Colm: And, now, I don't mind a bit of a breeze, if anything I prefer it, but thon was aggressive. So, I says to myself, says I, "Colm, this is no day for a do..."
Sister Michael: What's happening?
Colm: ...for, when the bride arrived and, as I say, by this stage the wind was fierce...
Sister Michael: Am I dead?
Colm: ...I've never heard wind like it.
Sister Michael: Is this my wake?
Colm: Howling like a banshee, it was.
Sister Michael: Am I in hell?
Colm: So, the poor girl, the bride now, this is, she arrives anyway and isn't she no sooner out of the car than she's lifted up in the air like a paper doll and blown into a flowerbed.
Sister Michael: That's actually quite funny.

James: OK, can I just check something? Everybody else can see the dead body, right?
Erin: It's just Bridie!
James: It's Bridie's corpse. It's Bridie's dead corpse.
Michelle: It's her wake. What were you expecting?
Erin: Haven't you ever seen a dead body before?
James: Of course not!
Michelle: Christ, but the English are weird.

Colm: John over there was just saying... You know John? Lovely fella. Married to, er, Patricia, I think it is, and her mother worked in the credit union, you might remember. Absolutely crippled with the old gallstones, so she was.
Mary: Christ Almighty.
Colm: And the gallstones... Well, now, they're no joke. A neighbour of mine, Dickie Dunnagan, by God, he was tortured with the gallstones. The size of golf balls they were.
Mary: And what did John say, Colm? For the love of God, what did he say?
Colm: He was telling me there, John was, that every being in the place is talking about Sarah's frock.
Sarah: Och, really?
Mary: Jesus, but this is an ordeal.
Colm: Well, at least they got a good day for it, Mary. I'll tell you, I was at one there, up in the Cathedral last week. By God, the wind could have cut you in two. Fierce it was, and now I don't mind a bit of a breeze. If anything, I prefer it. But thon was aggressive. And I says to myself, says I, "Colm, this is no day for a do." And as it turns out...
Mary: Can I just stop you there, Colm?
Colm: Surely, Mary. Go ahead.
Mary: Oh, no, I've got nothing to say. I just really, really need you to stop talking.
Colm: Fair enough.

Michelle: You're such a wreck-a-buzz, Clare.
Clare: Look, Michelle, drugs are illegal, drugs are addictive, but perhaps most importantly, in this country you can lose your kneecaps if you're caught doing them. And I like my kneecaps, Michelle. They suit my knees.
Orla: You do have cracking kneecaps, Clare.
James: Is that true?
Erin: Sort of.

Clare: What are we gonna do?! What in under God are we gonna do?!
Michelle: It's fine.
Clare: It's definitely not fine! There's drug scones down there! If people eat the drug scones then we'll have drugged those people, Michelle!
Michelle: So? Drugging people isn't a crime.
James: You've a very loose grasp of the law, Michelle.
Erin: What kind of person brings hash scones to a wake?
Michelle: Typical. I try and do a nice thing and this is the thanks I get.
Clare: It's terrible. There's old people down there. What if an old person takes one?
Michelle: Why does everybody get so sentimental about old people?! Old people are arseholes!

Michelle: These aren't any old scones, girls. These are funny scones.
Orla: Aye, they do look like good craic, in fairness.
Erin: Funny scones?
Clare: They're drug scones! She's put the drugs in the scones!
Michelle: Too fucking right I have! I wanted to do brownies but this was the only recipe my Ma had, so...
Clare: We talked about this, Michelle. We agreed.
Michelle: No, we didn't. Anyway, drugs aren't illegal when you put them in food. Everybody knows that.
James: Is that right? I'm not sure that's right.
Maureen Malarkey: Any cups up here? I'll take that.
Michelle: What the fuck just happened?!

Clare: I cannot believe you're even discussing it.
Michelle: Let's live a little, for fuck's sake!
Clare: I want no part of this. And if you guys do decide to go through with it, then, I'm sorry, but any friendship we have is over.
[music: Rock The Boat by The Hues Corporation plays]
Clare: Rock The Boat! It's Rock The Boat!
Michelle: Happy fucking days!
Clare: Quick!
Erin: Yes!
Michelle: Bagsy the front! Bagsy the front!

Orla: You can touch her if you want?
James: Why the hell would I want to touch her?!
Orla: It's nice.
James: Stop it!
Clare: It's just a dead body, James. We're all going to be one someday.
James: Oh, thanks for that, Clare. Yeah, that's helped.

Mary: [sees Colm talking to a man] Oh, God!
Gerry: What is it?
Mary: He's got someone. Should we save the poor fella?
Joe: No chance.
Sarah: Och, Daddy, he's only young.
Joe: I don't care! When it comes to our Colm, it's every man for himself.

Mary: Something troubling you, Bridie?
Aunt Bridie: Aye, you could say that. My Eammon has been waiting all night for this song.
Mary: For Rock The Boat? Really?
Aunt Bridie: But your girls pushed him out of the line, and now he has a bruise. Show them the bruise, Eammon.
Eammon: I bruise quite easily.
Aunt Bridie: That's not the point!
Mary: Right. I see. Well, I'm sorry about that, Eammon.
Aunt Bridie: Is that all you have to say?
Mary: I'm not sure what else there is to say, Bridie. Except, maybe, our girls are 16, and Eammon's a 50-year-old man.
Sarah: Look, it's a rough routine, Bridie. You know that going in. You sit down on that floor at your own risk.