Joe Orton (1933 – 1967)
English playwright.
Fay: I'm innocent till I'm proved guilty. This is a free country. The law is impartial.
Truscott: Who's been filling your head with that rubbish?
Fay: I can't be had for anything. You've no proof.
Truscott: When I make out my report I shall say you've given me a confession. It could prejudice your case if I have to forge one.
I was approached to do a film script for the Beatles. I said it would have to be an absolutely original script. Paul McCartney said do whatever you like. I said that means you'll never be able to do it.
On our way home we were waiting for the bus when a very fat, pompous-looking woman reeled out of a pub shouting, "Melancholia? Ad nauseam."
Prentice: Unnatural vice can ruin a man.
Rance: Ruin follows the accusation not the vice.
McLeavy: Where did I go wrong? His upbringing was faultless. Did you lead him astray?
Dennis: I was innocent till I met him.
Hal: You met me when you were three days old.
With insanity, as with vomit, it is the passerby who receives the inconvenience.
Geraldine: We must tell the truth!
Prentice: That's a thoroughly defeatist attitude.
Truscott: You're fucking nicked, my old beauty. You've found to your cost that the standards of the British police force are as high as ever.
McLeavy: What am I charged with?
Truscott: That needn't concern you for the moment. We'll fill in the details later.
McLeavy: You can't do this. I've always been a law-abiding citizen. The police are for the protection of ordinary people.
Truscott: I don't know where you pick up these slogans, sir. You must read them on hoardings.
Sir — In finding so much to praise in 'Entertaining Mr. Sloane,' which seems to be nothing more than a highly sensationalized, lurid, crude and over-dramatised picture of life at its lowest, surely your dramatic critic has taken leave of his senses.
McLeavy: I'm innocent. (A little unsure of himself, the beginnings of panic) Doesn't that mean anything to you?
Hal: Bury her naked? My own mum? It's a Freudian nightmare.
Dennis: I won't disagree.
Hal: Aren't we committing some kind of unforgivable sin?
Dennis: Only if you're a Catholic.
Hal: I am a Catholic. I can't undress her. She's a relative. I can go to Hell for it.
Dennis: I'll undress her then. I don't believe in Hell.
Hal: That's typical of your upbringing, baby. Every luxury was lavished on you - atheism, breast-feeding, circumcision. I had to make my own way.
Truscott: Do you realize what I'm doing here?
McLeavy: No. Your every action has been a mystery to me.
Truscott: That is as it should be. The process by which the police arrive at the solution to a mystery is, in itself, a mystery.
Nick: I've also found someone to take an option on the photographs.
Mrs Prentice: What photographs?
Nick: I had a camera concealed in the room.
Mrs Prentice: When I gave myself to you the contract didn't include cinematic rights.
Nick: I'd like a hundred quid for the negatives. You've got until lunchtime.
Mrs Prentice: I shall complain to the manager.
Nick: It will do you no good. He took the photographs.
Mrs. Prentice: Oh, this is scandalous! I'm a married woman.
Nick: You didn't behave like a married woman last night.
Nick: I'm sorry if my behaviour last night caused your wife anxiety, but I've a burning desire to sleep with every woman I meet.
Prentice: That's a filthy habit and, in my opinion, very injurious to the health.
Nick: It is, sir. My health's never been the same since I went off stamp-collecting.
Prentice: We have an overall moral policy in this clinic from which even I am not exempt. Whilst you're with us I shall expect you to show an interest in no one's sexual organs but your own.
Nick: I would miss a lot of fun that way.
Prentice: That is the object of the exercise.
Hal: God is a gentleman. He prefers blondes.
Prentice: This appalling situation is the result of my lax moral code. It's clean living and Teach Yourself Woodwork for me from now on!
Prentice: It's a fascinating theory, sir, and cleverly put together. Does it tie in with known facts?
Rance: That need not cause us undue anxiety. Civilizations have been founded and maintained on theories which refused to obey facts.
Mrs. Prentice: Are you Geraldine Barclay?
Nick: Yes.
Mrs. Prentice: Where have you been?
Nick: I've been attending to the thousand and one duties that occupy the average secretary during her working hours.
Mrs Prentice: It doesn't take the whole morning to file your nails, surely?
Nick: I had to lie down. I was sick.
Mrs. Prentice: Are you pregnant?
Nick: I can't discuss my employer's business with you.
Fay: You've been a widower for three days. Have you considered a second marriage yet?
McLeavy: No.
Fay: Why not?
McLeavy: I've been so busy with the funeral.
Mrs Prentice: My uterine contractions have been bogus for some time!
Prentice: What a discovery! Married to the mistress of the fraudulent climax.