You see doc, we got MS, Tourette’s Syndrome, Parkinson’s disease, some of 'em we ain’t even got a name for…
I see. So, what you’re saying is that even though you are an almost paralyzed, multiphobic personality who is in a constant state of panic, your wife did not leave you; you left her because she liked Neil Diamond?
She torched Neil? You’re right. She is a monster.
Fuckin’ office job! Who the fuck wants a job like that? You fuckin’ sit at a little desk, you got your little phone, you got your little fuckin’ piece of paper, your little pen, you write shit down, blah blah blah. Fuck, a monkey could do that shit, man!
Hold on! No fuckin’ way! You fuckin’ notice this? I got fuckin’ shot! I got fuckin’ shot in the face! I went and got the fuckin’ money. I got shot fuckin’ picking it up! I’ve been up for thirty-six fuckin’ hours! I’m taking’ that fuckin’ car! That fucker’s mine, you fuckin’ asshole!
(I couldn’t resist. Now I’m goin’ for the soap)
Fuck. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck! Fuck, fuck and bugger! Bugger, bugger, buggerty buggerty buggerty, fuck, fuck, arse! Balls, balls, fuckity, shit, shit, fuck and willy. Willy, shit and fuck and… tits.
I don’t belong here, I feel it, don’t you think I feel it. I can’t do any of these vile things and I wouldn’t WANT to.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid, Dave. Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I’m a… fraid.
Tim, let me tell you about my life in the Big Apple. I have Hamlet’s ghost on the phone for an hour every evening after rehearsal complaining that Polonius is sucking sourballs through his speeches. Claudius is off every afternoon doing a soap, and Gertrude is off the entire week doing a commercial for Gallo wine. Hamlet himself, would you believe, has come down with a psychological problem! Then, last night, Brooke rings me to say that she’s very unhappy here, and she’s got herself a doctor’s certificate for nervous exhaustion. I haven’t got the time to find and rehearse a new Vicky. I have just one afternoon, while Hamlet sees his shrink and Ophelia starts divorce proceedings, to “cure” Brooke of her nervous exhaustion. With no medical aids, except a little whiskey - you’ve got the whiskey - a few flowers - you’ve got money for the flowers - and a certain fading bedside manner. So, I haven’t come to the theater to hear about other people’s probelms. I’ve come to be taken out of myself, and preferably, not put back again.
Hey, I’m walkin’ here!
Perhaps you’d better have your legs tied down in case of convulsions.
Strut.
And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.
THAT’s a knife.
Hello! Look at the size of this thing.
Yeah, that’s what she said!
I *hate *that cliché!
I oughta busk you right in the mush.
Don’t act so surprised, Your Highness.
Medicine, young man, is a science! It consists of observation! Whether a man’s water is blue is neither here nor there.