Clayton Boone: I am not... your monster.
James Whale: I suppose you'd like the top down?
Clayton Boone: If that's all right with you.
James Whale: Nothing would please me more.
James Whale: Bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, for you but not for me. O death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling? Grave, where thy victory?
James Whale: And we're quite informal around here - no need to worry about a bathing suit.
Betty: Sounds screwy to me. I can't imagine a real artist wanting to spend time looking at that kisser.
Clayton Boone: Oh, yeah? Well, this kisser wasn't so bad that you couldn't lay under it a couple of times.
Clayton Boone: The monster's lonely. He wants a friend. A girlfriend. Somebody. What's so sick about that?
Hannah: Poor Mr. Jimmy. There is much good in him, but he will suffer the fires of hell.
Clayton Boone: Oh yeah?
Hannah: That is what the priests tell me. His sins of the flesh will keep him from heaven.
Clayton Boone: Hell, everybody's got those.
Hannah: No. His is the worst. The unspeakable. The deed no man can name without shame. What is the good English? All I know is bugger, he's a bugger, men who bugger each other.
Clayton Boone: A homo?
Hannah: Yes, you know.
James Whale: Am I right in assuming, Mr. Kay, that it's not me that you're interested in, but only my horror pictures?
Edmund Kay: No, but it's the horror movies you'll be remembered for.
James Whale: I'm not dead yet, Mr. Kay.
James Whale: I've spent much of my life outrunning the past, and now it floods all over me.
Clayton Boone: You must think the whole world is queer.
James Whale: Take off your shirt, and I'll tell you all about it.
James Whale: Who is this new yardman?
Hannah: Mr. Bugen... something B... I don't know. He came cheap.
James Whale: Oh, don't be daft.
James Whale: Making movies is the most wonderful thing in the world. Working with friends - entertaining people - yes, I suppose I miss it.
Clayton Boone: No, I don't have a girlfriend.
James Whale: Why not?
Clayton Boone: You have to kiss some ass to get a piece of it.
James Whale: There was a time when this place was full of pricks. Big, hard, arrogant pricks.
Clayton Boone: Enough already. Isn't it bad enough that you tell me you're a fucking homo? You have to rub it in my face?
James Whale: Oh, shut up. All we did was talk.
Betty: I bet he's some fruit just pretending to be famous so that he can get in the big guy's pants.
Clayton Boone: What makes you say that?
Betty: Just thinking out loud.
Clayton Boone: Well, why don't you just keep your dirty thoughts to yourself?
Betty: Alright then, he's interested in you for your conversation. We all know what a great talker you are.
Clayton Boone: Fuck you.
Betty: Not anymore you don't.
James Whale: It is kind of you to indulge your elders in their vices. Just as I indulge the young in theirs.
Clayton Boone: Well, um, w-what were some of your movies?
James Whale: Oh, this and that. The only ones that you may have heard of are the Frankenstein movies.
Clayton Boone: Frankenstein? And, um, uh, Bride of Frankenstein? And the Son of? And the other ones too?
James Whale: Uh, no, I-I just directed the first two. The others were done by hacks.
