Myriamme Hayam: Her eyes told me there were worse things than cold or hunger or even loneliness.
Henri: Love is a state of confusion in which the victim can not distinguish between spiritual aspiration, carnal desire, and pride of ownership.
Henri: Marriage is like a dull meal with the dessert at the beginning. I have it on the very highest authority.
Jane Avril: What is wrong with me, Henri? Other women find love and happiness. I find only disenchantment.
Henri: But you find it so often.
Sarah: You should not drink so fast, Monsieur Lautrec. It burns your stomach.
Henri: I'm thirsty. Please.
Sarah: Wine is for thirst.
Henri: At least you did not say water.
Sarah: Water is for Americans.
Henri: Some men can swing by their heels on the flying trapeze. Some men can become president of the republic. I can drink cognac.
Jane Avril: Myriamme, you are incorrigible! The first time you're out with a man and you tell him your father died of alcoholism! Anyway, whose father didn't?
Henri: The morning wind is cold, but not so cold as the waters of the Seine.
Myriamme Hayam: You are mistaken, monsieur. I am not a candidate for the river.
Henri: We are all candidates, when driven by the mania of love.
Jane Avril: Henri, my dear, we just heard you were dying. We simply had to say good-bye.
Henri: Well, Jane, what a long road you have traveled. Only a few years ago you were singing for your supper, and here you are a full-fledged star at twenty-nine.
Jane Avril: Twenty-five.
Henri: Of course, I beg your pardon. Twenty-five.
Jane Avril: I have been twenty-five for four years, and I shall stay there for another four. Then I'll be twenty-seven for a while. I intend to grow old gracefully.
Henri: Will you to the opera go with me tomorrow night, mademoiselle? While you make up your mind, let me remind you of the ladies of the Spanish court, who always kept their pet apes by their side so that they themselves would look more beautiful.
Myriamme Hayam: Is your wit always turned against yourself, Monsieur Lautrec?
