George: Excuse me, sir, can I help you? Oh, Mr. Swinton, I didn't recognize you.
Stewart: I'm here to see Miss Alden, George.
George: Well, I'm afraid I'll have to call. May I ask your business with Miss Alden?
Stewart: My business is pleasure, George. Does she look like the fuck of the decade or what?
Will Randall: What do you do?
Laura: Why do you care?
Will Randall: I don't. I was just making polite conversation.
Laura: I'd rather not discuss what I do.
Will Randall: You know, I think I understand what you're like now. You're very beautiful and you think men are only interested in you because you're beautiful, but you want them to be interested in you because you're you. The problem is, aside from all that beauty, you're not very interesting. You're rude, you're hostile, you're sullen, you're withdrawn. I know you want someone to look past all that at the real person underneath but the only reason anyone would bother to look past all that is because you're beautful. Ironic, isn't it? In an odd way you're your own problem.
Will Randall: Roy, get on the phone with your list of authors and ask them how they'd like to join with us in a publishing house of their own. Tell them that we're leaving MacLeish House because we heard that the new unofficial policy is to push everything that sells, and this will get them, bury everything that doesn't take off like a rocket. Tell them we got enough investors to help get it off the ground.
Roy: Two things.
Will Randall: Go.
Roy: First, how many investors do we have?
Will Randall: I don't know. I haven't called anybody yet.
Roy: But you want me to say it anyway?
Will Randall: Yes.
Roy: Second thing. Is any of this true?
Will Randall: Not yet.
Roy: You're my god.