- Dan: They weren't after you.
- Charles Parker: You quit your cryptic bullshit!
- Dan: They were Protestant Paramilitaries.
- Charles Parker: How could you tell?
- Dan: One: They fucked up. Two: The gunman had F.T.P. written on his forehead.
- Charles Parker: F.T.P?
- Dan: Fuck The Pope. Actually they're getting better, usually they can't spell F.T.P.
- [first lines]
- Dan: [voiceover] When I was 8 years old, I woke up in the middle of the night and found my brother pissing on my typewriter. I decided then and there that there was something wonderful about alcohol.
- Dan: [voiceover] I sat and thought of lovely Margaret, of her hair and her eyes and her laugh and the way she kissed me and her skin that smelled of mandarin oranges. She had died in my arms. What would she think of me now? Would she still want me now that I had pushed her mother down the stairs and broken her neck?
- Dan: [voiceover] I don't know what I'll write about. Maybe love and betrayal. War and Peace. Maybe about Parker and learning how to fly. Or about Margaret and how a single stolen moment can change the fate of... Anyway, I hope it'll be better than the other shite.
- Cow Pat Keegan: Funny what attracts people, innit?
- Dan: Sorry?
- Cow Pat Keegan: Me & Margaret. You & Margaret. You & your wife. Me & your wife. I suppose really to complete the circle, you should sleep with my wife. But I wouldn't recommend it.
- Dan: Crap is she?
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