Sarah: Are you on a new book?
Maurice Bendrix: Of course.
Sarah: It's not about us, is it? The one you threatened to write?
Maurice Bendrix: A book takes a year to write. It's too hard work for revenge.
Sarah: If only you knew how little you had to revenge.
Maurice Bendrix: I'm joking. We are adults. We knew it had to end some time. Now we can have lunch and talk about your husband.
Sarah: Tell Him I'm sorry. I'm too human. Too weak. Tell Him I can't keep my promises. I'm tired of being without you.
Maurice Bendrix: To be is to be perceived.
Sarah: I had tempted fate, and fate had accepted.
Maurice Bendrix: I hate you, God. I hate you as though you existed.
Sarah: Love doesn't end, just because we don't see each other.
Maurice Bendrix: Doesn't it?
Sarah: People go on loving God, don't they? All their lives. Without seeing him.
Maurice Bendrix: That's not my kind of love.
Sarah: Maybe there is no other kind.
Maurice Bendrix: I'm jealous of this stocking.
Sarah Miles: Why?
Maurice Bendrix: Because it does what I can't. Kisses your whole leg. And I'm jealous of this button.
Sarah Miles: Poor, innocent button.
Maurice Bendrix: It's not innocent at all. It's with you all day. I'm not.
Sarah Miles: I suppose you're jealous of my shoes?
Maurice Bendrix: Yes.
Sarah Miles: Why?
Maurice Bendrix: Because they'll take you away from me.
Maurice: Pain is easy to write. In pain we're all drabbly individual. Now what can one write about happiness?
Maurice Bendrix: I am a jealous man.
