Michelle: Christ, I feel a bit bokey. [Michelle opens the curtains]
Clare: Sweet sufferin' Jesus, it's the morning already! What are we going to do?
Michelle: Well, maybe we could start with calming the fuck down.
Clare: Calm down? We're still on William of Orange, Michelle! We haven't so much looked at the famine!
Michelle: We've got the gist. They ran out of spuds. Everyone was ragin'.
James: Well, I can't tell my rebellions from my risings.
Michelle: And whose fault's that? If your lot had stopped invading us for five fucking minutes there'd be a lot less to wade through, you English prick!

Joe: You stay over too, son?
James: Yes, I did. That's correct, sir.
Joe: [looks at Erin] What, in your room? [to Gerry] Have you nothing to say about this, you slack southern shite? Look, love, I know the fella's gay...
James: I'm not gay.
Joe: But gay or not...
James: Who said I was gay?
Joe: ...he's still a fella. There's still a good chance that he's a rapist. I mean no offence, son.

Sarah: So what happens now, Peter?
Father Peter: Well, I think the next stage is Rome, audience with the big man.
Orla: Pavarotti!
Gerry: John-Paul II.