Michael Arnold Travis: Would you like some soup, sir?
Homeless person: No thanks, son. I don't take solids.
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Monty: Try not to die like a dog.
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Crowd: [referring to an on-stage sex-act performance] Chocolate sandwich! Chocolate sandwich! Chocolate sandwich! Chocolate sandwich!
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Professor Millar: Now I would just like you to sign this release form.
Michael Arnold Travis: "I hereby consent to lease the Millar Research Clinic all physical experimental rights in my body for one week for the sum of one hundred pounds." Well, I'd *like* to help Professor Millar, but a hundred and fifty pounds is definitely my minimum price.
Professor Millar: Definitely? A figure like that is just beyond us.
Michael Arnold Travis: One hundred and fifty pounds, and I'm not going to argue about it.
Professor Millar: A hundred and thirty.
Michael Arnold Travis: A hundred and forty-five.
Professor Millar: A hundred and thirty-five.
Michael Arnold Travis: A hundred and forty.
Professor Millar: Done! Sign by the cross.
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Mrs. Rowe: The future is in your hands, Mr. Travis. Take it... now!
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Michael Arnold Travis: Yes, but what's gonna happen to *me*? Will I come out the same as I went in?
Professor Millar: Not the same: better.
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Monty: Beware of Mrs. Ball's treacle tart. There is many-a-fly that got stuck in that!
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Film director: Smile!
Michael Arnold Travis: For what? There's nothing to smile about!
Film director: You don't have to have a reason. Just do it.
Michael Arnold Travis: But there's nothing to smile about.
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