those officers is a Jew?
Chief Inspector Byers: Lovely fella, by the way.
Police Officer: He is, yeah.

Erin: I would like to speak to our lawyer immediately.
Orla: Who is our lawyer?
Erin: I don't know.

James: Well, who, then?!
Clare: Oh, God, there's nobody! They'll just wear us down until we say we did it! We'll be forced to sign false confessions, there's no way out!
Erin: What if we wear them down first?
Clare: How?
Erin: I know who we should call.

Orla: I don't like strawberry Pop Tarts. I like chocolate Pop Tarts.
Erin: Mammy? Pen?
Mary: Right, here you go. Here's a pen.
Erin: That's a Biro.
Aunt Sarah: I mean, I've seen corpses that are a better colour.
Erin: I can't write with a Biro!
Orla: Which means I end up eating them out of pity.
Erin: You might as well ask Van Gogh to paint with a trowel.

Father Peter: OK. Give us some clues, girls.
Orla: Well, Peter... They are English, but we still like them.
Clare: They're also probably better known by their nicknames.
Father Peter: Which are? And I think this just might give it away now.
Erin: Ginger! Baby! Sporty! Scary and Posh!
All: Tonight, Matthew, we're gonna be The Spice Girls!

Erin: I know about you and Gabriel.
Mary: What?
Gerry: What?
Mary: Clare heard you arranging your dirty little rendezvous.
Clare: All right, Mary, how's it going?
Erin: Admit it, Gabriel, you're just a pervert with a jazzy-jumpered Ma fetish!
Gabriel: I'd rather not admit that, if you don't mind.