Grandfather: It's your nose, you know. Fans are funny that way, they take a dislike to things. They'll pick on a nose.
Ringo: Aw, you pick on your own.

Grandfather: Look, I thought I was supposed to be getting a change of scenery. But so far, I've been in a train and a room, and a car and a room, and a room and a room. Well, maybe that's all right for a bunch of powdered gee-gahs like yourselves, but I'm feeling decidedly strait-jacketed.
Lead makeup woman: What a clean old man!
Grandfather: Ah, don't press your luck.

Grandfather: Well, you got me here so do your worst, but by God, I'll take one of you with me! I know your game. Get me into that tiled room and then out come the rubber hoses!
Police Inspector: Oh, there's a fire, is there?
Grandfather: You ugly, great brute. You have sadism stamped all over your bloated British kisser!
Police Inspector: Eh?
Grandfather: I'll go on hunger strike! I know your caper. The kidney punch and the rabbit clout. The third degree and the size twelve boot ankle tap.
Police Inspector: What's he on about?
Grandfather: I'm a soldier for the Republic! You'll need the mahogany truncheons on this boyo.

Grandfather: Would you look at him? Sittin' there with his hooter scrapin' away at that book!
Ringo: Well, what's the matter with that?
Grandfather: Have you no natural resources of your own? Have they even robbed you of that?
Ringo: You can learn from books!
Grandfather: You can, can you? Pahh! Sheeps' heads! You could learn more by gettin' out there and living!
Ringo: Out where?
Grandfather: Any old where! But not our little Richard. Oh, no. When you're not thumpin' them pagan skins you're tormenting your eyes with that rubbish.
Ringo: Books are good.
Grandfather: *Parading's* better.
Ringo: Parading?
Grandfather: [nods eagerly] Parading the streets! Trailing your coat! Bowling along! LIVING!
Ringo: Well, I am living.
Grandfather: You? Living? When was the last time you gave a girl a pink-edged daisy? When did you last embarrass a sheila with your cool, appraising stare?
Ringo: You're a bit old for that sort of chat, aren't you?
Grandfather: Well at least I've got a backlog of memories! All you've got is - THAT BOOK!

[George has been mistaken for a teen model]
Simon Marshall: We'd like you to give us your opinion on some clothes for teenagers.
George: Oh, by all means. I'd be quite prepared for that eventuality.
Simon Marshall: Well, not your REAL opinion, obviously. It'll be written out for you. Can you read?
George: Of course.
Simon Marshall: I mean lines, ducky, can you handle lines?
George: Well, I'll have a bash.
Simon Marshall: Good. Get him whatever it is they drink, uh, coke-a-rama?
[gives George some shirts]
Simon Marshall: Now you'll like these. You'll really "dig" them. They're "fab," and all the other pimply hyperboles...
George: I wouldn't be seen dead in them. They're dead grotty.
Simon Marshall: Grotty?
George: Yeah, grotesque.
Simon Marshall: Make a note of that word and give it to Susan. It's quite touching, really. Here's this kid, giving me his utterly valueless opinion, when I know for a fact that within a month, he'll be suffering from a violent inferiority complex and loss of status because he isn't wearing one of these nasty things. Of course they're grotty, you wretched nit, that's why they were designed! But that's what you'll want.
George: No, I won't.
Simon Marshall: You can be replaced, chickie baby.
George: I don't care.

[Grandfather and Ringo are held in a police station]
Grandfather: Have they roughed you up yet?
Ringo: What?
Grandfather: Oh, they're a desperate crew of drippings, and they've fists like mature hams for pounding poor defenseless lads like you. One of us has got to escape. I'll get the boys. Hold on, son, I'll be back here.
Ringo: For me?
Grandfather: And if they get you on the floor, watch out for your brisket.
Ringo: They seem all right to me.
Grandfather: Ah, sure, that's what they want you to think. All coppers are villains.
Police Inspector: Would you two like a cup of tea?
Grandfather: See, *sly* villains.

[Having makeup applied]
George: Hey, you won't interfere with the basic rugged concept of me personality, will you madam?

[Huge stacks of fan mail is delivered]
Ringo: None for me, then?
Norm: Sorry.
John: [handing Ringo one letter] Here, this'll keep you busy.

[Paul, John and George come out of the studio, looking for Ringo]
Paul: Let's split up and look for him!
[Paul walks away, George and John follow him. Paul turns around]
John: We've become a limited company.

[playing baccarat]
Grandfather: My turn? Er... bingo!
Croupier: Pas "bingo," monsieur. "Banco."
Grandfather: Ah, I'll take the little darlin's anyway.