“If Mrs. Baker Hates your guts, why don't get some.”

“I don't know what his problem is," I said as Michael and I left the school. "Why would he tell me to be careful if he hates my guts?" "Because he doesn't hate your guts. I think he likes you." Michael was walking so fast I had to jog to keep up with him. "Isn't it obvious?”

“Can't we be friends?' I hate your guts, Frankovitch' Can't our guts be friends?”

“A comedy isn't about being funny," said Mrs. Baker. "We talked about this before.""A comedy is about character who dare to know that they may choose a happy ending after all. That's how I know.""Suppose you can't see it?""That's the daring part," said Mrs. Baker.”

“You're getting into some kind of shape, cop."Aw, come on, now." Butch grinned. "Don't let that shower we took go to your head."Rhage fired a towel at the male. "Just pointing out your beer gut's gone."It was a Scotch pot. And I don't miss it.”

“Where do you get the right to decide our lives? I'll tell you where. From that little hog's gut that hangs between your legs. Well, let me tell you something... you will need more than that. I don't know where you will get it or who will give it to you, but mark my words, you will need more than that.... You are a sad, pitiful, stupid, selfish, hateful man. I hope your little hog's gut stands you in good stead, and you take good care of it, because you don't have anything else.”