Sister Michael: Now, what else was there? Yes. Sadly, Sister Patrick has decided to leave us. She's returning to her missionary work, educating the heathen inhabitants of a primitive and savage place.
Miss Mooney: She's taking a teaching post in Belfast, Sister.
Sister Michael: Precisely. The Board of Governors promised me that her replacement would arrive today, but as usual they were talking out of their... [door bangs]
Ms. De Brún: I believe you've been expecting me.
Sister Michael: [rolls eyes] Here we go.

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.

Sister Michael: As you all know, at the beginning of term, the bishop graciously bestowed a beautiful piece of religious art onto our lady immaculate college. The Enchanting Child of Prague. There we are. Sure, isn't he a great fella altogether?
James: I still don't get what it's supposed to be.
Michelle: It's Jesus as a wain.
James: Why has he got a big red hat on?
Michelle: Nobody knows.
Sister Michael: It was the bishop's wish that he be passed around all the schools in the Derry Diocese. Therefore, we are joined this morning by Mr. Malone, headmaster of St. Benedict's, so that the handover ceremony can take place. You're very welcome, Mr. Malone. Though I fear you may have had a wasted journey. I've thought about it, and I'd much rather just hold on to him, actually. He brightens up my office. He doesn't answer back. I like the fella. And if the bishop has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.

Mary: Sweet Jesus.
Erin: [mouth full] Mammy, we can explain.
Mary: Not the Christmas cupboard?
Sarah: They've had the very Tunnock's, Mary.
Mary: Animals, the lot of you!
Erin: We needed energy for our poetry.
Mary: I'll give you energy for your poetry!
Clare: We were just gonna take a handful of chocolate money, Mary. But then one thing led to another.
Mary: What am I supposed to do? I'll have to start from scratch now. And December's only round the corner.
Gerry: It's eight months away, love.

Ms. De Brún: Dig deep, something you hate, something you despise. No holding back. Come on! Get it out!
Erin: Injustice!
Ms. De Brún: Yes!
Clare: Prejudice!
Ms. De Brún: Good! This is good!
Michelle: Mass!
Ms. De Brún: Come on!
Orla: My own socks!
Ms. De Brún: Ok.
Jenny: Being late for school!
Aisling: Piano lessons!
James: The fact that people here use the word "wee" to describe things that aren't even actually that small!
Ms. De Brún: God, but I love that accent, James!

Ms. De Brún: Have you ever stopped to look at these? These faces from the past. They're not so different from you, really. They had dreams like you do. They had... Ambitions. But now, they're gone. Dead. Dust.
Clare: That's my auntie Anne third from the left. She's not dead.
Erin: Ssh!
Clare: But she's only 54. She runs the mobile library in Ballymagroarty.
Erin: Quiet.
Ms. De Brún: But did they fulfil those dreams, those ambitions? One day, girls, you too will just be an old photograph in a hallway. You only get one life. Don't be afraid to live it. Find your voice. Make your mark.

Joe: I've got the tickets.
Sarah: We haven't decided what we want to see yet, Da!
Joe: Well, I liked the look of that one with all the lads in the line-up. It's got your man in it, the farmer from Glenroe.
Mary: What, Gabriel Byrne?
Ciaran: He's done a fair bit since Glenroe now.
Joe: Who are you? His agent?
Mary: Da, I don't understand this. You hate the cinema.
Joe: Oh, not since I discovered it's the only way I can spend time with our Colm. It's the one place the boring bastard doesn't talk.

Clare: I feel all floaty.
Michelle: She's absolutely fucking flying.
Jenny: Well, well, well. What are you guys up to?
Michelle: Nothing much. We've just been hanging out at Ms. De Brún's place.
Jenny: You were at her house? At night? Well, that's a bit inappropriate.
Clare: Your ma is a bit inappropriate.
Jenny: That doesn't even make sense.
Clare: Your ma doesn't even make sense.
Jenny: Is she drunk?
Clare: Your ma's drunk.

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.

Joe: I'm leaning towards Pete Postlethwaite now.
Mary: It wasn't Pete Postlethwaite, Da. It's never Pete Postlethwaite. Look, this is driving me to distraction. We'll have to go back tonight.
Gerry: It's not in the listings any more.
Mary: What?
Gerry: The cinema's stopped showing it.
Joe: Oh, well done.
Gerry: It's not my fault.
Joe: Ah, sure, nothing ever is.
Mary: What are we meant to do?
Gerry: Wait for them to release it on video.
Mary: I can't, Gerry! I can't go on like this! I need to know!