Margaret: The course of true love…
Macaulay: …gathers no moss.
Dexter: Be whatever you want — you’re my redhead.
Tracey: Oh, Mike, put me in your pocket!
Macaulay: This is the Bridal Suite. Send us up some caviar sandwiches and a bottle of beer.
Margaret: Who is this?
Macaulay: This is the Voice of Doom calling. Your days are numbered, to the seventh son of the seventh son!
Dexter: I thought all writers drank to excess and beat their wifes. You know one time I secretly wanted to be a writer.
Dexter: Orange juice, certainly.
Tracey: Don’t tell me you’ve forsaken your beloved whisky and whiskies.
Dexter: No-no-no-no. I’ve just changed their colour, that’s all. I’m going for the pale pastel shades now. There’re more becoming of me.
Magaret: We both might face the facts that neither of us has proved to be a very great success as a wife.
Tracey: We just picked the wrong first husband.