“The bane of Terri’s life could use a prescription of Prozac.’ (Terri)”

“I have two words for you. (Terri)Oh, yeah? (Josie)Whatever- (Terri)That’s one word. (Josie)–bitch. (Terri)”

“What are you doing here? (Terri)I’ll tell you if you tell me why you’re here. (Nathan)No. Leave. (Terri)No. You leave. (Nathan)What are we? Four? (Terri)”

“Keep your voice down. And before you go all badass cop on me, I’m the one who saved your life outside. (Nathan)How do I know that? (Terri)Let’s use some logic. You stuck your head in here. Someone tried to use it for target practice, but I yanked you away before you ended up headless. If I was the shooter, you’d be dead now and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. (Nathan)”

“Writers. For some reason, a lot of you reject what you hear and see in your heads. If you go too long ignoring it, it builds up and then you do all sorts of weird things. Mumble to yourself. Nightmares. Day-dreams. Total anarchy and chaos. Before you know it, the writer is either sitting in corner feverishly humming to his- or herself or on Prozac. You’re not on Prozac, are you? (Esther)”

“Sorry, Carlos. What have you got? (Terri)Plenty of fine wine and silk sheets with a high threat count. (Carlos)”

“What the hell are you doing here again? (Terri)I have a question. (Nathan)Tell you what. I’ll give you my cell phone number so you can just call me the next time you have one, and save you all the effort of breaking and entering. Free up a lot of your day. (Terri)”