John Steed: [Peel is steering a gondola, Steed is relaxing in it under a woman's umbrella] Tired?
Emma Peel: [she places the rowing ore firmly in the ground] Exhausted.
John Steed: No stamina.
Emma Peel: [sits down next to him] No comment.
John Steed: I know just how you feel.
Emma Peel: How? How would you know?
John Steed: [taking a sip] Ah, I like a wine that bites back.
Peter Omrod: Are you looking for anything in particular?
Peter Omrod: Oh? What's special about them?
Emma Peel: There aren't any.
John Steed: [looking through Quince's glasses] Cut off in mid-warble?
Emma Peel: I haven't heard from him since.
John Steed: [waking up from a dream in which Emma was a cowboy with a moustache] I prefer you clean shaven.
John Steed: What a nice gun.
Peter Omrod: Should be. Wheaterby's.
John Steed: I've got it's brother, only with a walnut stock.
John Steed: [grabs a gun off the wall] Better use them while we can, hadn't we?
Peter Omrod: What do you mean?
John Steed: Birds are getting scarcer minute by minute.
Peter Omrod: I hadn't heard?
John Steed: Oh, you'd better ask your gamekeeper. Mellors?
[loads cartridge into gun]
John Steed: He mistook me for a partridge. Seriously ruffled my, eh, wing feathers.
[also loads his gun]
Peter Omrod: Oh, I must speak to him. I must tell him to be a little more...
John Steed: Accurate?
Peter Omrod: Careful.
Emma Peel: [about to lift off in a hot air balloon] Are you sure you know how to control one of these things, Steed?
John Steed: Absolutely, my dear, nothing to worry about. Just a question of throwing ballast overboard.
Emma Peel: And what happens when we run out of ballast?
Oliver Mellors: [offering Beryl some 'scampy' to drink] Come on, put some meat on your bones and some fire in your belly.
Miss Snow: Thank you, I can manage without.