Sir Hector:
Damn and blast my sow of a wife, God bless her!

Crumble:
And all who sail in her.

Dr. Crippen:
I bear both good tidings and bad tidings. First, your wife is dead.

Sir Hector:
And the bad tidings?

Digby Geste:
We were identical twins, but somehow Beau was much more identical than me.

Sir Hector:
She just lost her seventh husband.

Beau Geste:
Lost or mislaid?

Markov:
Life is as brief as a butterfly's fart, but death is something that you have forever. From now on, you will march until you drop, and when you have dropped, you will crawl. Some may consider that I am excessively cruel, but there is a reason for this cruelty: I enjoy it!

Markov:
I have reason to believe it is secreted about his person.

Boldini:
It's not in his pockets; I have picked them.

Markov:
In that case, you will have to pick his person.

General Pecheur:
Will you shut up?!

Digby Geste:
I'm afraid I can't answer that question, sir.

Digby Geste:
You expect me to talk when all I could preserve is my own measly, worthless life? TOO BLOODY RIGHT, I'LL TALK! I'll talk, I'll talk, just try and stop me!

General Pecheur:
May God go with you. *I* have better things to do.

Beau Geste (age 12):
A Viking funeral...Digby, will you set fire to me and bury me at sea?

Digby Geste (age 12):
Well, alright...but not until you're dead.