Christabel LaMotte: I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.
Christabel LaMotte: Your hands are shaking. Are you afraid?
Randolph Ash: No... a little.
Randolph Ash: You cut me, Madam.
Christabel LaMotte: I'm sorry. I only meant to scratch.
Maude: [the morning after they hooked up which Roland put a stop to] Okay, let's not beat the thing dead. It happened. We're both grown-ups...
Roland Michell: Speak for yourself.
Maude: I'd hate to see how you're like after you actually sleep with someone.
Maude: [they are standing on rocks in a river looking at a waterfall that Maude recalls in one of Christabell's poems that describes a cave behind the waterfall. Upon sharing that with Roland, he immediately starts taking his clothes off] I know this is an awfully repressed sort of English thing to say, but what the hell are you doing?
Roland Michell: How else are we going to find out if there's a cave?
[Dives into the water]
Maude: [smiling, and speaking to no one] We could ask someone.
Roland Michell: Don't worry about me. I'm kind of a brush and flush kinda guy.
[seeing Maude's repulsed expression]
Roland Michell: Forget I said that.
Maude: I'll try.
Roland Michell: So what are we gonna do now? We gonna try to beat'em to France, or - or are we just gonna stare at each other?
Maude: That is the question, isn't it?
Roland Michell: Mm-hmmm
Maude: I have another one for you.
Roland Michell: What's that?
Maude: What are you really doing here?
Roland Michell: Well, I uh - I needed to see your face. I just wanted to let you know that whatever happened at Whitby, which unfortunately was not much, is not because anything that you did. Not at all. I just didn't want to jump into something. I mean, I did and I do... want to. Badly. I just didn't want to mess this up. And I just want to see -
Roland Michell: I want to see if there's an us in you and me. Would-Would you like that?
[Maude leans over and kisses Roland]
Roland Michell: I'll take that as a yes.
Roland Michell: There's no such thing as poets anymore.
Roland Michell: What do you charge an hour? Roughly.
Fergus: Oh uh, I don't know, 500.
Roland Michell: Pounds?
Roland Michell: Jesus! No wonder you have a nice hallway.
Fergus: Thank you.
Roland Michell: Okay, I want to buy 7 minutes of attorney-client privilege, right now.
Fergus: Mitchell's late again?
Blackadder: ROLAND, asked for another day off, Fergus.
Fergus: Oh, really? Where's he gone?
Blackadder: I didn't ask, and he didn't say. He's an American for God's sake. He's probably off trafficking drugs.