Alex: The Durango '95 purred away a real horrowshow - a nice, warm vibraty feeling all through your guttiwuts. And soon it was trees and dark, my brothers, with real country dark.
Minister: Punishment means nothing to them, . They enjoy their so-called punishment.
Alex: You're absolutely right, sir.
Chief Guard Barnes: Shut your bleeding hole.
Alex: You needn't take it any further, sir. You've proved to me that all this ultraviolence and killing is wrong, wrong, and terribly wrong. I've learned me lesson, sir. I've seen now what I've never seen before. I'm cured! Praise god.
Dr. Brodsky: You're not cured yet, boy.
Alex: One thing I could never stand was to see a filthy, dirty old drunkie, howling away at the filthy songs of his fathers and going blurp blurp in between as it might be a filthy old orchestra in his stinking, rotten guts. I could never stand to see anyone like that, whatever his age might be, but more especially when he was real old like this one was.
Minister: You seem to have a whole ward to yourself, my boy.
Alex: Yes, sir, and a very lonely place it is too, sir, when I wake up in the middle of the night with my pain.
Minister: Yes... well, good to see you on the mend.
Alex: It had been a wonderful evening and what I needed now to give it the perfect ending was a bit of the old Ludwig van.
Alex: What you got back home, little sister, to play your fuzzy warbles on? I bet you got little save pitiful, portable picnic players. Come with uncle and hear all proper! Hear angel trumpets and devil trombones. You are invited.