“Look, who's the talking bear here?” Quentin snapped. “Is it you? Are you the talking fucking bear? All right. So shut the fuck up.”

“Why so profane, ask the bookclubbers? Because we are talking here about death, and fuck you if you don't like it: You're going to die, too. This is serious. Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Georgie: I feel stupid.Andrew: What are you talking about, you feel stupid? You just walked in here and insulted me for ten minutes.Georgie: That was different. I was mad.Andrew: You have to be mad to talk?Georgie: No, come on—I don't know—Andrew: I could make you mad.Georgie: No, you couldn't. You're too nice.Andrew: Fuck you.Georgie: —Andrew—Andrew: Fuck you. Come on. Fuck you.Georgie: Yeah, fuck you too.Andrew: Fuck you.Georige: Fuck you.Andrew: Fuck you.Georgie: You look really stupid saying fuck you—Andrew: Fuck you. Fuck you! Fuck you.Georgie: Andrew, stop it. Cut it out. It sounds weird when you say it. You shouldn't talk like that.Andrew: You talk like that all the time!Georgie: I'm different. I mean, I know how to swear. You don't. It's like, fuck you. Fuck you. Or, you know, fuck you. It's just—you know. You got to know how to say it.Andrew: Fuck you.Georgie: Forget it. You look really stupid. You look the way I look when I try to talk like you.Andrew: You've tried it? Really? I must have missed that day.Georgie: Oh, fuck you.”

“Because when I look at you and talk to you, all I think about is fucking.”

“If I go on talking and talking...and telling you things about pretending, I shall bear it better. You don't forget, but you bear it better.”

“He gave her an indulgent look. "I'll forgive these rash words for now." She sputtered, "Forgive? Let's talk about who should be forgiving who.""Whom," he corrected."Shut up! I'm in the right here. Remember all those things you did to me?”