C.C. Baxter: [Opens his bedroom door, tosses a pair of gloves in, and is about to step out, but he has seen Fran lying on the bed] All right, Miss Kubelik, get up.
[No response from the unconscious Fran]
C.C. Baxter: It's past checking-out time. The management would greatly appreciate it if you would get the hell out of here!
[Still no response]
C.C. Baxter: I used to like you. I used to like you a lot. But it's all over between us. So beat it!
[No responss]
C.C. Baxter: Oh, you, tee, out!
[No response]
C.C. Baxter: C'mon, wake up!
[Tries to drag her out, and she falls limp. Then he catches sight of the bottle of sleeping pills]
C.C. Baxter: Oh, my God...!

C.C. Baxter: I know how you feel, Miss Kubelik. You think it's the end of the world - but it's not, really. I went through exactly the same thing myself.
Fran Kubelik: You did?
C.C. Baxter: Well, maybe not exactly - I tried to do it with a gun.
Fran Kubelik: Over a girl?
C.C. Baxter: Worse than that - she was the wife of my best friend - and I was mad for her. But I knew it was hopeless - so I decided to end it all. I went to a pawnshop and bought a forty-five automatic and drove up to Eden Park - do you know Cincinnati?
Fran Kubelik: No, I don't.
C.C. Baxter: Anyway, I parked the car and loaded the gun - well, you read in the papers all the time that people shoot themselves, but believe me, it's not that easy - I mean, how do you do it? - here, or here, or here -
[with cocked finger, he points to his temple, mouth and chest]
C.C. Baxter: - you know where I finally shot myself?
Fran Kubelik: Where?
C.C. Baxter: [indicating kneecap] Here.
Fran Kubelik: In the knee?
C.C. Baxter: Uh-huh. While I was sitting there, trying to make my mind up, a cop stuck his head in the car, because I was illegally parked - so I started to hide the gun under the seat and it went off - pow!
Fran Kubelik: [laughing] That's terrible.
C.C. Baxter: Yeah. Took me a year before I could bend my knee - but I got over the girl in three weeks. She still lives in Cincinnati, has four kids, gained twenty pounds - she sends me a fruit cake every Christmas.

C.C. Baxter: That's the way it crumbles... cookie-wise.

Fran Kubelik: I never catch colds.
C.C. Baxter: Really? I was reading some figures from the Sickness and Accident Claims Division. You know that the average New Yorker between the ages of twenty and fifty has two and a half colds a year?
Fran Kubelik: That makes me feel just terrible.
C.C. Baxter: Why?
Fran Kubelik: Well, to make the figures come out even, if I have no colds a year, some poor slob must have five colds a year.
C.C. Baxter: [sheepishly] Yeah... it's me.

Fran Kubelik: I was jinxed from the word go. The first time I was ever kissed was in a cemetery.

Fran Kubelik: I'd like to spell it out for you... only I can't spell!

Fran Kubelik: Shall I light the candles?
C.C. Baxter: It's a must! Gracious living-wise.

Fran Kubelik: What's a tennis racket doing in the kitchen?
C.C. Baxter: Tennis racket? Oh, I remember, I was cooking myself an Italian dinner.
[Fran looks confused]
C.C. Baxter: I use it to strain the spaghetti.

Fran Kubelik: You fool. You damn fool.

Dr. Dreyfuss: [entering his apartment, he suddenly hears loud music starting from next door] Mildred! He's at it again.