King Henry II: Will no-one rid me of this meddlesome priest?
King Henry II: Your body, madam, was a desert that duty forced me to wander in alone. But you have never been a wife to me.
King Henry II: I'm suddenly very intelligent. It probably comes from making love to that French girl last night.
Thomas a Becket: Tonight you can do me the honor of christening my forks.
King Henry II: Forks?
Thomas a Becket: Yes, from Florence. New little invention. It's for pronging meat and carrying it to the mouth. It saves you dirtying your fingers.
King Henry II: But then you dirty the fork.
Thomas a Becket: Yes, but it's washable.
King Henry II: So are your fingers. I don't see the point.
King Henry II: Here's my royal foot up your royal buttocks.
King Henry II: He's read books, you know, it's amazing. He's drunk and wenched his way through London but he's thinking all the time.
King Henry II: So what in most people is morality, in you it's just an exercise in... what's the word?
Thomas a Becket: Aesthetics.
King Henry II: Yes, that's the word. Always "aesthetics."
Peter Plunkett: All I wanted to be was happily useless, you made me miserably useless.
Mrs. Plunkett: Your father's so worried, he's tearing his hair out.
Peter Plunkett: Mother, father has been dead for a decade.
Mrs. Plunkett: And what about your grandmother? How do you think she feels?
Peter Plunkett: Mother, grandmother is dead too.
Mrs. Plunkett: She's still upset.
Nicole Bonnet: I can't drive a stolen car.
Simon Dermott: Same principle, four gears forward, one reverse.
Simon Dermott: There's the bathroom. Take off your clothes.
Nicole Bonnet: Are we planning the same sort of crime?
Simon Dermott: You're quite safe. It's dress rehearsal time. That's why we bought all this lovely junk.
Nicole Bonnet: I feel like I'm going to faint.
Simon Dermott: Don't, there's no room.
Simon Dermott: Why don't you wait till you get it home and steal it then? No muss, no fuss, just a nice clean inside job? I'd be happy to offer my services.
Simon Dermott: It's National Crime Prevention Week. Take a burglar to dinner.
Simon Dermott: Where precisely were you in the early part of the sixteenth century?
Nicole Bonnet: I don't know but that's not how I was dressed.
Nicole Bonnet: Don't be such a baby, it's only a flesh wound.
Simon Dermott: Happens to be my flesh.
Nicole Bonnet: Is this how you normally work, by the mile?
Simon Dermott: I'm thinking. Look at my forehead: all wrinkled.
Simon Dermott: I want you to take a long look at the trees, the blue sky, and the river, all of which I personally loathe, which is why a juicy stretch in a French prison doesn't bother me at all.
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