Ned Kynaston: Why does one act?
Maria: When you act, you are seen.
Pablo Picasso: Why do you hate me so much?
Amedeo Modigliani: I love you, Pablo. It's myself I hate.
Mr. Torvald: I will also split you up into four groups. Yes, I still count on my fingers. One for each part in the obnoxiously contrapuntal harmony at the end of the book. This is gonna drive you nuts, but when you nail it, it feels good.
Gawain MacSam: Would you tell this muthafucka he can sew this shit back on? It's like that dude whose wife cut his dick off, threw it on the freeway? She just called Triple A, they towed the dick and sewed the muthafucka back on. Listen up, jackass, I saw the muthafucka in a porno, the thang still worked, it looked like a chewed-up frank, but that little muthafucka be workin' that muthafucka. It's mangly, but he be fuckin' the bitch all kind of ways with a twisted dick.
Ben Archer: SUN quan! I'm coming for you.
Penny Travis: Is there such a thing as the human heart, now there's the better question.
Tim Travis: Well, if you listen closely, you can hear 'em breaking.
Drew Latham: Please! Please, let me stay here.
Tom Valco: No.
Drew Latham: I'll pay you.
Tom Valco: My family's not for sale, pal.
Drew Latham: I'll pay you $250,000.
Tom Valco: Welcome home, son.
Walt Wagner: Maybe you should go back to your shrink... Discuss it.
Hobie: He just recommended Prozac. I think he has stock in the company, honestly.
Peter Sellers: People ask me why do I keep compromising my artistic integrity by walking in front of Blake's cameras. And you know what I tell them? Money.
Wasach: So I'm not here in an official capacity, and we won't be taking care of this in an official capacity.
Dean: What are you gonna do?
Wasach: You and I are taking care of this in an unofficial capacity.