- Williams: I wonder if you ever stop on the way home and watch the children playing. In the street, or in the yard. And when the time comes and their mothers call them in, they're often reluctant. They, they get a little contrary. But that's as it should be. Far better than to be the child you occasionally see, he's sitting by himself in the corner not taking part, not happy, not unhappy. Merely waiting for his mother to call him in. I've become afraid that I might end up like that child. And I so very much do not wish to do so.
- Williams: [letter to Peter Wakeling] I wonder, Mr. Wakeling, if I may now turn to matters you may consider more personal. I have no wish to belittle our playground... but I put it to you that it was, all the same, a small thing. And that it will, before long go the way of most small things. It may fall into disrepair, or be superseded by some grander scheme. To speak plainly, we can not assume to have erected a lasting monument. Should there come days when it's no longer clear to you to what end you are directing your daily efforts, when the sheer grind of it all threatens to reduce you to the kind of state in which I so long existed, I urge you then to recall our little playground and the modest satisfaction that became our due upon its completion.
- Williams: How did it happen? I fancy it just crept up on me. Just one day preceding the next. A small wonder I didn't notice... what I was becoming. And then I looked at you. And I remembered... what it was like to be alive like that.
- Middleton: Let's pledge to learn from his example, this lesson he set before us. Let's vow never again to shy away from our responsibilities. Never again to push things under the carpet.
- Fiona: There was a time when what one did in London stayed in London, but these days half of the street works in London.
- Rusbridger: Don't worry, old chap. This time of morning it's a kind of rule: Not too much fun and laughter. Rather like church.
- Michael: Miss Harris... there was something I wished to ask you.
- Margaret Harris: Of course.
- Michael: There's something I, I can't quite, erm... Did my father know he was ill? That he was dying?
- Margaret Harris: I don't know what... I don't know what to say.
- Michael: Because if he knew... and he told you... You see what I mean? Why wouldn't he tell me?
- Margaret Harris: Well... Perhaps he...
- Michael: If he'd just told me... I'd never have let him leave us like that. In all that cold.
- Margaret Harris: I'm sorry.
- Michael: Thank you Miss Harris.
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