Promise me we were safe.

You're not like, uh, one of them paternity suit kind of gals.

I bet you can't sit still and be quiet for even one minute.

[In response to the others learning that he follows a soap opera] I only work every fifth day. Hell else am I supposed to do with my time.

You know, lately I've been lying awake at night thinking of all the dumb-ass things I've done when I was messed up. One night last year, at dinner, I threw up all over my glazed ham. Then I was thinking, "Well, maybe nobody noticed."

Look, I messed up. I got riled up, and there isn't a lot I can do about it right now. Except I just want to say I'm sorry, and uh, you know, people make mistakes. If you can't handle that-- it you-- if you want to decide that, uh, my messing up means I'm not worth being your friend, then you aren't half as smart as you think you are.