Erin: How long does this fast last?
Clare: 24 hours. So I still have... almost 23 hours to go.
Michelle: Fuck me, not the Africans again.
Clare: Imagine being born there and not here. We don't know how lucky we are.
Michelle: Aye, fair dues. Derry is class.
Orla: It is, aye.

Clare: God, this whole writing-from-the-soul carry-on is a nightmare.
James: I know.
Michelle: What rhymes with ride?
Clare: Bide.
Michelle: Bide? What the fuck does bide mean? Bide. That's not a word.
Clare: It is a word, Michelle.
Michelle: Bide? You've pure made that up.

Clare: It's not happening. Drugs are for mugs, folks!
Michelle: Congratulations, Clare. That may be the dickiest sentence that anyone's ever said.
James: Come on, Michelle, what makes you think you can trust this Macca person?
Michelle: Well, he's not English for a start, so...
Erin: James has a point.
Michelle: No, he doesn't!
Erin: What if he gives us dodgy gear?
Michelle: Dodgy gear?! What is this, The Bill?!

Father Peter: But sometimes, we want to believe in something so much that we willingly deceive ourselves. I mean, I know I've been guilty of that in the past. I wanted a sign so badly that it drove me to distraction, because it is the question we all want the answer to, isn't it? I mean, does God exist? I mean, does he exist? Does he? Or is your whole world built on a lie, Peter?
James: Peter?
Father Peter: Yeah. Directly before the weeping, can you remember what you were doing? What you were talking about?
Michelle: I remember that James was being a dick.
Sister Michael: Ms. Mallon.
Michelle: I don't like to use that word, Sister, but it's so hard to describe James any other way, cos he's just such a dick.
Father Peter: I don't think you're a dick, James.
James: Really?
Father Peter: Really. And you know who else doesn't think you're a dick? Our Lord.
Sister Michael: For feck's sake.

Rita: OK, OK, so who agrees with Tiny Tears, who thinks we should go back? [Clare and Erin raise their hands] Orla!
Orla: I like James, I like Take That more.
Rita: Make a fucking decision, I've T shirts to flog!
Michelle: Come on, girls, it's Take That we're talking about.
Erin: I know, it's just...
Michelle: You said it yourself Erin, the greats don't come here. We never got to see Bros, New Kids on The Block Right Said Fred. Let's not add Take That to the list. We can't turn back. There's too much at stake.
Erin: James has the tickets.
Michelle: Shit!

Clare: [speaks Cantonese]
Mae: Is she all right?
Michelle: Burning for you, Clare.
Clare: I-It's Cantonese.
Mae: Right, well, I'm from Donegal and we speak English there.
Michelle: If you say so, Mae, but I spent the summer in Killybegs and, seriously? Not a fucking word.

Michelle: Avon. Avon. Avon. Um, we have a wee offer on there for hair removal cream, if you want to, with the...
Erin: There's no seats down here.
Michelle: Just move them wee dicks.
Clare: What?!
Michelle: Why should we sit up the front? We're fifth years. They're foetuses.

Erin: Please, Michelle.
Michelle: No. I have no interest in David Donnelly's spazzing band. [eats crisps]
Clare: They look nice.
Erin: I can't go on my own.
Clare: [to Michelle] Are they nice?
Michelle: Bring Bobby Sands.

Michelle: Can we please talk about something else? I'm half torn, this is wrecking my head.
Erin: What? Have you been drinking?
Michelle: Yes, I have. And for future reference, if any of you invite me to a study sleepover again and I'm desperate enough to accept that invitation, there's a good chance I have a litre bottle of Pernod in my bag.

Erin: Now James isn't even speaking to me.
Michelle: Don't worry about James. James doesn't count.