Connor: I’m testing the air. I like it but it doesn’t like me.
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Connor: It can’t be anything like love, can it?
Tracy: No, no, it can’t be.
Connor: Would it be inconvenient?
Connor: Hello you.
Connor: You look fine.
Tracy: I feel fine.
Margaret: The course of true love…
Connor: …gathers no moss.
Liz: What’s this room? I’ve forgotten my compass.
Connor: I’d say, north-by-northwest parlor-by-living-room.
Connor: This is the Bridal Suite. Send us up some caviar sandwiches and a bottle of beer.
Margaret: Who is this?
Connor: This is the Voice of Doom calling. Your days are numbered, to the seventh son of the seventh son!