- Edward Swan: It's my birthday party.
- Rose Gooding: It's your birthday party. Who cares? What are you, eight years old?
- Edward Swan: You won't speak to me like some Nancy-boy.
- Ray: I was saying, what would your fucking husband think?
- Rose Gooding: My husband isn't alive, Ray. So he's not thinking a big deal. He's probably thinking, it's a shame we're missing these shitty little pastries.
- Ray: [laughs] Looks like he got away lightly!
- [Rose head-butts Ray in the face]
- Edward Swan: [reading one many obscene letters] "Miss Swan, you bloody fucking old saggy sack of chicken piss. You want fucking in the nose, you old beetle!"
- Edith Swan: Beetle!
- Rose Gooding: Edith, you honestly don't think I've been doing this?
- Edith Swan: I don't know anymore. Father, it might not have been her. There are all kinds of people. She was my friend.
- Edward Swan: No! She wasn't your friend. She's a lying slut!
- Bill: Hey, what did you just say?
- Edward Swan: You know she is. Be a man, son!
- Bill: Don't front up to me, old boy, I used to box in bars for cash!
- Rose Gooding: Don't tell that to people, Bill.
- Bill: And you stink out the wash house too!
- Rose Gooding: Bill!
- Bill: I think you're ill, mate!
- Edward Swan: Right!
- [proceeds to attack the Bill but he dodges the blow]
- Rose Gooding: Well, go on, tell us what you said.
- Edward Swan: Leave it. It's my birthday party.
- Rose Gooding: It's your birthday party. Who cares? What are you, eight years old?
- Edward Swan: You won't speak to me like I'm a nancy boy.
- Ray: I was saying, what would yer fuckin' husband think?
- Rose Gooding: My husband's not alive, so he's not thinkin' a great deal.
- Mr. Treading: [reading a letter, loudly] You fucking old steaming bag of wet leaking shit! Your fucking ass is bigger than the moon and your cat wants a good fucking burning, too! I reckon. You stupid big stinker! You mangy old titless turnip...
- Constable Papperwick: "Dear Edith, you foxy-ass old whore." Holy heavens.
- Edward Swan: No. Carry on.
- Edith Swan: Don't worry about me constable, I'll rise above it.
- Constable Papperwick: "You really are a tricksy old fucker. You belong in hell, probably. And you're a sad stinky bitch as well."
- Edith Swan: In the end I think it's just jealousy, really.
- Rose Gooding: I want this on your fuckin' conscience. I asked you for help.
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: I'm an officer. Why would I help a suspect?
- Rose Gooding: Because the police are horseshit.
- Mr. Scales: Why would you send so many letters that are so easily traceable back to you.
- Rose Gooding: I wouldn't. That'd be insanity.
- Mr. Scales: After all, you're known for being somewhat direct.
- Rose Gooding: Why would I send a letter when I could just say it?
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: Women police officers are forbidden from marrying. Or having children.
- Rose Gooding: Fucking Jesus shat on a cross! Then why?
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: My dad did it. Twenty-two years.
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: I don't think you wrote those letters, Miss Gooding. Because, look.
- [Looks at a piece of paper.]
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: This is a formal, educated hand, whereas
- [looks at another piece of paper]
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: yours is, I mean... Did you go to school?
- Rose Gooding: Yes, thank you.
- Police Officer Gladys Moss: Because you capitalize your "F"s.
- Rose Gooding: It looks better. Is there some sort of rulebook that says which letters you capitalize and which ones you don't, and when?
- Rose Gooding: Yes, there is.
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