Chuck Norstadt: You know, I can't see your scars anymore. I can hardly even tell they're there.
Justin McLeod: If you're going to plagiarize, you could at least show the courtesy of copying.
Chuck Norstadt: What are you talking about?
Justin McLeod: Don't! Who wrote this? Who?
Chuck Norstadt: Bill Garfield.
Justin McLeod: Never heard of him.
Chuck Norstadt: He's at Columbia.
Justin McLeod: Ah! I see you're a high-class cheat.
Chuck Norstadt: I'm not a cheat, listen.
Justin McLeod: Yes you are.
Chuck Norstadt: I hate writing.
Justin McLeod: Aut disce aut discede.
Justin McLeod: Is it this? Is this what you see? I assure you it is human. But if that's all you see, then you don't see me. You can't see me.
McLeod: Think Norstad, reason. Have I ever abused you? Did I ever lay a hand on you of anything but friendship on you? Could I? Could you imagine me ever doing so? And what about the past?
Chuck Norstadt: Just tell me you didn't do it, I'll believe you.
McLeod: No, no sir! I didn't spend all summer so you could cheat on this question.
Chuck Norstadt: I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I betrayed you. I stabbed you in the back, and I don't even know why.
Justin McLeod: Oh, come on, we're not doing Julius Caesar now.
Chuck Norstadt: What?
Justin McLeod: "Et tu, Chuckus"? It's all right, I'll live with it.
Chuck Norstadt: You mean, you don't hate my guts?
Justin McLeod: No, I don't hate your guts.