Every day I come by your house and I pick you up. And we go out. We have a few drinks, and a few laughs, and it's great. But you know what the best part of my day is? For about ten seconds, from when I pull up to the curb and when I get to your door, cause I think, maybe I'll get up there and I'll knock on the door and you won't be there. No goodbye. No see you later. No nothing. You just left. I don't know much, but I know that.

What am I, fuckin' sandwich welfare? I think you should establish a good line of credit. Like how you bought your couch, payment plans. Remember how your mother brought in $10 everyday for a year and she finally got her couch Rent-A-Center Style?

Chuckie: Morgan, I'm not going to Kelly's just because you like the take out girl. It's fifteen minutes out of our way.
Morgan: What the fuck are we gonna do that we can't spare fifteen minutes.

You're sitting on a winning lottery ticket and you're too big of a pussy to cash it in.

So this is a Harvard bar, huh? I thought there'd be equations and shit on the wall.

Look, you're my best friend, so don't take this the wrong way. In twenty years, if you're still livin' here, comin' over to my house to watch the Patriots games, still workin' construction, I'll fuckin' kill you. That's not a threat. Now, that's a fact. I'll fuckin' kill you.

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