The Three Weird Sisters

Owen Morgan-Vaughan: I've been driving for hours and hours, slag heaps and pit heads and vile black hills. Huh! How vile was my valley! I'm sick of all this Celtic clap trap about Wales. My Wales!

[mockingly]

Owen Morgan-Vaughan: Land of my Fathers! As far as I'm concerned, my fathers can keep it. You can tell he's a Welshman by the lilt in his voice. Huh, little black back-biting hypocrites, all gab and whine! Black beetles with tenor voices and a sense of sin like a crippled hump. Cwmglas! Full of senile morons and vicious dwarfs, old poles of women clacking at you like blowsy hens, self-righteous little humbugs with the hwyl, old men with beards in their noses cackling at you, blue gums and clackers. Oh the mystical Welsh-huh! About as mystical as slugs!

Isobel Morgan-Vaughan: You must forgive my brother, Miss Prentiss. He sees in Cwmglas so many of his own endearing qualities.

Maude Morgan-Vaughan: He looks just like his mother.

Owen Morgan-Vaughan: I don't know who's got the dirtiest mind, Maude - you or the Devil.

Maude Morgan-Vaughan: He's religious too.