- Helen Drood: How do you do it?
- Drood: Do what?
- Helen Drood: You walk in and everything falls apart.
- Drood: Helen, I just got hit in the nuts with a fucking rubber chicken!
- Buddy: She loved you. Somebody kills her and you just blow it off.
- Drood: Isn't that what you wanted? You put a fuckin' gun to my head.
- Buddy: Is that what's stopping you?
- [pulls the gun in question and puts it to Drood's head]
- Buddy: The gun? Who do you think you're foolin'? It ain't the gun that stops us... we're just chickenshit. See, the lights are on... but nobody's home. Am I right?
- Drood: Listen, Mrs. Raines... I'm propably gonna to be moving from here.
- Mrs. Raines: What?
- Drood: [shouts] Where's your hearing aid?
- Mrs. Raines: What?
- Drood: I'll talk to you later.
- Mrs. Raines: Mr. Drood!
- Drood: I know, that's a new lock.
- Mrs. Raines: This is a new lock here.
- Drood: Is it? Listen, Mrs. Raines...
- Mrs. Raines: I don't have a key for that.
- Drood: I made you a key.
- Mrs. Raines: If there should be a fire, or something...
- Drood: Look, I made you this key!
- Mrs. Raines: Do you have one for me?
- Drood: [chuckles] Oh, God...
- Morgue clerk: What is your name?
- Drood: Uhm... I'm... a friend.
- Morgue clerk: I need your name.
- Drood: Nick...
- [clears throat]
- Drood: ... son. Nixon. Richard Nixon. It's with an X.
- Helen Drood: [after catching him with a naked woman] She's a model, right?
- Drood: No. She's a secretary.
- Bobby Nye: I overpaid a bit for that, but I think its value is about to skyrocket. That's what usually happens when an artist dies.