Parting Glances (1986)
Nick: Your parents know you're gay?
Peter: Sure. Told 'em when I was 16.
Peter: Yep, had a boyfriend in high school. They *freaked*. You know the usual bullshit: "How could you choose this kind of lifestyle Peter?" I said, "Hey, guys, it chose me." I mean, your dick knows what it likes. You reach puberty, you don't fucking decide what sex you like. You ask your dick. You say, "Hey, Dick, what do you like?" Okay. Alright. And you go for it.
Nick: And you said that to your parents?
Peter: In so many words.
Michael: Sometimes I feel so guilty.
Joan: It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault.
Michael: It's not that. It's just sometimes when I'm over there all I can think of is I'm so glad I don't have it.
Commendatore: Heaven's REAL boring. Hang on as long as ya can.
[discussing Michael's boyfriend's leaving... ]
Nick: It's not fair. You've been in love a bunch.
Michael: Just once, really.
Nick: Now he's gone right?
Michael: [shaking his head] He's right here.
[points at Nick]
Betty: You know what Proust said?
Michael: That rich folks have more fun?
Betty: He said that in a relationship...
Michael: Proust did never say relationship.
Betty: I'm translating. In a relationship there's always one who kisses and one who is kissed.
Nick: Hey, you can have my TV. Is that alright?
Nick: Watch the video? It's my will.
Michael: Put it away.
Nick: I'm just showing you where it is
Michael: Bullshit. You know France is working on this new drug.
Nick: New drug, which we should get by the year two thousand. Maybe we should go to France.
Robert: I explained why I'm leaving. I told you I'll be back.
Michael: You're leaving because you don't want to be around when Nick dies. You don't want to deal with me going through that. You'll come walking back when it's all over. You better stay away man or you're going to come back to a fucking maniac. You think I can be mean now? I'm going to go after every politician, idiot doctor and smug born again asshole I can get my hands on.
Michael: You ever had an affair?
Betty: Michael! Have you?
Michael: No yet.
Betty: Gay men in this town have become very proper.
Michael: Yes, terribly Victorian.
Michael: What I think will really help is if I get a word processor.
Dave: Ah, yes, a venerable instrument.
Michael: Kind of speed up the 'ol writing. What do you recommend?
Dave: Well, I know a dealer out in Queens. IBM, with everything... $4,000, includes the printer.
Michael: No. Less. Less. Mucho less.
Dave: Wait a few years till the prices come down?
Michael: I don't wanna wait.
Dave: You know what I suggest?
Dave: Just write.
Dave: You know, you get a pen, some paper, put some marks on it. Works real well.
Michael: [sarcastically] Thanks, Dave.
Nick: Straight guys are jerks. Gay guys are jerks. Straight women are jerks. That leaves lesbians. And they're up in their ivory tower somewhere laughing their heads off at the rest of us.
Peter: First, you gotta admit that I'm eminently irresistable...
Nick: Bullshit. You're a ditzball twinkie.
[describing her experimental night in college sleeping with two gay men]
Betty: It wasn't like they took turns. It was all at once. Every which way. Rather like a marvelous pretzel.
Michael: Ooh. Pretzelingus.
Nick: What do I get tonite?
Michael: [pretending to read menu] Hmmm... boiled nettles... hogweed... assorted thistles...
Michael: [mixing green colored drink] MMMmmm...
Nick: This macro psychotic diet is bullshit. You know it, and I know it.
Michael: Humor me.
Nick: [takes a sip] Yeah, straight from the cat.
Peter: Two by two. It's like Noah's Ark in here.
Michael: Yeah? I hadn't noticed.
Peter: So the guy that's leaving. That your lover?
Michael: [nodding] Mmm Hmm.
Peter: What are you doing tomorrow night?
Michael: I haven't thought that far.
Michael: What are you doing?
Joan: Take the N E Y outta New York and what does it spell?
Nick: [recording on videotape] Michael, I'll never understand how you fell for that... geek. I mean, the guy looks like a fucking Ken doll.
Douglas: Why don't you pack a little bag and fly to Paris for the weekend with me? I have a standing reservation on the Concorde, a suite in /le huitieme/, and a box at the opera, and *never* dine at a restaurant less than two stars. What do you say?
Peter: Chem Lab, Saturday morning.
Michael: [answering phone] Robert?
Betty: Michael, I caught you in.
Michael: Oh, hi.
Betty: Listen, Dearheart, you left your umbrella here last night.
Michael: Oh, sorry. I'll stop by and pick it up next time I'm in the neighborhood.
Betty: I don't suppose you know about silly Cecil running off.
Michael: [listening] God, that's awful. Listen, you can cry on my shoulder any time.
Betty: Heavens! I was thinking more in terms of going out and having a good time. Have you heard of this club called Area?