Harper Sloane: You're obviously mistaking me for someone with potential.
Harper Sloane: You will soon take a giant, 12-inch, cock up your ass. In bed. I don't know - somehow it didn't make mine any funnier.
Deborah Sloane: For starters, I don't really think that your young girl predilection has much to do... with their firm, young flesh. I mean, when someone like you is out with someone like Harper, you must invite all kinds of comparison and ridicule, which can't be much fun... for either of you. Right, honey?
[look towards daughter]
Deborah Sloane: So then, what is... a man of, uh, your age... doing with my 21-year-old daughter? It'd be easy enough to say you're afraid of mature women, but that's so glib. Afraid of what, exactly? So I kept thinking. And then it hit me. I know exactly what she has that I haven't got. Awe. That's it, isn't it? I mean, no real woman - no woman of experience would ever stand in front of you with awe in her eyes... and say, "Wow, Look at that man. Look at that bohemian wedding photographer... with holes in his jeans. Gosh, isn't he something?" No. I mean, it takes a naive girl for that. It takes Harper for that.
[long pause, comment matter-of-factly]
Deborah Sloane: So what do you think? Am I right?
Connie Fitzpatrick: You are some woman, Deborah.
Deborah Sloane: Mrs. Sloane. I'm Mrs. Sloane.
Harper Sloane: These photographs of me were taken when I was 21 years old. They were shot on Plus X with a 105-mm lens on a Nikon F-2, developed normal, two stops overexposed. I like this one a lot. The F-2 was lost forever to a pawn shop in Los Angeles four years ago. The photographer lived in San Francisco up until last week. He was the worst man I ever met, or maybe the best, I'm still not sure. If you're supposed to learn by your mistakes, then he was the best mistake I ever made. He was my most spectacular and cherished fuckup, and I was his Guinevere, whatever that means.