Matthew Harrison Brady: Drummond and I have worked side by side in many battles for the common folk. Twice he campaigned for me when I ran for president.
Henry Drummond: That's right.
Matthew Harrison Brady: After all these years we find ourselves on the opposite side of an issue.
Henry Drummond: Well, that's evolution for you.
Matthew Harrison Brady: But your client is wrong. He is deluded. He has lost his way.
Henry Drummond: It's a shame we don't all possess your positive knowledge of what is right and what is wrong, Mr. Brady.
Wally Cook: New York is gonna lay it's heart at your feet, while the whistles blow, the bands play and the cameras grind.
Hazel Flagg: Oh Wallace, don't you think you ought to notify 'em that you located me?
Wally Cook: Oh, the fresh air'll do 'em good.
Wally Cook: Take that ice pack off your head and fight.
Hazel Flagg: No, no. What's the use? Why fool them any longer?
Wally Cook: Because I love you. Because I'm going to marry you and I don't want to spend my honeymoon hanging around Sing Sing blowing kisses to you in the exercise yard! Come on, stop dogging! You've got to be bathed in perspiration!
Hazel Flagg: I don't suppose newspaper men marry - as a rule.
Wally Cook: Not after 14 or 15. That's the dangerous age for the journalist. His ideals are not yet formed and he falls easy prey to elderly waitresses.
Wally Cook: I used to love New York when it went ga-ga over some celebrity. It danced in the streets with a neon light around its heart. I'm getting fed up with its trick tears and phony lamentations over you.
Hazel Flagg: Be glad then for me. It makes everything all right in a way. What I mean is, I wouldn't want to feel I was really making all those people suffer.
Wally Cook: Listen, my dying swan, this is no time to stop faking! You're gonna have pneumonia and you're gonna have it good!
Wally Cook: I got in touch with Oliver, er, Oliver Stone my editor. He's toe dancing in the street waiting for us.
Hazel Flagg: I hope he's nice like you.
Wally Cook: Well he's got a different quality of charm. He's sort of a cross between a ferris wheel and a werewolf. But with a lovable streak if you care to blast for it.
Wally Cook: Say goodnight to Papa, now.
Hazel Flagg: Why? What are you gonna do?
