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Helen: Don't you want a drink, Don?
Don: What are you up to?
Helen: Nothing. I'm just ashamed of the way I talk to you - like a narrow-minded, insensitive, small-town teetotaler.
Don: I told you, I don't feel like a drink. Not now.
Helen: Oh come on, Don, just one. I'll have one with you. I'm in no hurry. This is my easy day at the office.
Don: Look Helen, there are a few things I want to put in order before Wick comes.
Helen: Let me stay. Please!
Don: No! I don't want to sound rude, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.
Helen: Here, Don. [She hands him a drink glass]
Don: You're very sweet. Goodbye...
Helen: You need this, Don. Drink it. I want you to drink it. I'll get you some more. I'll get you all you want.
Don: What kind of talk is that?
Helen: It's just that I'd rather have you drunk than dead.
Don: Who wants to be dead?
Helen: Stop lying to me.
[He wrestles the gun from her]
Don: 'Cause it's best all around for everybody. For you, for Wick, and for me...Look at it this way, Helen: this business is just a formality. Don Birnam is dead already. He died over this weekend...of a lot of things - of alcohol, of moral anemia, of fear, shame, DT's.
Helen: There were two Dons. You told me so yourself. Don the Drunk and Don the Writer.
Don: Let's not go back to a fancy figure of speech. There's only one Don. He's through...I'm all right. I still have enough strength left.
Helen: I know you have. I can see it. Don't waste it by pulling a trigger, Don.
Don: Oh, let me get it over with. Or do you want me to give you another one of my promises that I never keep?
Helen: I don't want you to give me your promise. I don't want you to give your promise to anybody but Don Birnam.
Don: It's too late. I wouldn't know how to start.
Helen: The only way to start is to stop. There is no cure besides just stopping.
Don: Can't be done.
Helen: Other people have stopped.
Don: People with a purpose, with something to do.
Helen: You've got talent and ambition.
Don: Talent, ambition. That's dead long ago. That's drowned. That's drifting around in the bloated belly of a lake of alcohol.
Helen: No, it isn't. You still have it.
Don: Quit trying to stall me, Helen, it's too late. There's no more writing left in me. It's gone. What do you expect - a miracle?
Helen: Yes, yes, yes - if I could just make you...
[the buzzer sounds]
Wick: I found this floating around on the Nile. She writes pretty good. I oiled her up a little. And I didn't oil her up so you can hock her.
Helen: Someone somewhere sent it back - why? Because he means you to stay alive. Because he wants you to write. I didn't ask for a big miracle.

Helen : Don't you want a drink, Don? Don : What are you up to? Helen : Nothing. I'm just ashamed of the way I talk to you - like a narrow-minded, insensitive, small-town teetotaler. Don : I told you, I don't feel like a drink. Not now. Helen : Oh come on, Don, just one. I'll have one with you. I'm in no hurry. This is my easy day at the office. Don : Look Helen, there are a few things I want to put in order before Wick comes. Helen : Let me stay. Please! Don : No! I don't want to sound rude, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. Helen : Here, Don. [She hands him a drink glass] Don : You're very sweet. Goodbye... Helen : You need this, Don. Drink it. I want you to drink it. I'll get you some more. I'll get you all you want. Don : What kind of talk is that? Helen : It's just that I'd rather have you drunk than dead. Don : Who wants to be dead? Helen : Stop lying to me. [He wrestles the gun from her] Don : 'Cause it's best all around for everybody. For you, for Wick, and for me...Look at it this way, Helen: this business is just a formality. Don Birnam is dead already. He died over this weekend...of a lot of things - of alcohol, of moral anemia, of fear, shame, DT's. Helen : There were two Dons. You told me so yourself. Don the Drunk and Don the Writer. Don : Let's not go back to a fancy figure of speech. There's only one Don. He's through...I'm all right. I still have enough strength left. Helen : I know you have. I can see it. Don't waste it by pulling a trigger, Don. Don : Oh, let me get it over with. Or do you want me to give you another one of my promises that I never keep? Helen : I don't want you to give me your promise. I don't want you to give your promise to anybody but Don Birnam. Don : It's too late. I wouldn't know how to start. Helen : The only way to start is to stop. There is no cure besides just stopping. Don : Can't be done. Helen : Other people have stopped. Don : People with a purpose, with something to do. Helen : You've got talent and ambition. Don : Talent, ambition. That's dead long ago. That's drowned. That's drifting around in the bloated belly of a lake of alcohol. Helen : No, it isn't. You still have it. Don : Quit trying to stall me, Helen, it's too late. There's no more writing left in me. It's gone. What do you expect - a miracle? Helen : Yes, yes, yes - if I could just make you... [the buzzer sounds] Wick : I found this floating around on the Nile. She writes pretty good. I oiled her up a little. And I didn't oil her up so you can hock her. Helen : Someone somewhere sent it back - why? Because he means you to stay alive. Because he wants you to write. I didn't ask for a big miracle.