Ray Wentworth: [to Widow Taft, in her house, after the funeral] Can I use your back door?
Ray Wentworth: [sitting in break room] Yeah, I'm a writer. Cards. Greetings. Uh... romantic ones. So, yeah, I'm a poet, if you've got to label me.' 'Cause women, they love poets. I mean... I could see her pupils dilate. I had her hooked. Then she asked, "Well, if you're so famous, what have you written?" I just shrugged, then I said, "Only the top Valentine's Day card for the last three years in a row."
Ray Wentworth: Don't be fooled, intern. Novels are for people who can't edit themselves. Cards are still the ultimate challenge.
Sonnyboy: I spent two years in a maximum security prison for a hate crime I did not commit.
Betcher: It was planned as a hate crime.
Sonnyboy: I couldn't get that fucking cross into the ground. It's a lot tougher than it looks. Besides, hating a whole race of folks, now that's an awful lot of work.
Ray Wentworth: [sitting squeezed between them] So you don't hate anyone now? So, who do you hate now?
Denny: [being pushed on the swing] Why is that woman crying?
Ray Wentworth: Who can say? Probably a love thing.
Denny: Do you love anybody?
Ray Wentworth: Maybe. You?
Denny: I love trucks.
Ray Wentworth: Consider yourself lucky. Trucks never leave you.
Denny: But they break down all the time. That's what my uncle says. Except he says they break down all the damn time.