George: It's not my back that's killing me.

George: Sam, if you were a house, you would want to be built on rock over-looking the sea.

George: I put a gun to my father's head once. Ever think like that? He was passed out. Had just been yelling at my mom over nothing. Under-cooked meat. I went to my room, I held the barrel right up to his ear, and then I chickened out again. Of course it was a BB gun but still it would have hurt like hell.

Sam: Thank you for talking about me behind my back - useful in court.

George: Change can be so constant; you don't even feel the difference until there is one.

George: Hindsight. It's like foresight without a future.

Sam: I think there has to be a door between where you cook and where you crap. Even in the bush - tribal people, you know, they have places for both. Probably it's like a law. Maybe in the Bible. It's at least a code violation.

Robin: Oh, I dreamed about your house last night.
George: Finished or unfinished?
Robin: Finished. It was beautiful.
George: Didn't you once dream that you could lick people well?

Robin: What kind of mother can stand her own son?