Oliver:
Ban my brow! I'm from the South!

Stan:
Shut my mouth! I'm from the South too!

Oliver:
South of what, sir?

Stan:
South of London!

Ollie:
We'll all go down to Dixie. Oh for a slice of possum and yam. Mm!

Stan:
Yes sir and some good old fish and chips. I can smell'em.

Ollie:
"Fish'n Chips"!

Lola Marcel, the Singing Nightingale:
Tell me about my dear dear daddy! Is it true that he's dead?

Stan:
I hope so, they buried him!

Oliver:
There's another nice mess you've gotten us into!

Oliver:
A lot of weather we've been having lately!

Oliver:
That reminds me. You said that if we didn't get the deed back, that you'd eat my hat.

Stan:
Oh now you're taking me too literally.

Oliver:
Never the less, I'm gonna teach you not to make such rash promises. Eat the hat.

Stan:
Whoever heard of anybody eating a hat?

Oliver:
Whoever heard of anybody doing that

Oliver:
Eat the hat!

Stan:
I won't do it.

Oliver:
If you don't eat that hat, I'll tie you to a tree and let the buzzards get you!

Stan:
Would you do that?

Oliver:
I certainly would.

Stan:
That's the first mistake we've made since that fellow sold us the Brooklyn Bridge.

Oliver:
Buying that bridge was no mistake. It will be worth a lot of money someday.

Sheriff:
There's one thing in this here town we don't allow! And that's messing with our women. Now if you want to stay healthy, you'll catch the next coach out of town.

Oliver:
Yes, sir.

Sheriff:
And if you miss the next coach,

Sheriff:
you'll be riding out of here in a hearse.

Stan:
Goodbye.

Oliver:
Let well enough alone.

Mickey Finn:
Yeah I...What are you talking about? She's the lucky one to have a swell guy like me!

Lola Marcel:
What did father die of?

Stan:
I think he died of a Tuesday.