Emerson: Some women love like gangstas. They be like "Ooh baby, you bleedin'! How dat happen?" While dey hidin' the razor in their weave.

Emerson: That girl dropped a bomb in your subconcious with her saliva.

Emerson: The fact that he was a very, very bad man makes you feel better about what you did?
Ned: Yes. Immensely. I would have felt horrible if it was... you, for example.
Emerson: [smacks Ned on the head with rolled up newspaper.]
Ned: I'm not proud!
Emerson: You know, I'm glad you did it. Makes the worst thing I did seem insignificant.
Ned: Listen to you, all judgey-judge.

Emerson: The truth ain't like puppies, a bunch of them running around, you pick your favorite. One truth and it has come a knockin'.

Emerson: You know what? We all have childhood issues. Okay? Believe me. I got the full subscription, okay? Horror stories.
Ned: I kind of killed her dad when I was ten.
Emerson: Maybe not horror stories.
Ned: She doesn't know. But I wanted to make it better or different than what it was, because what it was was her dead and I didn't want that to be my fault too.
Emerson: Well, who died instead?
Ned: [shows Emerson an obituary for the funeral director] It's a random proximity thing.
Emerson: Bitch! I was in proximity.

Emerson: Your book was a bomb.
Napolean Le Nez: [Outraged] Who are you to criticise my life's work?!
Emerson: [Holds up evidence bag containing burnt shreds of book] Your book. Was a bomb? It exploded?

Narrator: As Madeline McLean prepared to grant one last deadly desire, Bobo the bonobo monkey had a wish of its own, to play with the ball on a stick called the shifter. And so, its wish was granted... as was the wish of Madeline McLean, for though her sanity was torn asunder by a boy named Abner Newsome, and her body was torn apart by a bonobo named Bobo, her heart was still intact, which allowed her to grant one final wish, and that was for Abner Newsome to have a change of heart... Madeline McLean's heart.

Narrator: As Olive considered how much she loved Digby for paying attention to her when the pie-maker would not, Digby considered how much he loved salt.

Narrator: One mile to the west, Emerson Cod was also not thrilled. During times of stress or anxiety, he liked to knit. Since the arrival of the dead girl who was not dead, he found the stockinette stitch relaxing.

Narrator: Sometimes a crime of passion is not realizing the passion in time. While other times the crime is not seeing the world as it is. But most crimes of passion are actually a crime.

Narrator: The pie-maker considered how not telling Chuck the truth about her father was a lot like being locked in a prison. Then he considered how being locked in a prison was actually much worse than some silly metaphor about truth.

Ned: [stares at a squirrel waiting for it to die, when a dead bird falls from the sky] It's raining dead birds.

Ned: I can't catch her, Emerson.
Emerson: Can't suck on her toes, neither. Some women like that.

Ned: Is this a bad idea? Olive as a client? It's a little too close for comfort.
Emerson: [sarcastically] Oh, hang on a second, let me ask the money.
[Emerson makes his hand a telephone]
Emerson: Hey money, it's me, Emerson.
[Ned rolls his eyes]
Emerson: I'm good, I'm good. Yeah, thanks for asking. Say, can I still pay my bills and buy stuff with you, even though you was Olive's money first? Uh huh.
Ned: Wait.
Emerson: [laughs] Yeah, okay then. Thanks. [laughs again] The money don't care. Touch him.

Ned: The police wrestled little Hallie Hundin to the ground and she's small: it was like a lion taking down a baby zebra.
Chuck: And we were awful tourists sitting safe in our camouflaged SUV watching the injustice.