Gerry: Thought I was going to drop dead there at one point.
Joe: Aye, if only.

Erin: We also gave you a name.
Chief Inspector Byers: Nobody in Londonderry is called Hans, girls.
Colm: Well, you say that, now, but there's a young lad up in Pennyburn called Diego.
Chief Inspector Byers: Is this relevant?
Colm: The mother, she's a Derry woman, but the father, he was Spanish. Though not on the scene, by all accounts.
Chief Inspector Byers: Thank you, if we could just... [knock on door] Alex, don't leave me.
Police Officer: It's every man for himself, sir.
Colm: According to the mother, he - Diego's father, this is - well, he came over with the Spanish Armada, then cleared off, leaving her to raise the wean on her own. But that story didn't totally add up, was the thing.
Chief Inspector Byers: I need you to stop talking now.
Colm: The problem being that the Spanish Armada landed here in 1588, and that the son, Diego, as she called him, well, he was born more than four centuries later.
Chief Inspector Byers: I will caution you.

Michelle: Ssh! You'll scare Clive!
James: Who's Clive?
Michelle: Clive. Clive is a wee Prod from East Belfast. Clive came back from Ibiza, got on the wrong bus at Aldergrove Airport, then fell asleep. Clive woke up in Derry, surrounded by Russians and Fenians. Clive is absolutely shitting himself.
Erin: So where's the real Artem?
Michelle: Giant's Causeway, probably. Foreigners fucking love the Giant's Causeway.
Clive: I just want to go home! But she won't let me leave! She won't let me leave.
Michelle: I also think Clive may have had too many disco biscuits on his holidays.
Clare: [enters] Here you are!
Clive: Thank God! [hugs Clare in her Union Jack top] Whatever you do, don't slag off the Pope. We're outnumbered.

Colm: There was a knock at the door. This must have been, ah, we're talking eight, half eight, for I was halfway through my dinner. And up I got to open it, and there they both were, large as life. And the taller fella, though, to be fair, there was no more than an inch in it...
Mary: Jesus wept.
Colm: The slightly taller fella, he says to me, says he, "Do you know who we are?"
Joe: How is a body supposed to enjoy his dinner?
Colm: And I says to him, says I, "Well, I can't be sure now. But maybe if you took off the balaclavas..." And then he says to me, the slightly taller fella does, he says, "Step aside, we are armed."
Orla: Class.
Colm: And that is when the smaller fella, although, as I say, we are talking an inch...
Erin: Mammy, make it stop.
Colm: ...an inch and a half at most.
Sarah: I need a drink.
Colm: He has the bright idea of tying me to the radiator, you see. And I remember saying to myself, says I, "Colm, it's a good job you have the Economy 7 on the aul timer, or you'd be roasted here."

Mary: I can't find my purse.
Gerry: I can see your purse right there.
Mary: No, that's my sterling purse. I'm talking about my punt purse. I can't find my punt purse, Gerry. [prays] Blessed St. Anthony, the Grace of God has made you the patron saint of all things lost and stolen. I turn to you this day with childlike love and...
Gerry: Look, Mary, calm down.
Mary: Calm down, Gerry? We have no punts! We can't go to the Free State without punts. We're puntless. We haven't a punt between us. Oh, God. I think... I think I'm having a panic attack. Oh, stupid punts.