“Well … when do you want to get married?”“Tomorrow.”She burst out laughing again. “How about next spring?”“How about later this week?”“A Christmas wedding, then.”“Thanksgiving.”“But that’s only two weeks away!”“Two damn long weeks, if you ask me.”

“I remember the woman who marched up to the front of a church where I was doing a meeting, put her hands on her hips, and she said, "I want my money back." I said, "What are you talking about?" She said, “I’ve been doing this two weeks, and it doesn’t work. I want my money back!” It was actually all that I could keep from doing to keep from laughing in her face, but she was serious. She actually was, like, giving almost to buy some kind of a new lifestyle that she wanted. Didn’t understand a thing about commitment and dedication and discipline. Two weeks! How many of you know you’re not going to throw a little money in the bucket and get your life that’s been a mess for 50 years turned around in two weeks!?!?”

“How much detention did you get?"Two weeks. One per arsehole.”

“The only problem with politicians taking two week vacations every year is it’s about 50 weeks too short.
”

“How do you feel about going on a date with me? I'm abroad for another two weeks; you've got plenty of time to prepare yourself. It will be the best night of your life, of course.”

“There is much still to talk about,” Gregor cut in and Lucien’s eyes went to him. “We’ll arrange another meeting. Two weeks,” he stated.Gregor’s eyebrows shot up. “Two weeks?”“Gregor, I’m about to walk out of this office, go home and ask the woman I love to spend eternity with me. Yes, fucking two weeks and consider yourself lucky I’m not going to arrange a fucking meeting until after two months.”