Somebody died. It was me.

Julie: If I wasn't me, I'd buy my album.
David: You know, if you can reach one person.

David: I like your life.
Sofía: Well, it's mine and you can't have it!

I want to live a real life... I don't want to dream any longer.

David: How bad is it?
Sofía: ...Well... your ears are in the right place... And the rest of it... is not bad at all. It's perfect!

These? These are more than headaches. These are steel plates slicing through my every thought.

I wanna wake up! Tech support! It's a nightmare! Tech support! Tech support!

Doc, once you've been driven off a bridge at 80 miles an hour, somehow you don't invite happiness in without a full body search.

David: Where's Sofia? WHERE IS SHE?
Julie: I AM SOFIA.

The little things... there's nothing bigger, is there?

David: My father wrote about this in his book. Chapter 1... Page 1... Paragraph 1: What is the answer to 99 out of 100 questions?... Money.

David: You're not blind. You're drinking Jack Daniels, and when you drink Jack, you start in with that... Frank Sinatra, she shot me down, give me a cigarette, "King of Sad" thing.
Brian: That I do. Give me a cigarette.

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