Maggie: I don't want him back, I just want him vaporized, extinguished! When I'm done with him, he'll be just a twitching little stain on the floor.
Maggie: Well, that is, without a doubt, the most pathetic thing I've ever heard.
Sam: You don't understand.
Maggie: And I don't mean that in a trivial way. I'm a photographer, I've seen a lot of things. I once took pictures of a man who ate his own legs, and you would be the black sheep of that family.
Maggie: I sleep naked. It's the only way I'm comfortable, so don't think of it as a come-on, because if you so much as breathe in my direction I will nail your willy to that beam.
Sam: So what is your plan? What do you want to do?
Maggie: I just want his dignity, that's all. I want him hopeless, loveless, finished off! I just wish him ill, very very ill.
Sam: How ill are we talking here?
Maggie: I'm not saying I want him dead. But, should that occur... people die every day, why should he be any different? I'm just thinking on my feet, though. I don't have to decide the death part right now, I can just wait and see how I feel once his dignity's a thing of the past.
Anton: I like a man who fights for what he wants. But if you ever mess with me again, I'll rip out your eyes and rape your skull. Excuse my French.