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Series 1Edit

Episode 1 [1.01]Edit

Erin: I won’t put up with it anymore. Teenagers have rights now, you know.
Mary Quinn: Don’t be ridiculous.
Erin: They do, Ma. It’s true. Sure, Macaulay Culkin might be divorcing his parents.
Mary Quinn: Do you hear this? This’ll be someone she met at that stupid summer scheme you insisted we send her on. Her bloody “Friends Across the Barricades” thing. I have nothing against Protestants, I’m all for integration, I am, but if they’re letting their weans divorce them?
Erin: Macaulay Culkin isn’t a Protestant, Ma.
Mary Quinn: It’s only going to give our weans ideas.
Erin: Well, he might be. I didn’t meet him at Friends Across the Barricades.
Mary Quinn: I don’t care where you met him. You’re not to see him again, understood?

Granda Joe: Them weans shouldn’t have to take the bus to school. You should be driving them, you useless shite.
Gerry Quinn: I have to work, Joe.
Granda Joe: Work! Is that what you call it?
Gerry Quinn: Yes.
Granda Joe: Why don’t you just leave my Mary alone?
Gerry Quinn: Because we’ve been married for 17 years, Joe. We have two children together. Because we’re in love with each other.
Granda Joe: Oh, bunk. I’ll find some dirt on you yet, boy. I’ve got people working on it.

Aunt Sarah: Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not enjoying this bomb.
Mary Quinn: Shocking.
Gerry Quinn: Desperate.
Aunt Sarah: Disgusting and disgraceful. I have an appointment in Tropicana at 12:00. Fifteen minutes in the stand up. Sure, I'll not get over the bridge at this rate. It's going to play havoc with my build-up. This is what they want. They want ordinary people to suffer. This is what it's all about.
Erin: I’m pretty sure interfering with your sunbed sessions isn’t very high up on anyone’s political agenda, Aunt Sarah.

Clare: I’m doing this fast for Ethiopia.
Erin: For Christ’s sake. What is it with you and Africa?
Clare: Will you sponsor me?
Erin: How much?
Clare: £2.
Erin: £2? Catch yourself on.
Clare: What's happening over there is really lousy, Erin. Father Conway showed us a video. There's this one wee fella, Kamal. He's only ten, and every morning, he walks 25 miles to the nearest well.
Orla: Does he just really enjoy wells, aye?
Erin: 25 miles? How far is that?
Clare: Far.
Erin: Like, how far are we talking? From here to Buncrana?
Clare: Further. It's more like from here to Ballybofey.
Erin: Shut up. From here to Ballybofey? Sure, you'd be knackered.
Clare: Kamal IS knackered.
Erin: Are you sure Kamal isn't exaggerating?

Erin: Who owns the fella?
Michelle: Me. Well come on, then, ball-ache. Are you introducing yourself, or what?
James: Hi. I'm Michelle's cousin, James.
Orla: Why's he making that funny noise?
Michelle: He's English, Orla. That's the way they talk. He's my Auntie Kathy's wean. I told you about my Auntie Kathy. She went to England years ago to have an abortion. Never came back. Never got the abortion, either. Lucky for you, James, eh?
James: I didn't actually know that.

Mary Quinn: Erin, what in God's name?
Gerry Quinn: Did you kill that wee nun, girls?
Erin: Of course we didn't!
Aunt Sarah: Then why were you pissing on her dead body and making sandwiches?
Granda Joe: Say nothing, girls. Say nothing till we've seen a lawyer.

Deirdre Mallon: Sorry I'm late, Sister. Couldn't get over the bridge. This bloody bomb. I begged the Brits to let me take my chances, but the awkward bastards made me go the long way.

Mr. Devlin: Sorry to keep you waiting, Sister. How long does it take to defuse a fecking bomb? Sure the wee robots do all the work. Oh, killing nuns now, is it?
Clare: I didn't, Daddy!
Mr. Devlin: You wait until your mother hears about this.

Sister Michael: Obviously, Sister Declan's death was extremely shocking and unexpected. We're still struggling to understand exactly what happened.
Erin: Yeah? Can I just ask, what age was Sister Declan?
Sister Michael: She'd have been 98 on Friday.
Erin: Right. Might that shed some light on the situation?
Sister Michael: How so?
Erin: Does anybody else have any thoughts on the whole "her being almost 98 years of age" thing?
Granda Joe: Struck down in her prime.

Episode 2 [1.02]Edit

Sister Michael: On Monday morning, several of our Year 13s will face their GCSE maths resit. Now, I know how daunting resit examinations can be, so if anyone is feeling anxious or worried, or even if you just want to chat, please, please, do not come crying to me.

Gerry Quinn: Okay, that is one portion of redfish, one portion of whitefish, two bags of chips –
Granda Joe: No, no, no! Two bags won't be enough.
Gerry Quinn: Two is plenty, Joe.
Granda Joe: Four! Four should cover it.
Gerry Quinn: Three, then, we'll compromise.
Granda Joe: I'll compromise you through that window.
Mary Quinn: That's enough, Da.
Granda Joe: The tight bastard is trying to starve us all, Mary!

Erin: Any luck with the trust fund?
Clare: No. According to my mam, we're actually quite poor.
Erin: Aye, I think we might be as well.

Uncle Colm: There was a knock at the door, this must have been, ach, we're talking eight, half eight, for I was halfway through me dinner. And up I got to open it, and there they both were, large as life. And the taller fella, though, to be fair, there was no more than an inch in it --
Mary Quinn: Jesus wept.
Uncle Colm: -- the slightly taller fella, he says to me, says he, "Do you know who we are?"
Granda Joe: How is a body supposed to enjoy his dinner?
Uncle Colm: And I says to him, says I, "Well, I can't be sure now. But maybe if you took off the balaclavas?" And then he says to me, the slightly taller fella does, he says, "Step aside, we are armed." And that is when the smaller fella, although, as I say, we are talking an inch --
Erin: Mammy, make it stop.
Uncle Colm: -- an inch and a half at most.
Gerry Quinn: I need a drink.
Uncle Colm: He has the bright idea of tying me to the radiator, you see. And I remember saying to myself, says I, "Colm, it's a good job you have the economy seven on the timer, or you'd be roasted here."
Aunt Sarah: Did you go for the economy seven in the end, Colm? I thought you said the hot water settings were a minefield?
Gerry Quinn: For the love of God, Sarah, no diversions.
Mary Quinn: Aye, come on, let's pick it up. They tied you to the heater.
Uncle Colm: They did indeed. And there I am, shackled to the thermostatic valve with me new shoelaces, when one of them, the smaller fella, or, hang on, maybe it was the --
Gerry Quinn: It doesn't matter, Colm.
Uncle Colm: Well, it was one of the two. He is looking for the keys to the van. All ranting and raving and getting himself all worked up, threatening to set fire to my good chaise lounge and all sorts. By Jesus, they were absolutely desperate to borrow thon van.
Mary Quinn: Colm, they didn't borrow your van. They stole your van, used it to move arms across the border, and then they blew it up.
Uncle Colm: Aye. Nightmare altogether.

Erin: There is also some gardening, mowing a lawn, etcetera. This will require a bit of muscle so you should take that one, Orla.
James: No, I should do that one. It's a man's job, Erin. I'm a man.
Michelle: That's debatable.
James: Well, I'm more of a man than Orla.
Orla: I do not accept that.

Clare: It's slave labor, Erin!
Orla: It's worse than slave labor. We're not even getting paid!

Episode 3 [1.03]Edit

Clare: Sweet sufferin' Jesus, it's the morning already! What are we going to do?
Michelle: Well maybe we could start with calming the fuck down.
Clare: Calm down? We're still on William of Orange, Michelle, we haven't so much looked at the famine!
Michelle: We've got the gist. They ran out of spuds, everyone was ragin'.
James: Well, I can't tell my rebellions from my risings.
Michelle: And whose fault is that? If your lot had stopped invading us for five fucking minutes there'd be a lot less to wade through! English prick.

Erin: It's abuse. That's what it is, it's abuse. Does anybody have 10p? I'm ringin' ChildLine.
Michelle: You can't ring ChildLine every time your ma threatens to kill you, Erin.
Clare: Yeah, you can't waste Esther's time like that.

Sister Michael: (on the phone) Could you put me through to Sister Thomas, please? Tommy! How are you? Yeah, not too bad. A retreat? I dunno. I have judo on Friday, don't like to miss it. I'll tell you why I'm ringing you. So we've had an alleged apparition here this morning. Well, it's in the weeping statue category. Sure, I know. Yeah, apparently there was a smirk as well. I mean, I'm not sure what Our Lady of the Sorrows has to be smirking about, but that's by the by.

Father Peter: Directly before the weeping, can you remember what you were doing? What you were talking about?
Michelle: I remember that James was being a dick.
Sister Michael: Miss Mallon.
Michelle: I don't like to use that word, Sister, but it's so hard to describe James any other way, ‘cause he's just such a dick.
Father Peter: I don't think you're a dick, James.
James: Really?
Father Peter: Really. And you know who else doesn't think you're a dick? Our Lord.
Sister Michael: For feck's sake.
Michelle: How do you know Our Lord doesn't think he's a dick?
Father Peter: Our Lord doesn't think anyone's a dick.
Michelle: I very much doubt that.

Mary Quinn: I also have a question, pretty boy. Why are you encouraging all this?
Father Peter: I wouldn't say I'm encouraging it, I'm just open to the possibility.
Mary Quinn: Well, I'm not. Not unless I see some cold, hard evidence.
Father Peter: And maybe it's there. Proof at last, Peter, proof at last!
Mary Quinn: Is he all right?
Sister Michael: I wouldn't say so, no. He's a priest, like.

Episode 4 [1.04]Edit

Granda Joe: Don't know a Jack McGinley, do you? Moved to Moscow, '88, '89, it would have been.
Erin: Seriously?
Katya: No.
Granda Joe: Stocky fella.
Katya: No.
Granda Joe: Curly hair, bit of a lisp.
Katya: I do not know this person.
Granda Joe: Ah, maybe just as well, love. He's an awful prick.

Michelle: Your ma said we could come up and have a look at the Russian.
Erin: Ukrainian.
Michelle: Is this her?
Orla: Isn't she cracker? She's half mine.
Erin: No, she's not, Orla.
Orla: Aye, she is. Mammy said so.
Michelle: You're so lucky, Erin. I begged my ma to let me have one, but she said we've no room now that my dickhead ball-bag English prick of a cousin has moved in. Talking about you, James, in case you're wondering.
James: Yeah, that much was clear, thank you, Michelle.
Michelle: Have you seen the one Jenny Joyce got, the fella? Massive, massive ride. I've been thinking, it might be time for me to lose the rest of my virginity. And he's definitely a contender.

Mary Quinn: Have you any news, Da?
Granda Joe: Not really, no.
Mary Quinn: Right. Shay Harkham was telling me you were in Duggan's Bakery yesterday lunchtime.
Granda Joe: Well, that's hardly news.
Mary Quinn: Two buns, he said you ordered.
Granda Joe: Well, I often do.
Mary Quinn: An apple turnover… and a cream horn.
Aunt Sarah: A cream horn?
Erin: That's not like you, Granda.
Aunt Sarah: Sure, you couldn't pay you to eat a cream horn.
Granda Joe: Cream finger, it was. Apple turnover and a cream finger.
Mary Quinn: Cream horn, Shay said. He swore on it, said he saw it being bagged up.
Aunt Sarah: And Big Shay has eyes like a hawk, so he does.
Mary Quinn: Shay said when you left Duggan's, you turned up Pump Street.
Aunt Sarah: Pump Street? Who do you know on Pump Street, Da?
Mary Quinn: What were you doing heading up Pump Street with a cream horn, Da?
Granda Joe: I was visiting a friend of mine.
Mary Quinn: What friend?
Granda Joe: A new friend.
Mary Quinn: A male friend, was it? Aye, I thought as much. Buying cream horns for his fancy woman, Sarah, what do you think of that?

Granda Joe: Maeve and me, we're - We just get on well, that's all.
Mary Quinn: Maeve? That's her name, is it?
Granda Joe: Yes, that's right.
Mary Quinn: Maeve? That's what she's called, is she?
Granda Joe: She is, aye.
Mary Quinn: Maeve? Maeve? Really? Maeve? I cannot believe this.
Gerry Quinn: I think it's a good thing, love.
Granda Joe: Just keep out of it, you!
Mary Quinn: And that's who you were winking at in Mass?
Aunt Sarah: Winking? At your age? Christ, I feel sick.
Granda Joe: It was only a friendly wink.
Mary Quinn: There is no such thing as a friendly wink!
Gerry Quinn: Is there not?
Mary Quinn: Our poor mother is barely cold and you're straight back out there, winking away.
Gerry Quinn: Your mother's been dead ten years, Mary.
Granda Joe: Look, I'll not tell you again!

Michelle: Shh! You'll scare Clive!
Erin: Who's Clive?
Michelle: Clive. Clive is a wee Prod from East Belfast. Clive came back from Ibiza, got on the wrong bus at Aldergrove Airport, then fell asleep. Clive woke up in Derry, surrounded by Russians and Fenians. Clive is absolutely shitting himself.
Erin: So where's the real Artem?
Michelle: Giant's Causeway, probably. Foreigners fucking love the Giant's Causeway.

Episode 5 [1.05]Edit

Mary Quinn: Already? It's started already?
Gerry Quinn: I think it's just a rehearsal, love.
Mary Quinn: They've been playing the same three songs since 1795, what do they need to rehearse for?

Gerry Quinn: You're absolutely sure we need the big clock, love?
Mary Quinn: We've been through this, Gerry.
Gerry Quinn: Definitely don't want to bring the wee clock?
Mary Quinn: I can't be doing with the wee clock!
Granda Joe: What is your problem with the big clock?
Gerry Quinn: I wouldn't say I have a problem, as such, it's just much heavier and takes up a lot of room.
Granda Joe: I'm telling you, Mary, that's how it starts -- now he's dictating what size of clock you can pack. Next he’ll be telling you what to wear, what to say. Before you know it, you'll be faking your own death and assuming a new identity.
Mary Quinn: Erin, I told you not to let him watch that Sleeping With The Enemy.
Erin: Couldn't stop him, Mammy.
Granda Joe: Great show.

Aunt Sarah: Listen, Mary, I just did a reading. The cards say if we go on this wee holiday, we're placing ourselves in grave danger, which I'm not buzzing about, to be honest.
Erin: You're not psychic, Aunt Sarah.
Aunt Sarah: I am psychic, Erin. I did a course. I got a certificate. Aye, this does not look good.
Granda Joe: Still no sign of the lottery numbers?
Aunt Sarah: No, Daddy. This psychic carry-on, it's not all it's cracked up to be, you know? Last night, I woke up to this wailing sound. I thought to myself, "Jesus, it's Granny Pat! She's trying to cross over!” Now, it turned out it was only Aggie next door. She'd put the electric blanket on full whack and scalded the legs o' herself. But still, it could just as easily have been –
Erin: The disembodied spirit of a dead relative?
Aunt Sarah: Exactly. My nerves are wrecked. I’m living on a knife's edge here. Is there any Rice Krispies?

Deirdre Mallon: Listen, Mary, I hate to do this to you, but me and Martin are both working nights and I'm nervous about leaving these two on their own. Don't suppose there's any chance you could take them with you?
Mary Quinn: Ach, away, Deirdre, it's just –
Deirdre Mallon: The English thing? Listen, Mary, I understand. I mean, he's my nephew, and even I find it hard to get past. If I'm totally honest, there's times when I look at him and I feel… well, it's pure hatred. I'll not dress it up.
Mary Quinn: No, no, it's not the English thing.
Deirdre Mallon: I hope to God it's not the gay thing you're offended by.
James: There is no gay thing.
Deirdre Mallon: Because I'd be disappointed in you, Mary, I'll not lie.
Mary Quinn: Of course not. I mean, if anything, the gay thing sort of cancels out the English thing.
James: Again, no gay thing.
Michelle: You wouldn't move over there, James? I can't see past your massive closet.

Jim: Now, once your tent is erect, you'll want to think about where to safely store your food, because believe me, girls, you do not want to attract predatory animals into your sleeping area. Bears are particularly vicious.
Erin: Yeah, I'm not sure how many bears there are in Portnoo, though, Jim.
Orla: But there was a cheetah on the beach one time.
Erin: That was a greyhound, Orla.
Orla: I know what I saw.

Erin: You can't marry an Orangeman, Michelle.
Michelle: That's a pity, ‘cause I think there's something really sexy about the fact that they hate us so much.

Episode 6 [1.06]Edit

Aunt Sarah: Orla has got really into step aerobics. Her instructor says she's a natural. Says she's got what it takes to go all the way.
Mary Quinn: All the way in step aerobics?
Aunt Sarah: But it's out of control now, Mary. She's stepping morning, noon and night. Apart from anything else, it's dangerous. She nearly came through the ceiling yesterday. Okay, she might be gifted, but I just want her to have a normal childhood.

Gerry Quinn: Er, look, I'm sorry. Do you absolutely need it?
Ciaran: I'm afraid I do, sir, yes. Proof of ID.
Gerry Quinn: But you have my surname written on it there.
Ciaran: How do I know that's your surname?
Gerry Quinn: Because I just told you it was my surname.
Ciaran: You could be lying.
Gerry Quinn: Why would I lie?
Ciaran: To get your hands on someone else's photos.
Gerry Quinn: Why would I want somebody else's photos? Like, who would pay for somebody else's photos?
Granda Joe: Stalker, maybe.
Ciaran: Yeah, exactly. Very good, sir.
Gerry Quinn: A stalker. I'm not a stalker.
Ciaran: Look, why don't you just go home and have a wee look for your wee docket?
Gerry Quinn: No. This is ridiculous. Just open that up and take out one of the photos. You see? That's me wife there.
Ciaran: How do I know you're not just telling me that?
Gerry Quinn: Because that's me standing beside her.
Ciaran: I suppose you do look a bit like this man.
Gerry Quinn: I am this man.
Ciaran: It could be you.
Gerry Quinn: It's definitely me. My name is Gerry Quinn. This is my father-in-law, Joe. He can vouch for me.
Granda Joe: I've never seen this man before in my life.

Sister Michael: I've just received a phone call from Louise Kerr's mother, and it's not looking great.
Jenny Joyce: Oh, God, I just can't believe it.
Sister Michael: It's unlikely she'll be returning to school before the end of the year, so I think the only thing we can do now is --
Aisling: Pray for her?
Sister Michael: No. What use would that do? No, I think the best thing we can do is decide who will fulfil the role of editor now.
Jenny Joyce: Sister Michael, some of us have actually already discussed this eventuality, and the thing is, well, nobody is comfortable stepping into Louise's shoes.
Aisling: It feels a bit, sort of, disrespectful.
Jenny Joyce: We think this issue should be cancelled.
Sister Michael: Well, fair enough, if nobody is willing to take her place.
Erin: I'll do it.
Jenny Joyce: Excuse me?
Erin: I'll take her place. I'll step into her shoes. I'll do it.
Sister Michael: Really?
Erin: Absolutely.
Jenny Joyce: No, you can't. We're making a statement. You're ruining our statement!
Erin: Look, girls, I know Louise meant a lot to you all.
Jenny Joyce: She's not dead, Erin!
Erin: Well, not yet. Hopefully she won't, you know, die, but if she does, the show must go on! Isn't that right, Sister Michael?
Sister Michael: You terrify me.
Jenny Joyce: You can't be the editor!
Aisling: You've never even written an article, Erin.
Erin: That's because I can't get anything past Rupert Murdoch over there!
Jenny Joyce: This isn't fair. You can't let it happen, Sister!
Sister Michael: I know, but I'm bored now, so it looks like I probably will. Good luck, all.

Erin: This was written by a girl. A real life lesbian walks among us.
Orla: I don't really believe in lesbians.

Aunt Sarah: Do you not think there's an awful lot of lesbians about nowadays? You can't move for lesbians. It's wall to wall lesbians out there.
Gerry Quinn: Really?
Granda Joe: Oh, it's true. Bridget Gallagher, she's a lesbian.
Mary Quinn: Bridget Gallagher, who works in the post office?
Granda Joe: I believe so.
Aunt Sarah: Is she not a vegetarian, Da?
Granda Joe: Sorry, you're right. Vegetarian, Bridget is.

Sister Michael: (after a choral performance) Lovely, altogether. You know, every year I sit backstage listening to the singers and it really makes me realize just how talented the professionals who originally recorded these tracks were.

Series 2Edit

Across the Barricade [2.01]Edit

Aunt Sarah: Will any of your crowd be going, love?
Clare: My crowd?
Aunt Sarah: Or can you not get Protestant lesbians?
Clare: No, I think you can get them all right, it's just --
Granda Joe: I heard that k.d. lang on the radio yesterday. Christ, but she's some set of pipes on her. You're a very talented people.
Clare: Thank you?

Dennis: A present for Protestants. Ah, now my next Protestant gift delivery isn't due to arrive until Wednesday. And as it stands I'm completely out of stock, what with there being such a high fucking demand for that sort of thing around these parts.
Orla: That's a shame.
Clare: How much for the Subbuteo, Dennis?
Dennis: We'll call it 16 quid.
James: Could we call it £1.76?
Dennis: No we fucking couldn't.
Erin: How about we give you the £1.76 and we pay the rest off in installments?
Clare: Yeah, which would be what? £3.56 over four weeks?
Dennis: Jesus, check out Rain-wain.
Erin: Or you could give us the Subbuteo and then we work off the debt?
Clare: Yeah, we could do chores and stuff.
Dennis: Chores? What do you think this is, Little House on the fucking Prairie?
Orla: Do you watch Little House on the Prairie, Dennis?
Dennis: GET OUT!

Michelle: (accepting a teddy bear from a Protestant boy) I'm going to keep mine on my bed, where I sleep. In me knickers.

Father Peter: As some of you may know, I took a bit of a sabbatical last year.
Michelle: Do you mean when you shacked up with a slutty hairdresser but then she dumped you?
Sister Michael: Miss Mallon, please! Raise your hand if you want to ask a question.
Father Peter: Okay, I think we should just move on.
Sister Michael: The hairdresser certainly did.

Protestant Boy: She's coming!
Michelle: Who?
Protestant Boy: The woman. The small angry penguin woman.
Michelle: Sister Michael! Shit!
(Sister Michael arrives)
Erin: Oh, good evening, Sister. We just popped round because we had a few questions about the British Empire, which the boys have cleared up for us now, so...
Jenny Joyce: They weren't talking about the British Empire, Sister. They were having a party. I could hear the music.
Sister Michael: You will go far in life, Jenny. But you will not be well liked.

Ms De Brún and the Child of Prague [2.02]Edit

Sister Michael: Sadly, Sister Patrick has decided to leave us. She's returning to her missionary work, educating the heathen inhabitants of a primitive and savage place.
Teacher: She's taken a teaching post in Belfast, Sister.
Sister Michael: Precisely.

Uncle Colm: And that's not to say, now, that in my younger years, I didn't enjoy a boiled sweet. But then I heard tell of a fella from Ballynahinch -- what was it his name was, now? I had it there a minute ago. Ach, it'll come to me. Anyway, this Ballynahinch lad, and, as I say, his name escapes me, but he was mad keen on the boiled sweets. Sure, he couldn't get enough of them. But in the end, well, didn't he choke to death on one? A pear drop, I think it was. Or a clove rock, maybe. But either way, it's not how I'd want to go.

Jenny Joyce: Well, well, well. What are you guys up to?
Erin: Nothing much.
Clare: We've just been hanging out at Ms De Brun's place.
Jenny Joyce: You were at her house? At night? Well, that's a bit inappropriate.
Clare: Your ma is a bit inappropriate.
Jenny Joyce: That doesn't even make sense.
Clare: Your ma doesn't even make sense.
Jenny Joyce: Is she drunk?
Clare: Your ma's drunk.

The Concert [2.03]Edit

Aunt Sarah: John’s really dying for peace, like, isn’t he? It’s all he ever goes on about. I hope it works out for him.

Granda Joe: Belfast! Sure, why don't you just sell the wains into white slavery and be done with it?
Mary Quinn: Gerry'll be with them, Da.
Granda Joe: That's worse! Sure, they hate his kind there.
Gerry Quinn: My kind?
Granda Joe: Pricks.

Erin: Wise up, Mammy! As if a polar bear's going to rock up at a Take That concert!
Orla: He wouldn't get a ticket, for a start. They sold out months ago.

Rita: Pop music isn't really my thing, truth be told. It's all so fucking soulless. Nah. I'm a classical head, all the way, but I've been banned from trading at Glyndebourne ever since I absolutely battered that Pavarotti fan. And when I say I battered, I mean intellectually, like. I did kick the shit out of him as well.

The Curse [2.04]Edit

Sister Michael: Father Thomas usually deals with the wakes but he’s very sick at the moment. Bedridden, in fact.
Gerry Quinn: God. What caused it?
Sister Michael: Jack Daniels, mostly.

Uncle Colm: And now, I don’t mind a bit of a breeze – if anything, I prefer it – but thon was aggressive. So I says to meself, says I, “Colm, this is no day for a do.”
Sister Michael: What’s happening?
Uncle Colm: For when the bride arrived – and as I say, by this stage the wind was fierce –
Sister Michael: Am I dead?
Uncle Colm: I’ve never heard wind like it.
Sister Michael: Is this my wake?
Uncle Colm: Howling like a banshee, it was.
Sister Michael: Am I in hell?
Uncle Colm: So the poor girl, the bride now, this is, she arrives anyway, and isn’t she no sooner out of the car than she’s lifted up in the air like a paper doll, and blown into a flowerbed.
Sister Michael: That’s actually quite funny.

(flushing multiple hash scones down the toilet)
James: This is how you get rid of drugs, Clare. I’ve seen GoodFellas like twenty times.

The Prom [2.05]Edit

Sister Michael: Miss Cheung's family have recently moved here to Derry so I hope you'll all make her feel very welcome. It's bound to be a bit of a culture shock, Mae. Things are done differently in this part of the world. But I'm sure you'll soon feel as at home here as you did back in your beloved Donegal.

Clare: (greets Mae in Chinese)
Mae Cheung: Is she all right?
Michelle: Burning for you, Clare.
Clare: It's Cantonese.
Mae Cheung: Right, well, I'm from Donegal and we speak English there.
Michelle: If you say so, Mae, but I spent the summer in Killybegs and seriously? Not a fucking word.
Clare: We just wanted to introduce ourselves and --
Mae Cheung: Okay, I think I see where this is going. I get this a lot. Dull white girls wanting me to join their gang because, well.
Clare: We're not dull.
Mae Cheung: Sure.
James: And I'm actually a boy.
Mae Cheung: Whoa. She has a really fucked-up accent.
Michelle: We know.

The President [2.06]Edit

Mary Quinn: When JFK came to Dublin, Uncle Colm met him, and Daddy didn't.
Granda Joe: Things are gonna be different this time, I tell you.
Gerry Quinn: JFK spoke to Colm? Christ, that man didn't have much luck, did he?

Clare: Any word from Chelsea?
Erin: Not yet. And we sent that letter over a week ago.
Clare: Are you sure you got the address right?
Orla: Chelsea Clinton, the White House, America.
Clare: It just doesn't make any sense.
Michelle: Did you send it first class?
Erin: We're not made of money, Michelle.

James: Look, Bill doesn't even get here till four o'clock tomorrow.
Michelle: "Bill?" Who are you? His Ma?
James: We've got plenty of time, is all I'm saying.
Clare: Do you know how packed that Guildhall Square is gonna be, James? You'd have to camp overnight just to get a glimpse of him.
Erin: Chelsea will sort us out.
Clare: Ach, I'm not even sure I trust Chelsea any more.
Michelle: Aye, Chelsea might be flaky.
Orla: She does have crafty eyes.
Erin: Okay, I'm not comfortable with the Chelsea-bashing, girls.

Erin: It's just, it's pink, white and purple, Dennis.
Dennis: So?
Erin: Well, it should be red, white and blue.
Dennis: Says who?
Michelle: The rest of the world.
Clare: There's also quite a few stars missing.
Dennis: No there's not.
Clare: There's only 30 stars here. I mean, there should be 50, just because the stars represent states, so...
Dennis: Some of them left.
Erin: Some states left?
Dennis: That's right.
Erin: Some states left America?
Dennis: Yep.
Michelle: When did this happen?
Dennis: The other day.
Orla: God, that's desperate.
Erin: I dunno. I just feel like if 20 states left the USA, we might have heard about it.
Dennis: Ah, they didn't want to make it into a big thing. So these are the new, modern, up-to-date flags. They've just brought them out.
Erin: Okay. It's just, well, I'm not convinced that's actually true.
Dennis: Why would I lie?
Michelle: Because you bought a fuckload of dud flags and you're trying to get rid of them?
Dennis: GET OUT!

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