Fabian: My name is Fabian, and I would like you to recommend to me someone who could paint something like this.
Fabian: Who did this?
Artist: [surprised] Rembrandt.
Fabian: Give me his address. Now.
Artist: He's dead.
Fabian: Dead? When?
Artist: 300 years ago.
Rose: What do you weigh?
Victor Maynard: My name is Victor Maynard, and i am 54 years old and I work as a professional killer.
Parrot: I love you, Mr Maynard!
Victor Maynard: What the fuck?
Rose: It's like everywhere you go, there's that smell.
Victor Maynard: What smell?
Rose: Cleanliness. Bleach. It's like being in a hospital. It's so safe, it's dangerous. I can't breathe here. I mean it, I'm frightened. I'm frightened if I stay here much longer, I'll end up like you. Afraid of everything.
Victor Maynard: Tony, come and see what happens if you don't clean your gun.
Tony: Has anyone seen the cat?
[Ferguson is in traction]
Hector Dixon: How is your assistant?
[He indicates Mike, who is lying in a coma next to Ferguson]
Ferguson: They want to turn him off.
Hector Dixon: Hmm... perhaps that would be for the best.
Ferguson: No, he's been paid through the end of the month. And anyway, he's company.
[hearing a disturbance, Victor emerges from his bedroom, gun in hand]
Rose: This hideous old bat in a wheelchair just tried to kill me! She had a knife this big, I swear!
Tony: It was horrible!
Rose: It's true!
[embarrassed, Victor goes to the door of Rose's bedroom]
Victor Maynard: Mother... Mother, are you there? It's me. Mother?
[hearing nothing, he kneels down to look through the keyhole]
Victor Maynard: [to Rose and Tony] I've got everything under control...
[a shotgun blasts a hole in the door over Victor's head. Rose screams]
Victor Maynard: She means well. Mother, can we talk about this?
Louisa Maynard: I'm *very* disappointed in you, Victor!