Lane Pryce: Saint John, how are you?
Saint John Powell: What in God's name is going on over there?
Lane Pryce: I think at this point it should be very clear.
Saint John Powell: [furious] You're fired. You're fired for costing this company millions of pounds. You're fired for insubordination.
Saint John Powell: You're fired for lack of character!
Lane Pryce: [cheerfully] Very good. Happy Christmas!
Joan Holloway: Good morning; Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, how may I help you?
Lane Pryce: Mr. Hooker! I've been sacked. Please have my office and things put in storage at this address.
John Hooker: What's happened?
Lane Pryce: You're a sharp boy, you'll figure it out.
Don Draper: Do we vote or something?
[Roger, Bert, and Don successively raise their hands]
Lane Pryce: Well, gentlemen, I suppose you're fired.
Roger Sterling: Well, it's official. Friday, December 13th, 1963. Four guys shot their own legs off.
Lane Pryce: Nothing good ever came from seeking revenge.
Bertram Cooper: Nonsense! We'll make you a partner.
Bertram Cooper: [to Roger] You sold your birthright so you could marry that trollop!
Connie: You know, I got everything I have on my own. It's made me immune to those who complain and cry because they can't. I didn't take you for one of them, Don. Are you?