Eugene: You don’t get too far talking to Laurie. Sometimes I think the flutter in her heart is really in her brain.
Eugene: She wants me to write quietly. If that was the only sentence I published in my memoirs, it would be a bestseller.
Eugene: Why don’t you just say you lost the money? You had a hole in your pocket. You can tear a hole in your pocket.
Laurie: Eugene! Your father wants us to go to the store.
Eugene: Tell him I’m sick. My stomach hurts.
Laurie: You don’t want any ice cream?
Eugene: (thinks) Ice cream? Wait a minute. (aside) It’s amazing how quickly you recover from misery when someone offers you ice cream.
Eugene: How am I going to become a writer if I don’t know how to suffer? Actually, I’d give up writing if I could see a naked girl while I was eating ice cream.
Eugene: I guess there comes a time in everybody’s life when you say, “This very moment is the end of my childhood.” When Stanley closed the door, I knew that moment had come to me. I was scared. I was lonely. And I hated my mother and father for making him so unhappy. Even if they were right, I still hated them. I even hated Stanley a little because he left me there to grow up all by myself.