Ada Doom: I saw something nasty in the woodshed!
Earl P. Neck: Sure you did, but did it see you, baby?
Flora Poste: Highly sexed young men living on farms are always called Seth or Reuben.
Flora Poste: It was winter. The grimmest hour of the darkest day of the year. The Golden Orb had almost disappeared behind the interlacing fingers of the hawthorn.
Flora Poste: Jane Austen and I have so much in common - neither of us can endure mess.
Flora Poste: When I am 53, I hope to write a novel as good as "Persuasion," but in a modern setting.
Mybug: Let me warn you: I'm a queer, moody brute, but there's rich soil in here if you care to dig for it.
Earl P. Neck: I don't want sissies. It's red meat time in the movies.
Charles: We are all purified by suffering.
Amos Starkadder: I'm going to go all about in a Ford van. Like the apostles of old, I'll go about the land.
Flora Poste: Nature's all very well in her place, but she musn't be allowed to make things untidy.
Mrs. Smiling: I mean there probably isn't even a bathroom.
Flora Poste: It is Sussex, for goodness' sake.
Mrs. Smiling: In fact, when poetry is combined with ill-groomed hair and eccentric dress, it's generally fatal. You're very lucky, Elfine. He must have seen your finer points.
Mrs. Smiling: It's bad to be dewy-eyed around smart people, but you can always secretly despise them.
Flora Poste: I try to bring people around to the higher common sense.
Ada Doom: There has always been Starkadders on Cold Comfort Farm.
Amos Starkadder: Seth, drain the well. There's a neighbor missing.
Amos Starkadder: Ye miserable, crawlin' worms. Are ye here again then? Have ye come like Nimshi, son of Rehoboam, secretly out of your doomed houses, to hear what's comin' to ye? Have ye come, old and young, sick and well, matrons and virgins, if there be any virgins amongst you, which is not likely, the world being in the wicked state that it is. Have ye come to hear me tell you of the great, crimson, licking flames of hell fire? Aye! You've come, dozens of ye. Like rats to the granary, like field mice when it's harvest home. And what good will it do ye? You're all damned! Damned! Do you ever stop to think what that word means? No, you don't. It means endless, horrifying torment! It means your poor, sinful bodies stretched out on red-hot gridirons, in the nethermost, fiery pit of hell and those demons mocking ye while they waves cooling jellies in front of ye. You know what it's like when you burn your hand, taking a cake out of the oven, or lighting one of them godless cigarettes? And it stings with a fearful pain, aye? And you run to clap a bit of butter on it to take the pain away, aye? Well, I'll tell ye, there'll be no butter in hell!
Charles: Do you ever think of getting married?
Flora Poste: I believe in arranged marriages, don't you?
Charles: Rather out of date.
Flora Poste: Not at all. I've always like the phrase, "A marriage has been arranged." When I feel like it, I'll arrange one.
Sneller: [reading Flora's first telegram to Mary] Worst fears confirmed. Seth and Reuben too. Everything's changing. Send magazines!
Flora Poste: Besides, I want to learn about *real* life.
Charles: What for?
Flora Poste: To put it in books.
Charles: If you get bored, where ever you are, phone. I'll come and rescue you in my plane.
Flora Poste: Have you a plane, Charles?
Charles: Ummmm. A Belisha Bat called Speed Cop II.
Flora Poste: Are you sure an embryo parson have a plane?
Charles: Everyone should have a plane.
Flora Poste: [laughing] Really, Charles!
Mybug: I do seem somewhat soaked in nature's fecund blessing.
Mybug: Miss Poste! Miss Poste! I'm engorgingly in love with you!
Amos Starkadder: The Lord will provide! Or not, according to His will.
Mrs. Smiling: Of course you may stay here as long as you like. But I expect you should want to find some work to earn enough for a flat of your own.
Flora Poste: Work! What kind of work?
Mrs. Smiling: Oh, it's been ages since I've done any, but there must be something that would do... bookkeeping... beekeeping...
Ada Doom: You won't find me plucking my eyebrows, nor dieting, nor doting on a boy 25.
Amos Starkadder: Well, some of us has farming to do!