Connor: It can’t be anything like love, can it?
Tracy: No, no, it can’t be.
Connor: Would it be inconvenient?
Tracy: Terribly.

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Margaret: The course of true love…
Connor: …gathers no moss.

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Connor: I’d say, north-by-northwest parlor-by-living-room.

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Connor: This is the Voice of Doom calling. Your days are numbered, to the seventh son of the seventh son!

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Dexter: Shall we toss a coin?

Dexter: Be whatever you want – you’re my redhead.