[on Ingrid, Fletch's eldest daughter]
Godber: She had lovely...
Fletch: I know what she had lovely, this is her father you're talking to, Godber, so be very careful!
Godber: Eyes! I was going to say. Lovely eyes.
Fletch: That's all right then. ...
Godber: She's a canny old soul, my mum, but she only normally gives me a catalogue of family ailments.
Fletch: No news of the lovely Denise, then?
Godber: She don't talk about Denise on account of she doesn't approve of her - because she wears green nail varnish and doesn't wear a bra.
Fletch: Sounds as if your fianc"e Denise and my Ingrid have got quite a lot in common.
Godber: Your Ingrid's got nicer knockers.
Godber: [about Blanco] What did he originally get sent down for?
Fletch: Now you know you don't ask that. It's not what a man was that's important, it's what he is now.
Godber: There's nothing you can say that would turn me against him - he's one of the nicest blokes in here.
Fletch: Done his wife!
Fletch: Done her in! Locked her in the deep freeze!
Godber: And we hang around with a horrible old scrote like that?
Fletch: That's why you don't ask, see?
Mackay: There are only two rules in this prison: 1 - do not write on the walls. 2 - You obey all the rules.
Fletch: One can't help noticing a change in your old lady's attitude of late.
Barrowclough: How can you tell that?
Fletch: Oh, little things, like the certain smile that plays around your lips when you're telling us to slop out.
Barrowclough: What sort of smile?
Fletch: The smile of a man who's getting his oats!
Barrowclough: You're writing a book?
Fletch: Yeah - a sort of inside guide to prison life. But don't worry, I've not overlooked your boys in blue - I will be dealing just as much with your issues as those of our fellow felons.
Barrowclough: Oh, good. And what are you going to call this book?
Fletch: Don't Let The Bastards Grind You Down.
[during a riot, the governor is taking some strong medication]
Mrs Heskith: You're only supposed to take two before retiring.
Governor Venables: If we don't put a stop to this riot soon, that could be tomorrow!
[Fletch's old nemesis, Napper Wainwright, has replaced Mackay]
Fletch: He's got stripes - we'll have to hope success has mellowed him.
Wainwright: [very rapidly and sharply, to another prisoner] Something to say to me, have you? Well my name's Wainwright; you will address me as Mr Wainwright or Sir!
Fletch: It has.
Fletch: I haven't been so put out since my son Raymond crept back into school one night and had a prior peek at the exam papers.
Godber: Did he?
Fletch: Yes he did! And he still didn't bleedin' pass!
Warren: I've got this letter, like.
Fletch: From a woman, it looks like, and, judging by the handwriting and stationery, a woman of low standards.
Warren: That's right! It's from the wife!
Fletch: Advice to the lovelorn, you want, is it, Warren? Compose an appropriate reply?
Warren: No, it's simpler than that, Fletch. I just want you to read it to me.
Fletch: Put the word about that I am incommunicado.
Blanco: You're in the where?
Fletch: I do not wish to be disturbed!
Fletch: I'm thinking, naff off!
Fletch: Yes. I know that to some of you nurks in here, it's an alien pastime, but those of us endowed with a bit of grey matter where it matters, namely up here, preserve our identity and our sanity in this nick by thinking!
Warren: But what are you thinking?
Fletch: At the moment, I'm thinking why doesn't this bloke Warren naff off and leave me alone!
Fletch: Didn't one governor let you grow grapes?
Blanco: Aye, that's right - they were over there. I'd read all about them and I knew I could grow grapes. Bloomin' marvel, they were. Course they made me pack it in.
Fletch: How come?
Blanco: Grapes make wine, don't they?
Fletch: Oh, really? I always used potato peelings and anti-freeze myself!
Blanco: We managed to put down a dozen bottles before they tumbled us.
Fletch: Good drop was it?
Blanco: Well, in the wine stakes, I don't suppose it were a classic, but to a man who hadn't had a drink in eleven years, Chateau Slade was the finest drop in the land...
Barrowclough: I'm Scots on my mother's side, well, a bit of everything really. Scots, Irish, Polish...
Fletch: Got about a bit, your mother.
Fletch: When Harry Grout asks a favour of you, it is on the express understanding that favour gets done. Otherwise he takes it as a personal insult, and send round a henchman to mete out dire retribution. From Crusher With Love!
[Fletch is about to hit Jarvis with the television]
Mackay: What are you doing, Fletcher?
Fletch: Just adjusting the television, Mr Mackay!
Mackay: With the set above your head?
Fletch: Yes, it's the vertical hold!
Warren: Look! We've got a picture!
Fletch: If you want the system to do something for us, give us more freedom, better grub, conjugal visits!
Mr Barrowclough: Conjugal visits?
Fletch: With our old lady, like, all above board, all ship-shape and Bristol Fashion.
Mr Barrowclough: I'm not aware of any prison that does that!
Fletch: Well, maybe not here, but certainly in Holland, and also in America, I believe, where they have a more enlightened penal system anyway. They have these special apartments, where the wife comes to stay and they can manifest their long-felt want for each other.
Mr Barrowclough: You mean they spend the entire time...?
Fletch: Conjugating, yeah.
Mr Barrowclough: That's more than I'm allowed at home!
[over opening title sequence]
Judge: Norman Stanley Fletcher, you have pleaded guilty to the charges brought by this court, and it is now my duty to pass sentence. You are an habitual criminal, who accepts arrest as an occupational hazard, and presumably accepts imprisonment in the same casual manner. We therefore feel constrained to commit you to the maximum term allowed for these offences: you will go to prison for five years.