Holly Kennedy: What if this is it, Gerry? What if this is all there is to our life? You have to have a plan. Why do I have to be the responsible grown up who worries? Why can't I be the cute, carefree Irish guy who sings all the time?
Gerry Kennedy: Because you can't sing without making dogs bark?
Daniel Connelly: So what did your husband die from?
Holly Kennedy: A brain tumor.
Daniel Connelly: Nice!
William: You're very sweet.
Holly Kennedy: Oh God. The last time a guy said that, he followed it up with, "But I don't date 13-year-olds."
William: Well, lucky for you, neither do I.
Holly Kennedy: Oh, never mind. I'm just screwed up. I'm trouble... Yeah.
William: I like trouble.
Holly Kennedy: Oh no, I don't mean "cool Pulp Fiction" trouble. I mean "mental case wacko" trouble.
Daniel Connelly: Thanks for inviting me... You're a terrible singer.
Holly Kennedy: Yes, I am.
Daniel Connelly: I'd be really embarrassed if I were you.
Holly Kennedy: Did you take your medication today?
Daniel Connelly: No, I thought I'd come here instead.
Daniel Connelly: I think you're a little bit perverted. I mean, you bring me to an Irish Famine Memorial... And we're eating corned beef sandwiches. That's pretty sick.
Holly Kennedy: Gerry thought it was the best way to honor the dead... You know, show them how well we're doing.
Holly Kennedy: Maybe we can defy God and go see a Yankees game.
Daniel Connelly: Yeah, we'll be really weird friends joined by self-pity, bitterness and vomit.
