Richard Smith-Jones: I can't comfort you right now - I'm on hold.
Anna Conroy: [holding Oliver's skull] It's not that heavy at all!
Geoffrey Tennant: It's much lighter without the ego.
Richard Smith-Jones: Darren, everybody cries when they get stabbed. There's no shame in that.
Sloan: Okay, so why'd you kick another guy's ass for disparaging a girl you're not even with any more?
Geoffrey Tennant: Do you love Ellen?
Sloan: Fuckin' right!
Geoffrey Tennant: Well, if you feel the same way now as I did seven years ago, then you're going to spend the rest of your life kicking other people's asses for her whether you're with her or not. That's just how truly horrible life can be.
Cyril: [singing, with friend joining in on the chorus] Cheer up, Hamlet; chin up, Hamlet; buck up, you melancholy Dane! So your uncle is a cad who murdered Dad and married Mum. That's really no excuse to be as glum as you've become! So wise up, Hamlet; rise up, Hamlet; perk up and sing a new refrain. Your incessant monologizing fills the castle with ennui. Your antic disposition is embarrassing to see. And by the way, you sulky brat, the answer is to be! You're driving poor Ophelia insane. So shut up, you rogue and peasant; grow up, it's most unpleasant; cheer up, you melancholy Dane!
Cyril: [about Geoffrey] He's doing the rounds. He saw the Chekov on Tuesday. He was at the Dream last night.
Cyril: Yeah. There he was. Third raw from the back. Head burried in his hands like he lost a brother in the war.
Frank: Crikey. He wouldn't recast, would he?
Cyril: Not the Dream, no. But God knows what he'll do with Oliver's Hamlet. Play the lead himself.
Frank: You think?
Cyril: Oh, why not? It was the play that drow him mad. Seven years ago. I saw it all with me own eyes. Halfway through the gravedigger scene he suddenly went all quiet and pale.
Frank: He went off?
Cyril: Off his nut. Then he leaped.
Cyril: Into the grave, Ducky. Into Ophelia's bloody grave. Leaving Horatio and Laertes staring down into the hole as if they just made a wish.
Cyril: Crikey indeed. Then he went screaming out into the night, mad as a hatter.
Frank: Well, he's been to hospital. Had treatments. Maybe he's better.
Cyril: Or maybe he's worse. Hey up. Here she comes.
Geoffrey Tennant: Carlsberg.
[looks at Oliver's skull]
Geoffrey Tennant: Two Carlsberg.
Cyril: Bloody hell.