- Frantz: You better?
- Carl Greig: You always ask that.
- Frantz: You never answer.
- Carl Greig: I'm dying my friend. There is no better. No more birthdays.
- Timmy: They were all huddled together, but you know I could tell they had just enough piss and vinegar left in them, that, uh, give them an inch, they'd scream for miles.