“We fucked, Ms. Lane. Even cockroaches fuck. They eat each other, too.”

“From who?” “From whom, I believe is the correct phrasing.” “All right, from-the-fuck-whom, Ms. Lane?”

“I don’t get where he gets off thinking he should be able to have his cake and eat it too because news flash, this cake store is fucking closed.--Lane”

“Fuck it... That's really the attitude that keeps a family together, it's not "we love each other", it's just "fuck it, man.”

“We aren't going to fuck, Meg. Even when it's hard and fast or a little rough or a lot dirty, I'm not fucking you. In the kitchen, in the bedroom, on my car, or any damn where I want to take you, will not be fucking. Fucking is for strangers or people who don't give a shit about each other.”

“I have no desire to sleep with you. I want to fuck you. And there is no such thing as perfectly good sex.  If it’s “perfectly good,” I mock in falsetto, “he should be shot in the head and put out of everyone’s misery. Sex either blows your fucking mind, or it’s not good enough. You want me to blow your fucking mind, Ms. Lane? Come on.  Do it.  Be a big girl.”