Doug: The luck is gone / the brain is shot / but the liquor we still got.
Brian: Days get shorter and shorter, nights longer and longer, before you know it, your life is just one long night with a few comatose daylight hours.
Doug: Coughlin's Law: anything else is always something better.
[Flanagan's advice to his unborn child:]
Brian: If Jordan gives birth to a fine Irish son / There will be Cocktails and Dreams for him one day to run / A business that will yield the financial windfall / To be franchised in every suburban shopping mall. / If a daughter arrives to bless our clan / I guess the shit will finally hit the fan / But this I shall promise thee / I'll never let her marry a guy like me. / Still if our child is the naughtiest of girls or the wildest of young men / I swear I'll be the best dad I can / And never ever get spooked again.
[Last Barman poem]
Brian: I am the last barman poet / I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make / Americans getting stinky on something I stir or shake / The sex on the beach / The schnapps made from peach / The velvet hammer / The Alabama slammer. / I make things with juice and froth / The pink squirrel / The three-toed sloth. / I make drinks so sweet and snazzy / The iced tea / The kamakazi / The orgasm / The death spasm / The Singapore sling / The dingaling. / America you've just been devoted to every flavor I got / But if you want to got loaded / Why don't you just order a shot? / Bar is open.
Doug: [in his suicide note to Brian] My dearest Brian, A guy like me looks in the mirror, he either grins, or he starts to fade away. And I haven't seen anything to grin about in a long time. This may not be the most graceful exit, but I know when the bottle's empty. The only thing I'm really going to miss is the conversations we had. At least I get the last word, even if I had to mail it in. Coughlin's Law: Bury the dead. They stink up the joint. As for the rest of Coughlin's Laws, ignore them. The guy was always full of shit.
Doug: But I guess you knew that already.
Jordan: Bet I can still spook you.
Brian: No way.
[she whispers in his ear]
Brian: Twins? Twins?
Brian: Twins! Drinks are on the house!
Uncle Pat: No! No!
Brian: The bar is open!
Doug: You see, there are two kinds of people in this world: the workers and the hustlers. The hustlers never work and the workers never hustle...
Doug: [Introducing himself] Douglas Coughlin, Logical Negativist. Flourished in the last part of the 20th Century. Propounded a set of laws the world generally ignores, to its detriment.
Brian: I'm looking for the Manager.
Doug: What's the problem? Did you find a hair in your quiche?
Brian: No, I'm looking for a job.
Doug: Ah, you'd like to put a hair in somebody else's quiche.
Uncle Pat: Most things in life, good and bad, just kinda' happen to ya'.
Doug: I don't care how liberated this world becomes - a man will always be judged by the amount of alcohol he can consume - and a woman will be impressed, whether she likes it or not.
Doug: When you see the color of their panties, you know you've got talent. Stick with me son and I'll make you a star.
Brian: Coughlin's law: never show surprise, never lose your cool.
Brian: You're offering me a job?
Doug: Uh huh.
Brian: The waitresses hate me!
Doug: You wait till you've given them crabs. Then you'll really know hatred.
Uncle Pat: [On how to succeed in business] You outwork, outthink, outscheme and outmanuever. You make no friends. You trust nobody. And you make damn sure you're the smartest guy in the room whenever the subject of money comes up.
Brian: Not a goddamned thing any one of those professors says makes a difference on the street.
Doug: If you know that, you're ready to graduate.
Doug: Coughlin's law: never tell tales about a woman, she'll hear you no matter how far away she is.
[Jordan is drawing a picture of Brian]
Brian: So this is your profession.
Jordan: More like my... obsession.
Brian: To pay the rent?
Jordan: Someday it will.
Brian: Should we let it breathe?
Doug: It hasn't breathed for fifty years, it's dead. Let's just drink it.
Brian: I'll stick with the brew.
Doug: Beer is for breakfast around here, drink or be gone.
[Jordan has returned to her father's Park Avenue penthouse to find Brian arguing with him]
Brian: I think there's a chance for us.
Jordan: Brian, there is no "us." There's too many things about "us" that don't work.
Brian: What about the baby? A kid needs a father.
Jordan: Not one who's not going to be around in a year?
Mr. Mooney: Yeah, with your lifestyle, what kind of a father would you...
Brian: Listen, I'm sorry I called you a bitch.
Eleanor: Why? I am a bitch.
Brian: [telling Bonnie he's moving out of her place] I left a can of Spam in your refrigerator... I hope your Brewers Yeast doesn't take it personally.
Brian: I'm willing to start at the bottom.
Job Interviewer: You're aiming too high.
Brian: Come on, put it to the floor! Come on! Let's go!
Doug: Mighty Casey has struck out.
Brian: The game's not over yet. It wouldn't be any fun if they fell over with their legs in the air, would it?
Brian: [looking at Jordan's painting] Is this our waterfall?
Brian: It's terrific.
Jordan: Yeah, it's all right. The name's Mooney, not Monet.
Bonnie: I've been thinking about you all day.
Brian: Really? A plane ride home will cure that.